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THE AMlR-UD-DAULA

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LUCKNOW

Class No.-

Book No.-

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THE

1 • •

WAVER.LEY^NO3A;ELS

VOL. X

Tins EililiO'i of the Waverlcy Xovds has been care/idly collated with Seoil's oxen annotutcd set 'it the posnessioii of the I'ublishers, J HAM ASD CIIAUI.KH Bi.ACh', ami many iiiaccKyi'jcies liuvc been corrected. The corrcetlona thus

lAuuc are copyri'jht.

. , \ y ••-> ^ A^JC. Ulnclr,

yjB under (II-

THE MONASTERY -s 11

^ S- sn.- iVAi.T,.:,,. SCOTT. BAirr

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'ijht 1803 l>ll .<. J.- C. IU,l-k Q

I l'»-E 351

IXTRODUCTIDN TO THE lAIOXASTERY

IT wou'd bo_difHcult to assign any good reason why the Author of Ivanhoe, after iising, in that work, all the art lie possessed to remove'the personages, action, a'nd niaunei-s of tiic tale to a distance from hia-own country, should choose for the scene of his next attempt the celebrated ruins of Melrose, in the innnediatc neighbourhood of his own residence. But the reason, or caprice, which dictated his change of system has entirely escaped his recollection, nor is it worth while to attempt reaUling what must be a matter of very little consequence." "

The general plan of the story was to conjoin two characters in that bustling and contentious age who, thi'own into situations which gave them different views on the subject of the Keform'a-tion, should, with the same .sincerity and purity of iutcntion, dcdicato.themselves, the one to the support of the sinking fabric of the Catholic Church, the other to the establishment of the Reformed doctrines. I t was supposed that some interesting subjects for narrative might be derived from opposing two such enthusiasts to each other in the jiatb. of life, ,and contrasting the real worth of both with' their passions aud prejudices, ^ho locidities of Molroso suited well the scenery of the proposed story: the ru'iiis themselves form a splendid theatre for any tragic incident which might iG brought forward : joined to the vicinity of the fine river, with all its tributary streams, flowing through a country which has been the scene of so nuich fierce .'•ghting, and is rich with so many recollecticThs of former times, " KI lying almost under the immediate eyp of the Author, by

whom they w-cro to bo used in composition. The situation possessed farther recommendations. On the-

opposite bank of the Tweed might be seen the remains of ancient inclosures, surrounded by sJCTimores and ash:|;rees of consider­able size. These had once formed the crofts or amble 0^^^°^ of a village, now reduced to a single hut, the abode of a fisher-

viii WAVERLEY NOVELS

man, who also manages a ferry. The cottages, even tlie church ^vhich once existed there, have sunk into vestiges hardly to be traced without visiting the spot, the inhabitants having gradually withdiwvn to the more prosperous town of Galashiels, which has risen into cousidei-ation within two miles of^their neighbourhood. Superstitious eld, however, has tenanted the deserted gi-oves with aerial beings, to supply the want o£ the mortal tenants who have deserted it. The ruined and abandoned churchyard of Boldside has been long behoved to be haunted by the fairies, and the deep broad oun-cnt of the Tweed, wheel­ing in moonlight round the foot of the steep bank, with the • number of trees originally planted for shelter rouiid t]^ fields of the cottagers, hut now presenting the effect of scattered and detached groves, fill up the ideS, which one would fomi in'imagin-ation for a scene that Oberon and Queen Mab might love to revel in. There are evenings when the spectator might believe, with Father Chaucer, that the

o • Queen of Faery,

With h^Tp, and pipe, and symphouy, Wci-o dwoUing iu the place.

Another, and even a more familiar, refuge of the elfin race (if tradition is to be tnisted) is the glen oi the river, or rather brook, named the Allan, which f9,lls into the.Tweed from the northward, about a quarter of a mile above the present bridge. As the streamlet finds its way behind Lord ^omiherville's hunting-seat, called the Pavilion, its valley has been popularly termed the Fauy Dean, or rather the Nameless Dean, because '' of the supposed ill-luck attached by the popular faith of ancient tinies to any one who migiit name tr allude to the race whom our fathers distinguished as the Good Neightoui-s, and the ' Highlanders called Daoine Side, or Men of Peace; rather by way of comijliment than on accfKint of any particular idea of friendship or pacific relation which either Highlander or Borderer entertained towards the irritable beings whom they thus dis­tinguished, or supposed them to bear to humanity.* , .

In evidence of theftctual operations of the fairy people evc4> at this time, little pieces of calcareous matter are found in tlie glen after a flood, wMch either tJie labours of those tiny aitists or the eddies of the brook among the stones have forrped" into a fantastic resemblance of cupSj'saucera, basins, and the like ; which children who gather them pretend to discern fau-y uten * i

•Sec Rob Roy, Koto, Fairy Suporstitioii, p, 409. |

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY ix

Besides these circumstances of romantic locality, meapa^pera regna (as Captain Dalgetty denominates his territory' of Dnma-thwacket) are bounded by a small but deep lake, from which eyes that yet look on the light are said to have seen the water-bull (jkscend; and shake the hills with his roar.

Indeed, the comitry around Melrose, if possessing less of romantic beauty than some other scenes in Scotland, is cou-iijectcd with so many associations of a fanciful nature, in which the imagination takes delight, as might well induce one even less attached to the spot than the Author to accommodate, after a general manner, the imaginary scenes he was framing to the localiti'js to,which he was partial. But it would be a mis­apprehension to suppose that, because Melrose may in general pass for Kenuaquhair, or because it agrees with scenes of the Moimstery in the eircumstances of the drawbridge, the mill-dam, and other.points of resemblance, that therefore an accm-ate or perfect local similitude is to be found iu all the particulars of the picture. I t was not the pur])ose of the Author to present a landscape copied from nature, but a piece of composition, in which a real scene, with which ho is fsirfiliar, had afforded Iiim some leading outlines. Thus the resemblance of the imaginary Glendearg with the i-eal vale of the Allan is far from being minute, nor did the Author aim at identifying them. This must appear plain to all who know the actual character of the Glen of Allan, and have taken the trouble to read the account of ,the imaginary Glendearg. The stream in the latter case is described as wandering down a romantic little valley, shifting itself, after the fashion of such a brook, from one side to the other, as it can most, easily find its passage, and touching nothing iii its progress that gives token, of cultivation. «It rises near a solitary tower, the abode of a supposed church vassal, and the scene of several incidents in the Romance. f

The real Allan, on the contrary, after travci-sing the romantic ravine called the Nameless Dean, thrown ofi' from side to side alternately, like a billiard ball repelled by t?ie sides of the table on which it has been played, and in taat part of its course resembling the stream which pours down Glendeai-g, may be traced upwards mto a more open country, where the banks re­treat further from each other, and the vale exhibits a good deal of dry ground, which has not been neglected by the active culti-vators of the district. It.arrives, too, at a sort oi' termination, strOiing in itself, but totally irreconcilable with the narrative

X WAVERLEY NO^^ELS

of the Romance. Instead of a single peel-house, or border tower of defence, such as Dame Glendinning is supposed-to have inhabited, the head of the Allan, about five miles above its junction mtl i the Tweed, shows three ruins of Border houses, belonging to different proprietors, and each, from the de^'-c of mutual support so natural to troublesome times, sitii'ated at the extremity of the property of which it is the principal mess\;age. One of these is the ruiuous mansiou-liouse ol Hillslap, formerly the property of the Cairncrosses, and 'now -of Mr. Inues of. Stow ,• a second, the tower of Colmslie, an ancient iuheritaucc of the Borthwick family, as is testified bj ' then- crest, the • goat's head, which exists on the laiiu; a third, the h*'use of Langshaw, also ruinous, but near which the propi'ietor, i l r . Baillie of Jerviswood and Mellerstain, ms built a small shoot­ing-box.

All these ruins, so strangely huddled together iu a very solitary spot, have recollections and traditions of their own, but none of them bear the most distant resemblance to the de­scriptions in the Romance of the Monastery; and as the Author could hardly have eiTed''so grossly regarding a spot withui a morning's ride" of his own house, the inference is that no resemblance was intended. Hillslap is remembered bv the humours of the last inhabitants, two or th?:eo elderly ladies, of the class of Miss Rayland, in the Gld Manor Ilmise, though less important by birth and fortune. Colmslie is commemorated in s o n g : ^

Colmslie stand.s on Colmslie hill, The water it flows round Colmslie mill; Tlic miU and the kiln gang bonnily. And it's up with the wliippcrs of Colmslie I

Langshaw, although larger than the other mansions assembled at the head of the supposed Glendearg, has nothing about it more remarkable than the inscription of the present proprietor over his shooting-lodge;—Utinani hanc etiam verts inqAeam amicis—a modest wish, which I know no one more capable of attaining upon an txtended scale than the gentleman who has expressed it upon a liiftited one.*

* sir. John Bortliwick of Orookston, in a note to tlio imblislier (June 14,1843) navs that Sir Walter has reveraed tlio proiirietorsliip of these towers—that Colmslie belon-ed to Jlr. Innes of Stow, while Uillslap forms part of his estate of Cvookston. Ho ailds •

at Abbotsford, the stables then being full, I sent a pony to be put up at our tenant's at Hillahip:—" Well,"iiaid Sir Walter, " if you do that, you must trust for its not being lifted before to-morrow to the protection of Halbert Glendinning against Cliristio or

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY xi

Having thus shoiSTi that I could say something of these desolated towers, which the desire of social intercourse, or the facility of mutual defence, had drawn together at the head of this glen, I need not add any further reason to show that there is UQ> resemblance between them and the solitary habitation of Dame E&peth Glendinning. Beyond these, dwellings are some rcmrains of natural wood, and a considerable portion of moi-ass .and bog; but I would not advise any who may be cmious in localities to spend time in looking for the fountain and holly-ti-ee of the White Lady.

While I am ou the subject, I may add that Captain Clutter-buck, the iipaginary editor of the Monastery, has no real proto­type in the village of Melrose or neighbourhood that ever I saw or hoard of. To give some individuality to this personage, •he is described ao a cliaracter which sometimes occurs in actual society—a person who, having spent his life within the neces­sary duties of a technical profession, from which he has been at length emancipated, finds himself without anj' occupation what­ever, and is apt to become the prey of ennui, until he discovers some petty subject of investigation co&imensurate to his talents, the study of which gives him employment in solitude; while the conscious possession of information peculiar to himself adds to his consequence du society. I have often observed that the lighter and trivial branches-of antiquarian study are singularly useful in relieving vacuity of such a kind, and have known them serve .many a Captain Clutterbuck to retreat upon; I was therefore a good deal surprised when I found the antiquarian captain identified with a neighbour and friend of my own, who could never have been confounded with him by any one who had read the book, and seen t'he party alluded to. This en-oneous identification- occurs in a work entitled, Illmtratiom of the Author of Waverley, heing Notices and Atiecdotes of real Charac­ters, Scenes, and Incidents, si^posed to he described in his Works, by Eobort Chambers. This work was, of course, liable to many errors, as any one of the kind must be, whatever may be the ingenuity of the author, which takes the task of explaining what can be only known to another pei-jion. Mistakes of place or inanimate things referred to ai-e of very little moment; but the ingenious author ought to have been more cautious of attaching real names to fictitious characters. I think it is in the Cllntliill." At page 268, the " winding stair " which the monk ascended is described. The winding stone stair is still to be seen in Hillalap, but not in either of the other two towers.' I t is, however, probable, from tlie goat's head,crest on Colmslie, that that tower also had been of old a possession of tlie Borthwicksiioinj).

xii WAVERLEY NOVELS

the Spectator we read of a rustic wag who, in a copy of The WholeUw^f Maix^ wrote opposite to eveiy vice the name'bf gome ifldmduai"mthe neighbourhood, and thus converted that excellent work into a libel on a whole parish.

" The scenery being thus ready at the Author's "handi' the reminiscences of the country were ciiually fuvourabre. In a land where the horses remained almost constantly saddled, and the sword seldom quitted the warrior's side ; where war was the natrunl and constant stiite of tlic inhabitiuits, and peace only existed in the shape of brief and feverish truces, tlicre could be no want of the means to complicate and extricate the inci­dents of his uan-ative at pleasure. There was a disadvpiJtage, notwithstanding, in tresuling this Border district, for it had been already ransacked by the Author liiniself, as well as others; and unless presented under a new light, wiu. likely to affoixl ground to the objection of cramhe his coda.

To attain the indispensable qnality of novelty, something, it was thought, might be gained by contrasting tlic character of the vassals of the church with those of the dependants of the lay barons, by whom they 'were surrounded. But much advan­tage could not be derived from this. There were, indeed, difier-ences betwi.xt the two classes, but, like tribes in the mineral and vegetable world, which, resembling each other to common eyes, can be sufficiently well discrir.iinated by naturalists, they were yet too similar upon the whole to be placed in marked contrast with each other.

Machinery remained—the introduction of the supematuml > and mai-vellous, the resort of distressed authors since the days

of Horace, but whose privileges as a sanctuary have been dis-putcl. in the present age, and wcllnigli exploded. The popular beUef no longer allows tlie j)Ossibility of existence' to the race of mysterious beings which hovered betwixt this world and that which is invisible. The fairies liavi al)andoned their moonlight turf; the witch no longer holds her black orgies in the hemlock dell; and

Even tlie ISist liiigeriug jilmntom of tlie brain, Tlio churehyalU gliost, i.s now at rest again.

From the discredit att^iched to the vulgar and more common modes in which the Scottish superstition displays itself, the Author was induced to have recourse to the beautiful, thouo-h almost forgott<in, theory of astral spirits, or creatures of the elements, surpassing human beings in knowledge and power,

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY xiii

but inferior to them as being subject, after a certain space of ycai-s, to a death which is to them aimihilation, as they have no share in the promise made to the sous of Adam. These spirits arc supposed to be of four distinct khids, as the elements , fronf which, they have their origin, and are known, to those who have stuSied the cjibalisticiil philosophy, by the names of Sylphs, Gn6mes, Salaniandei-s, and Naiads, as they belong to tbc •elements of Air, Earth, Fire, or Water. The general reader will find an entci-Uiiniiig account of these elementiiry spirits in the French book entitled, Entretiens die Cotnpte du Gabalis. The ingenious Comptc de la Motte Fouque composed, iu Gennan, one oi'the most successfid productions of his fertile bi-ain, where a beautiful and even afflicting eftect is pi-oduced by the introduc­tion of a water-nymph^ who loses the privilege of iminortality by consenting ttt become accessible to human feelings, and \miting her lot with that of a mortal, who treats her with ingratitude.

In imitation of an example so successful, the White Ladj ' of Avenel was introduced into the fojjowing sheets. She is represented as connected with tlio fa'mily of Avenel by one of those mystic tics which, in ancient times, were supposed to exist, iu certain circumstances, between the creatures of the elements and the children of men. Such inst;inces of mysterious union are I'ecognised in Ireiand, in the real Milesian families, who are possessed of a Banshee; and they are known among the traditions of the Highlanders, which, in many cases, attached an immortal being or spirit to the service of particular families or tribes. These demons, if Ihby arc to be called so, announced good or evil fortxme to the families tonnected with them; and though some only condescended to meddle with • matteffe of importance, others, like the May Mollach, or Maid of the Hairy Ai'ms, condescended to mingle in oixlinai-y si)orts, and even to dii-ect the chief how to play «it dmughts.

There was, therefore, no great violence iu supposing such a being as this to have existed, while the elementary spirits were believed in; but it was more difficult ,to "^describe or imagine its attributes aud principles of action.' Shakspeai-e, the first of authorities in such a aise, has painted Ariel, that beautiful creature of his fancy, as only appi-oaching so near to humanity "s to know the nature of that sympathy which the creatures of lay felt for each other, as we leani from th§ expression— Mine would if 1 were liuman.' The inferences from this are iugulur, but seem capable of regular deduction. A being,

^ j ^ , WAVERLEY NOVELS

however superior to man in length of life, i.> power over the elements, in certain perceptions respecting the present, the nast and the future, vet still incapable of human passions, of Lntlments of moral good and evil, of meriting future mx^rds or pmiishments, belongs rather to the class-of animals^ thiCi of hunmn creatures, and must therefore be presumed to act more from temporai-v benevolence or caprice than from anything approaching to'feeling or reasoning. Such a being s superiority . i^ power c^u onlv be compared to tiiat of the elephant or lion, who are frreater'in strength than man, though inferior m the scale of creation. The partialities wliich we suppose such

• spirits to entertain must be like those of the dog; their sr.-dden starts of passion, or the indulgence of a frolic, or misclnef, may be compared to those of the numerous vai'ieties of the cat. All these propensities arc, liowevcr, controlled by the laws which render the elementary race suboi-dinatc to the command of man —liable to be subjected byjiis sciciice (so the sect of Gnostics beUeved, and on this tiu-ned tlie llosicrucian philosophy), or to be overpowered by his f ip^erior courage and daring, when it set their illusions at defiance."

I t is with reference to tliis idea of the supposed spirits of the elements that the White Lady of Avencl is represented as actin'' a varying, capricious, and inconsistent part in the pages assigned to her in the narrative"^, manifesting interest and attachment to the family with whom her destinies arc associated, but evincing whim, and even a species of malevolence, towards other mortals, as the sacristan and the Border robber, whose incorrect life subjected them to "receive petty mortifications at her hand. The Wliite Li-.<ly is scarcely supposed, liowevcr, to have? possessed either the power or tlie inclination to do more than inflict terror or create embarrassment, afid is always subjected by those mortals who, by virtuous resolution and mental energy, could assert suptViority over her. In, these particulars she seems to constitute a being of a middle class, between the esprit follet, who places its pleasure in misleading and tomientiug mortal^ and the benevolent fairy of the East, who uniformly guides, aids, and supports them.

Either, however, the Author executed his purpose in­differently or the public did not approve of i t ; for the White Lady of Avenel was far from being popular. He does not n o -make the present statement in the view of arguing readers in a more favourable opinion on the subject, but merely with tl purpose of exculpating himself from the charge of havir

INTRODUCTION TO TUE MONASTERY xv

wantonly intruded into the narnxtis'o a being of inconsistent powci-s and propensities.

In the delineation of another character, the A\ithor of the Monastery failed where he hoped for some success. As nothing is s«> successful a subject of ridicule as the fashionable follies of the tfme, it occurred to him that the more serious scenes of his-narrative might be relieved by the humour of a cavaliero of

.the age of Queen Eliaibeth. In every period, the attempt to gain aud maintain the highest rank of society has depended on the power of assuming and supporting a cei-tain fashion­able kind of aftcctation, usually coimcctcd with some vivacitx' of taleu'^, and.energy of character, but distinguished at the same time by a transcendent^il flight beyond sound reason and common sense; both .faculties too vulgar to be admitted into the estimate of one who claims to be esteemed ' a choice spirit of the ago.' The.se, in their difl'erent phases, constitute the gallants of the day, whose boast it is to drive the whims of fashion to extremity.

On all occiisions, the manners of the sovereign, the cotu-t, and the time must give the tone to the peculiar description of qualities by ^vhich those who would attain the height of fashion must seek to distinguish themselves. The reign of Elizabeth, being that of a .maiden queen, was distinguished by the decorum of the courtiers, a.id especiallj' the affectation of the deepest deference to the sovereign. After the acknowledgment of the Queen's matchless perfections, the same devotion was extended to beauty as it existed among the lesser stars in her court, who sparkled, as it was the mode to say, by her reflecttJd lustre. I t is true, that,gallant knights no longer vowed to Heaven, the peacock, and the ladies to perform some fert of extravagant chivalry, in which they endangered the lives of others as well as their own; but although their chivali-ous displays of personal gallantrj seldom went further iu Elizabeth's . days than the tilt-yard, where kxrricadcs, called ban-icrs, pre­vented the shock of the horses, and limited the display of the cavaliers' skill to the comparatively safe encounter of their lances, the language of the lovers to their ladies was still iu the exalted terms which Amadis wonld have addressed to Oriana, before encountering a dragon for her sake. This tone of romautic gallantly found a clever but conceited author to

' reduce it to a species of constitution aud form, and lay down the courtly manner of conversation, iu a pedantic book called Etq^hves and his England. Of this, a briefaccoimt is given

x\T WAVERLEY NOVELS K in the text, to which it may now be proper to malce some additions.

The extravagance of Euphuism, or a symbolical jargon of the same class, predominates in the romances of Calprenedc and Scuderi, which were.read for the amusement of the faitjsex of France during the long reign of Louis XIV., and Were supposed to contain the only legitunato language of love and gallantry. In this reign they encountered the satke of Moli6re and Boileau. A similar disordei-, spreading into private society, formed the ground of the affected dialogue of the 2^'ecie^ises, as they were styled, who formed the coterie of the Hotel dc Rambouillet, and afforded Moliere matter for his admirable comedy, Les Prdcifiuses Eidicules. In England, the humour does not seem to have long survived.the accession of Jtimes 1.

The Author had the vanity to think that a character, whose peculiarities should turn on extravagances which were once universally fashionable, might be read in a fictitious stoiy with a good chance of affoixiing amusemcut to the existing generation, who, fond as they are of looking back on the actions and mannei's of their ancestors, might'bc also supposed to be sensible of their absurdities. He must fairly acknowledge that he was dis­appointed, and that the Euphuist, far from being" accounted a well-di-awn and luunorous character of the perlpd, was condemned as unnatural and absiuxl.

I t would be ea-sy to account for this failure by supposing the defect to arise from the Author's want of skill, apfi probably many readere may not be inclined to look further. But, as the Author himself can scarcely bo supposed willing to acquiesce in this final cause, if any oth^j- can be alleged, ho has been led to suspect that, contrary to what ho origiiially supposed, his subject was injudiciously chosen, in which, and not in .his mode of treating it, lay the source of tlie want of success.

The manners of a rude people aii<; always founded on nature and therefore the feelmgs of a more polished generation imme­diately sympathise with them. Wc need no numerous notes no antiquarian dissertations, to enable the most ignorant to recognise the sentiments"^nd diction of the characters of Homer • we have but, as Lear says, to strip off our lendings^-to sot aside the factitious principles and adornments which we have received from our comparatively artificial system of society, aijd our natural feelings are in unison with those of the bard of Chios and the heroeis who live in his verses. I t is the same with a great part of the naiTativos of my friend, Mr. Cooper. We

/ IXTRODUCTION TO THE MOXASTEKY xvn

sympatHiso witli his Indian chiefs and back-woodsmen, and acknowledge, in the characters which he presents to us, the same trutli of human nature by which wc should feel ourselves influenced If placed in the same condition. So much is this tlicfc case-that, tliQugh it is difticult, or almost impossible, to reclaim'a'feavage, bred from his youth to war and the chase, to the restraints and the duties of civilised life, nothing is more easy or common than to find men who have been educated in all the habits and -comforts of improved society willing to exchange them for the wild labours of the hunter and the fisher. The very amusements most pui-sued and relished by men of all raukg. whose constitutions permit active exercise, are hunting, fishing, and in some instances war, the natural and necess<\ry business of the savage of Dryd8n, where his hero talks of being

As free as nature first mado iiiati, Wlicu wild in woods tl\o noble savage ran.

But although the occupations,"and even the sentiments, of luunau beings in a primitive state find access and interest in the minds of the more civilised part o7 the species, it does not therefore follow that the national testes, opinions, and follies of one civilised period should alVord cither the same interest or the same amusement to those of another. These geuenillj', when driven to cxtravaganie, are founded not upon any natural tasto .proper to the species, but upon the growth of some peculiar ci'st of afiectation, with which mankind in general, and succeeding generations in particular, feel no common interest or sympathy. The extravagances of coxcombry in manners and apparel arc indeed the legitimate, and often the successful, objects of satire, during the time when they exist. In evidence of this, theatrical critics may observe how many dramatic jeiix cFesprit are well received every season, because the satirist levels at some well-known or fashi' nablc absurdity ; or, in the dramatic phrase, 'shoots folly as it flies.' But when the peculiar kind of folly keeps the wing no longer, it is reckoned but waste of powder to pour a discharge of ridicule o'a what has ceased to exist; "and the pieces in which such'forgotten absurdities arc made the subject of ridicule fall quietly into oblivion with the fo'lies which gave them fashion, or only continue to exist on the scene because they cont-iin some other more permanent interest than that which connects them with manners and foUies of a temporary character.

Tliis, perhaps, affords a reason why thd" comedies of Beu

xviii WAVERLEY XOVKLS \

Jonson, foiuided upon system, or what the age termed humoui-s —^by which was meant factitious and affected character, super­induced on that which was common to the rest of their race— in spite of acute satii'C, deep scholarship, and strong sense, do not now afford general pleasui-e, but are confined to the closet of^the antiq\iary, whoso studies have assui-ed him that the pensonaccs of the dramatist were once, though they are now no longer portraits of existing nature.

Let us take another example of our hypothesis from Shak-spearc himself, who, of all authors, drew his portraits for all a"es. With the whole smn of the idolatry which affects us at his name, the mass of readers peruse without amusement, the characters formed on the extmvagancos of tempomry fashion • and the Euphuist Don Armado, the pedant Holoferues, even Nym and Pistol, are read with little pleasure.by the mass of the public, being portraits of wliich wo cannot recognise the humour, because the originals no longer exist. In like manner, while the distresses of Romeo and Juliet contmue to interest every bosom, Mcrcutio, drawn as an accurate representation of the finished fine gentlerAan of the period, and as such received by the unanimous approbation of contemporaries, has so little to interest the present ago that, stripped of all his puns and quirks of verbal wit, he only retains his place in the scene in virtue of his fine and fanciful spopch upon dreaming, which belongs to no particular age, and because he is a personage whose presence is indispensable to the plot.

We have already prosecuted perhaps too far an argument the tendency of which is to prove that the introduction of an humorist, acting, like Sir Piercie Shafton, upon some forgotten and -obsolete model of folly, once fashionable, is rather likely to awaken the disgust of the reader, as unnatural, than find him food for laughter. Whether owing to this theory, or whether to the more simple and probable caw.se of tlio Author's failure in tlie delineation of the subject he had proposed to himself the formidable objection of incredulm odi was applied to' tl Euphuist, as well as to the White Lady of Avenel; and the ono was denounced as unnaiural, while the other was rejected as impossible. '' ^ °

There was little in the stoi7 to atone for those failures in two principal points. The incidents were inartificially huddled together. There was no part of the intrigue to which deen interest was fo.iiid to apply; and the conclusion was broiieht about, not by inoidents arising out of the story itself but in

TNTRODUC'l'IOX TO THE MONASTERY xix

consequence of public ti-ansactious with which tho narrative has little connexion, and which the reader had little opportunity to become acquainted with.

This, if not a positive fault, was yet a gi'out defect in the Eoiuijnce. I t is true, that not only the practice of some great authors ia this department, but even the general course of human life itself, may bo quoted in favour of this more obvious, and less artificial, practice of an-anging a narrative. I t is seldom that the same circle of personages who have stirroundcd an individual at his fii-st outset in life continue to have an interest in his career till his fate comes to a crisis. On the contrary, and more especially if tho events of his life be of a varied character, and worth communicating to othera, or to the world, the liero's later connexions are usually totally separated from those with.whom he began the voyage, but whom tho individual has outsailed, or who have drifted astray, or foundered on tho passage. This hackneyed comparison holds good in another point. The niniici-ous vessels of so many diflcrent sorts, and destined for such diflcrent purposes, which are launched in the same mighty ocean, although each-otidoavoiirs to pursue its own course, are in every case more influenced by the winds and tides, which are common to the element which they all navi­gate, than by their own separate e.xei-tions. And it is thus in the world that, when human prudence has dono its best, some general, perhaps national, event destroys tho schemes of tho individual, as the casual touch of a more powerful being sweeps away the web of the spider.

Many excellent romances have been composed in this view of Inunan life, where tho hero is conducted tln-ough a variety of detached scenes, in which various agents appear and dis­appear, withoMt, perhaps, having any pei-manent influence on tlio progress of the stoi-y. Such is the structure of Gil Bias, liodei-iclc Random, and tlio lives and adventures of many other heroes,' who are described as runrifeg through diflcrent stations of life, and encountering various adventures, which are only coimect«i with each other by having happ< nod to bo witnessed by the same individual, whose identity unites them together, as the string of a necklace links the beads, which are otherwise dotiichcd.

But though sucli an unconnected course of adventures is . what most frequently occurs in nature, yet the province of the romance writer being artificial, there is more required from him than a mere compliance with the simplicity or reality ; just as

XX WAVERLEY NOVELS

w-e demand from the scientific gardener that he shall arrange, in curious knots and ai-tificial parteiTes, the flowers which ' nature boon' distributes freely on hill and dale. Ficldii^, accord­ingly, in most of his novels, but especially in 2'oin7o!i£s, his chcf-(Voeuvre, has set the distinguished example "ot a story reg'ilarly built aiid consistent in all its parts, in which nothiag occura, and scarce a personage is introdticed, that has not some share in tending to advance the catastrophe.

To demand equal con-ectness and felicity in those who may follow in the track of that illustrious novelist would be to fetter too much the power of giving pleasure, by surrounding it with penal rules; since of this sort of light literature it J?my he especially said, Tout genre est 2ermis hws le genre ennuyeux. Still, however, the more closely and happily the story is com­bined, and the more ,natiu-al and felicitous the catastrophe, the nearer such a composition will approach the perfection of the novelist's a r t ; nor can an author neglect this branch of his profession without incurring propo'rtional censure.

For such censure the Monastery gave but too much occasion. The intrigue of the Romance, neither very interesting in itself nor very happily detailed, is at length finally disentangled by the breaking out of. national hostilities between England and Scotland, and the as sudden renewal of the truce. Instances of this kind, it is tnie, cannot in reality have been xmcommon but the resoi-tiug tp such, in order to accomplish the catastrophe', as by a tour de force, was objected to as inartificial, and not perfectly intelligible to the general reader.

Still, the Monastery, though exposed to severe and just criti­cism, did not fail, judgii)g from the extent of its circulation to haye some interest for the public. " And this, too, was accord­ing to the ordinary course of such matters; for "it veiy seldom happens that literary reputation is gained by a single effort and still more rarely is it lost by a solitary miscarriage! ' '

The Author, therefore, had his days of grace allowed him and time, if he pleased, to comfort himself with the burden of the old Scots song-i^

'•^ If it isna wool bobbit. We'll bob it again.

ABEOTSFOUD, \sl N'ovcmber 1830.

I N T K O D U C T O R Y E P I S T L E

PROM

CAPTAIN CLUTTEEBUCK,

LATE OP HIS JLVJESTY'S REGIMENT OF ISFASTRY,

TO

• THE AUTHOR OF WAVHIiLSY

SIR—Although I do not pretend to thejikasure of your personal acquaintance, like many whom I believe to be equally strangers to you, I am nevertheless interested in your publications, and desire their continuance; not that I pretend to much taste in fictitious composition, or ,that I am apt to be interested in your gi-ave scenes, or amused by those which are meant to be lively. I will not disguise from you that I hare yawned over the last interview of Mac-Ivor and his sister,* and fell fairly asleep while the schoolmaster was reading the humom-s of Dandie Dinmont. You see, sir, that I scom to solicit your favour in a way to which j-on are no "stranger. If the papers I inclose you are worth notlnug, I wOl not endeavour to recommend them by personal flattery, as a bad cook pom-s i-ancid butter upon stale fish. ^No, sir ! What I respect in you is the light you have occasionally thrown on national antiqui­ties—a study which I have commenced rather late in life, but to which 1 am attached with the devotion of tx first love, because it is the only study i over cared a fai-thii' g for.

You shall have my history, sir (it will not reach to tlii-ee volumes), before that of my manuscript; and as you usually throw out a few lines of verse (by ivay of skirmishers, I sup­pose) at the head of each division of prose, I have had the luck to light upon a stanza in the schoolmaster's copy of Burns

» [Wavorley and Flnru 5Iiic-lvor.) . X • 6

x s i i WAVERT,EY NOVELS

which describes me exactly. I love it the better, • because it was originally designed for Captain Grose, an excellent anti­quary, though, like youi-self, somewhat too apt to treat with levity his own pureuits :

'Tis said lie was a soldier bred,^ • ^ And one wad rather fa'cn than fled ; • . But now lie has quit the spurtle Vilado,

And dog-skin wallet, * And ta"en the—antiquarian trade,

I think they call it.

I never coiild conceive what influenced me, when a boy, in the choice of a profession. Milit^iry zeal and ardoiir it was not which made me stand out for a commission" in tiie Scots Fusiliei-s, when my tutors syid curatoi-s wished to bind me apprentice to old David Stiles, clerk to his Majesty's Siguet. I say, military zeal it was 7iot; for I was fio fighting boy in my own person, and cared not a penny to read the history of the heroes who turned the world, upside down in former ages. As for courage, I had, as I have since discovered, just as much of it as served my tiyn^ and not one grain of surplus. I soon found out, indeed, that in action there was more danger in running away than in standing fast; and besides, I could not afford to lose my commission, which was my chief means of su])port. But, as for that overboiling falour which I have heard many of ours talk of, though I seldom obsen'ed that it influenced them in the actual affair—that exuberant zeal which courts danger as a bride, truly my courage w<ls of a com­plexion much less ecstatical.

Again, the love of a red coat, which, in default of all other aptitudes to the professton, has mivde many a bad soldier and sonie good ones, was an utter stranger to my disposition. I cared not a ' bodle' for the company of the 'misses. Nay, though there was a boarding-school in the village, and though we used to meet with its fair'inmates at Simon Lightfoot's weekly practising, I cannot recollect any strong emotions being excited on these occasions, excepting the infinite regi-et with which I went througjj the polite ceremonial of presenting my partner with an orange, thrust into my pocket by my aunt for this special purpose, but which, had I dared, I certainly would have secreted for my own pereonal use. As for vanity, of love of finery for itself, I was such a stranger to it that the difficulty was great tg make me brush my coat and appear in proper trim upon parage. I shall never forget the rebuke of my old

•

i: TROt>uc'fiON TO Tin-: MOXASTEKY xxm

colonel on a morning when the King reviewed a brigade of which ours made part. ' I am no friend to extravagance, Ensign C'lutterbuck,' said h e ; 'but, on the day when we are to pass before the sovereign of the kingdom, in the name of God I woul(J have at least sliown him an inch of clean linen.'

Thus, ,a -stranger to all the oixlinary motives which lead youijg men to make the army their choice, and without the least desire to become either a hero or a dandy, I really do not Ifuow what determined ray thoughts that way, unless it were the happy state of half-pay indolence enjoyed b j ' Captain Doo-littlc, who had sot up his staft" of rest in my native village. Every other person had, or seemed to have, something to do, less or more." They did not indeed precisely go to school and learn tasks, that last of e\-ils in Ciy estimation; but it did not escape my boyish observation that they were all bothered with something or other like dut^' or laboiu-—all but the happy CaptJiin Dbolittle. The minister had his parish to visit, and his preacliing to propai'o, though pei-haps he made more fuss than he needed about both. The laii-d had his farming and

. improving operations to superintend; -u'lkl, besides, ho had to attend trustee meethigs, and lieutenancy meetings, and head-courts, and meetings of justices, and what not—was as early up (that I detested) and as much in the open air, wet and diy, as his own grieve. The shopkeeper (the village boasted but one of eminence) stood indeed prettj ' nuicli at his case behind his counter, for h's cu.stom was by no means over-burdensome ; but still he enjoyed his status, as the bailie calls it, upon condition of tumbling all the wares in his booth over and over, when anv oue choiie to want a yaitl of muslin, J\, mouse-trap, an ounce of caraways, a paper of pins,'^thc Sermons of Air, Pedcn, or the Life of Jack the Giant-Qitelkv (not Killer, as usually cn-one-ously written and pronounced. See my essay on the true history of this worthy, where roal facts have in a peculiar degree been obscured by fable.) In short, all in the village were imder the necessitj' of doing something which they would rather have left undone, excepting Captain Doolittle, '.i-ho walked every morning in the open street, which formeli the high mall of ouv village, in a blue coat with a red neck, and played at whist the whole evening, when he could make up a party. This happy vacuity of all employment appeared to me so delicious that it became the primary hint which, according to the system of Helvctius, as the minister says, determined my infant talents towaitls the profession I was destined to illustra'io.

^^.^ WAVKRLEY NOWXS

But who, alas, ?fl^^J^^^^:^SJi:^tJ^ spects in this dcce;tf-\ ^™f , U V S ^ ^ ^ t i ^depende t t t in-

:night ^ 7 ° ^ ^ ; r t , L f i« ^ ^ God help him, had to appear was so Pleased l3ut the ^.usi , ^ ^^^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^^^

thTlotM and visited both the East and ^\est Indies Egj-pt, and other distant places, which my youth had scarce dreanted of. The French I saw, and felt too : witness two 6ngei-s of my right hand, which ono of then- cui-sed ' ^ f - t°«^ "f ; ; ;™*^^ sabre as neatly as an hospital surgeon. At length the death of an old aunt, who left me some fifteen hundred pounds, snugly vested in the three per cents, gave me,the long-wished-tw opportunity of retiring, with thft prospect of enjoymg a clean shirt and a guinea four times a-weck at least. i t 1

For the purpose of commencing my new way of life, 'I selooto for my residence the village of Kennaqtihair, in the south ot Scotland, celebrated for the rains of its magnificent monastery, intending there to lead my future life in the otium cwni diffnitat«^ oS lialf-pay and annuity. I was not long, however, in ^""•'^"^ the gnind discovery that, in order to enjoy leisure, it is abs ^ lutely necessaiy it should be preceded by occupation. I' or soin^ time it was delightful to wak^at daybreak dreaming of ti^^ reveille, then to recollect my happy emancipation from ^ ^ slavery that doomed me to start at a piece of clatteiing P' j'"^ ment, tm-u on my other side, damn the parade, and go to s 1 again. But even thiycnjoyment had its termination; and tu > when it became a stock entirely at my own disposal, began hang hea\-y on my hand. i g

I angled for two days, during which time I lost twenty lio _ ^ and several scores of yards of gut and line, and caught not e^^^ a minnow. - Hvmting was out of the question, for *' '',.®, ^" j,,it. of a horse by Vio means agrees with the half-pay estabhsni

IKTEODUCTION TO TUB MONASTERY xxv

When I shot, the shepherds and ploughmen, and my very dog, quizzed me every time that I missed, which was, generally speaking, everj' time I fired. Besides, the countn' gentlemen in this quarter like their game, and began to talk of prosecu­tions 9,nd interdicts. • I did not give up fighting the French to commence" a domestic war with the ' pleasant men of Teviot-dale,' as the song calls them; so I e'en spent three days (very agreeably) in cleaning my gun, and disposing it upon two hooks over my chimuey-iDiecc.

The success of this accidont;d experiment set me on tiying my skill iii the mechanical arts. Accordingly, I took down and cleaned <>my landlady's cuckoo-clock, and in so doing silenced that companion of tho spring for gvcr and a day. I mounted a turning lathe, and, in attempting to use it, I very nearly cribbed off, with an iiich-afid-half former, one of the fingers which the hussar had-left me.

Books I tried, both those of the little circulating library and of the more i-ational subscription-collection maintjiincd by this intellectual people. But neither the lig]it reading of the one nor the heavy artillery of the other suited my purpose. I always fell a s l^p at tho fourth or fifth page of history or dis­quisition; and it took me a month's haixl reading to wade through a half-boiuid trashy novel, during which I was pestered with applications to retiu-n ''the volumes by every half-bred milliner's miss about the place. In short, during tho hoiu-s when all the'town besides had something to do, I had nothing for it but to walk in the churchyai-d, and whistle till it was dinner-time.

During these promenades, the niins necessarily forced them­selves on my attention, and by degrees I found myself en<'ao-ed in studying tlie more miinite ornaments, and at length the general plan, of this noble structure. The old sexton aided my labours, and gave me his poi'cion of traditional lore. Every day added something to my stock of knowledge respecting the ancient state of the building; and at length^I made discoveries concerning tho purpose of several detached and very ruinous portions of it, the use of which had hitherto been either un­known altogether or erroneously explained.

Tho knowledge which I thus acquired 1 had frequent oppor­tunities of i-etailing to those visitors whom the progress of a Scottish tour brought to visit this celebrated spot. Without encroachuig on the privilege of my friend the sexton, I became gi'adually an assistant cicerone in the task c ' description and

xxvi WAVEKLEY NO^^:LS

explanation, and often (seeing a fresh party of visitors arrive) has he turned over to rac those to whom he liad told half his story, with the flattering observation, '"What needs I say ony mair about it ? There's the Captain kens mair anent it than I do, or any man in the town.' Then woidd I siduto the strdngei-s coiu'teously, and expatiate to tlieir astonished minds upon crypts and chancels, and naves, arches, Gothic and Saxon architrftves, mullions, and flying buttresses. I t not infrequently happened that an acquaintance which connnenccd in tlie abbey concluded in the inn, which seiTed to relieve the solitude as well as the raonotoviy of my landlady's shoulder of mutton, whether roast, cold, or hashed. . ^

By degrees my mind becavic cidarged: 1 found a book or two which enlightened me on the subject of Gothic architecture, jind I read now with pleasure, because I Avas interested in what I read about. Even my character began to dilate and expand. I spoke with more authority at the club, and was listened to with deference, because on one subject at least I possessed more information tha;i any of its members. Indeed, I found that even my stories about ii^gypt, which, to say truth, were somewhat threadbare, were now listened to with more respect than foi-merly. ' The Captain,' they siiid, ' had something in him after a ' : there were few folk kenn'd sae mickle about the abbey.' .

With this general approbation waxed ray own sense of self-importance, and my feeUng of general comfort. • I ate with more appetite, I digested with more ease, I lay down at night with joy, and slept sound till morning, when I arose with a sense of busy importance, and hied .me to measure, to examine, and to comi>a.re the various parts of this interesting structure. I lost all sense and consciousness of certain impleasaut '*^"*^' tioiis of a noiide.scrij)t nature, about my head and stomach, wlu'ch I had been in the habit ofattending, more for the benon^ of the village apothecary than mv own, for the pure ^^''"^,. „ something else to t^hink about. 1 had found out aii ?'^^"P* jo . unwittingly, and was,, happy because I had soi^°*"-'S „(,t In a word, I had commenced local antiquary, -ina ^ « unworthy of the name. p^,. so

Whilst 1 was in tins pleasing career of busy idleness, ^ , ^ j ^ ^ it might at best be called, it happened that I - vas on ^ r-^^ sitting in ii-\y little parlour, adjacent to the closet A_ ^ ^ ^ ,.jy landlady calls my bedroom, in the act of preparing lo .' ^ r-rctreat to the rcu'ms of Morpheus. Dugdale's il/wrt.si'cw

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY . xxvn

rowed from the library at A , was lying on the table before me, flanked by some excellent Cheshire cheese (a present, by the way, from an honest London citizen, to whom I had explained, the difference betwixt a Gothic and a Saxon arch), and a glass of Vaftderhagen's best ale. Thus armed at all points against my old enemy Time, I was leism-ely and deliciously preparing for bed—now reading a lino of old Dugdalc, now sipping my ale or mimchiug my bread and cheese, now undoing the.strings at my breeches' knees' or a button or two of my waistcoat, until the village clock should strike ten, bcfoi*e which time I make it a rule never to go to bed. A loud knocking, however, interrupted my ordinai-y process on this occasion, and the voice of my honest landloi-d of the Gegrge * was heard vociferating, 'What the deevil, Mrs. ^Jrimslees, the Captain is no in his bed? and a gentlernan<nt our house has oi-dercd a fowl and minced collops, and a bottle of sherrj', and has sent to ask hun to supper, to tell him all about the abbey.' „

'Na, ' answered Luckie Grimslees, in the true sleepy tone of a Scottish matron when ten o'clock is going to strike, ' he's no in his bed, but I'se wan-ant him no gae''out at this time o' night to keep folks. sitting up waiting for h im: the Captain's a -decent man.'

I plainly perceiviSi this last compliment Wixs made for my hearing, by way both of indfcating and of reconnueuding the course of conduct which Jlrs. Grimslees desired I should pursue. But I had not been knocked about the world for thir ty years and odd, and lived a bluff bachelor all the while, to come home and be put under petticoat government by my landladj'. Accordingly, I opened my chamber door, and desired my old friend David to walk upstaira.

'Captain,' &iid he, as ho entered, ' I am as glad to find you up as if I had hooked a twenty pound saumon. There's a gentleman up yonder that win not sleep sound in his bed this blessed night unless he has the pleasure to drink a glasss of wine with you.'

'You know, David,' I replied, with bpcomiug dignity, ' t h a t I cannot with propriety go out to visit strangere at this time

• Tlic George \ras, ami is, tlic principal inn in the village df Kcnnaqnliair, or Melrose. Dnt llie Limllrtrtl of llio period was not tlic sami' civil imd quiet person liy wliom tlio inn is now kept David Kyle, a Melrose proprietor of no little importance, n (Irst-rste person of consequence in wliatevcr 'belonged to tlio business of the town, was the original owner and landlonl of the liin. Poor David, like many other busy men, took.'so much care of public nlTiilrn as in some (legrco to neglect his own. 'rherc are persons still alive at Kcnnaqnliair who can recognise him and his peculi:eilics in the following sketch of mine host of the George.

xxviii - WAVERLEY NOVELS

of night, or accept of invitations from people of whom 1 know nothing.'

David swore a round oatli, and added, ' Was ever the like heard of ? He has ordered a fowl and egg sauce, a iiuucake and minched collops, and a bottle of sherry.. D'ye think V wad come and ask you to go to keep company with ony bit Englisli i-idcr, that sups on toasted cheese and a cheerer o*f rum-toddy 1 This is a gentleman every inch of him, and a virtuoso, a clean virtuoso—a sad-coloured stand of ckitlies, and a wig like the curled back of a mug ewe. The very first question he speercd was about the auld dmwbrig that has been at the bottom of the water these twal score yeai-s: I have seen tlic furcations •when we were sticking samnou. And how the dcevil suld he ken ony thing about the auld drawJjrig unless he'were a virtuoso ?' * o •

David being a virtuoso iu his own way, and moreover a landholder and heritoi', w is a quiilified judge of all who fre­quented his house, and therefore 1 could not avoid again tying the string.s of my knees.

' Tliat's right, Captaifi,' vociferated David : 'you twa will be a.s thick a.s three in a bed an ance ye forgatlier. . T haena seen the liko o' him my very sell since 1 saw the great Doctor SaiiiiicI Johnson on his tower tlu-ough S*>tland, wbilk tower is ]ylHii hi uiy back-parlour for tHe anuisemcnt of my guests, UN" the twa boards torn air.' ^

( I'KO upland nun a scnuuu,

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY • xxix

town that can tell him about the antiquities of the place, and specially about the auld abbey—ye wadna hae me tell the gentleman a lee 1 and yc ken wccl eueugli there is naebody • in the town can say a reasonable word about it, be it no your- . sell, "except, the bedral, and he is as fou as a piper by this time. So, says I, " There's Captain Clutterbuck, that's a very civil gentleman, and has little to do forbye telling a' the auld sracks about the abbey, and dwells just hard bj ' ." Then says the gentleman to me, " Sir," says he, very civilly, " have the goodness to step to Captixiu Clutterbuck with my compliments, and say I am a stranger, who have been led to these parts chiefly°by the fame of these ruins, and that I would call upon him, but the hour is late." An4 miur he said that I have for­gotten, but I wccl reificmbcr it ended, "And, landlord, get a bottle of yoiu- Vest sheriy, and supper for two." Ye wadna have had me refuse to do the gentleman's bidding, and mo a publican 1' »

'Well, David,' said 1, ' I wish your virtuoso had taken a fitter hour; but as you say ho is a gentleman '

' I'se uphaud him tha t : the oi-der speaks for itsell—a bottle of sheriy, ininched collops and a fowl—that's speaking like a gentleman, I trow 1 Tliat's right. Captain, button weel up, the night's i-aw ; but the water's clearing for a' t ha t ; we'll be on't neist night wi' my lord's boats, and we'll hae ill luck if I dinna send you a kipper to relish your ale at e'en.' *

In five niinutes after this dialogue I found myself in the parlour of the George, and in the presence of the stranger.

/ He wiis a grave pei-sonage, about my own age (which we ' shall call about fifty), a^d really had, as tay friend David

expressed it, something in his face that inclined men to oblige and to serve him. Yet this expression of authoritj ' was not at all of the cast which 1 have seen in the couutenance of a' general of brigade, neither was the stranger's dress at all martial. I t consisted of a imiform suit of h'on-grcy clothes, cut in rather an old-fashioned form. His legSoWerc defended with strong leatliern gambadoes, which, accc--ding to an antiquarian •contrivance, opened at the sides, and were secured by steel clasps. His countenance was worn as much by toU and sorrow-as bj' age, for it intimated that he had seen and endured muuh. His address was singularly pleasing and gentlemanlike, and the

' The nobleman wliosc Iwats nre mentioned in tlie text is tlio lat.; kind and amiable I.on] Sommervillo, an inlimato friend of the Author. David lirVlo was a constant ami privileged attendant when Lord SommerviUe had a partv for spearing Mlmon; on auih occasions, eighty or a hundred llsh were often killed betwcou Glcnicau and Leadorfoot.

xxxWi WAVERLEY NOVELS

of night, or accept of invitations from people of whom I know nothing.'

David swore a round oath, and added, 'Was ever the like licard of 1 He has ordered a fowl and egg sauce, a pancake and minched collops, and a bottle of sherry.. D'ye think I wad come and ask you to go to keep company with ony bit Euglisii rider, that sups on toasted cheese and a cheerer of rum-toddj-1 This is a gentleman every inch of him, and a virtuoso, a clean virtuoso—a sad-coloured stand of claitiies, and a wig like the curled back ofa mug ewe. The very fir.st question ho speercd was about the auld drawbrig that has been at the biittom of the water these twal score ycai-s: I liave seen the fiirdations wlien wo were sticking saumon. And how the deevil suld he ken ony thiug about the aiild drawbrig unless he were a virtuoso r *

David being a virtuoso in liis own way, and moreover a landholder and heritor, wps a qualified judge of all who fre­quented his house, and tiicrefore I could not avoid again tyiii" the strings of my knees. °

'That's riglit, Captoin,' vociferated David : 'you twa will be as thick as three in a bed an uucc ye forgather. I haena seen the like o him my very sell since I saw the great Doctor Samuel Johnson on hm tower through Scotland, whilk tower IS ying 1,1 my back-parlour for the amusement ^f uiy cuests wi' the twa boai-ds torn aff.' •> b^esto,

' Then the gentleman is a scholar, David 1' T s e iiphaud him a scholar,' answered David- 'he has a

black coat on, or a brown ane, at ony rate.' ' Is he a clergymau V. ' ^ •

• ' I am thinking no, for he looked after hl« k^ . before ho spoke o' his ain,' replied mine host - *'''P^""'

' Has he a servant t' demanded I. ' Nae servant,' answered David ; ' b„t a o-,. i c

Ills ain, that wad gar ony body be willing f ' ' '"^ ''"^ ° looks upon him.' - ^ ^ e wiUmg to serve him that

'And what makfes him think of disturbino' tliis has been .some of your chattering- 5 " ' Ah, David, bringing your guests on my shoulders, as 'if !?"«•'" * perpetually to entertain every man w-ho comes to the f" ° "^ ' ' ' •"' * "

' What the dcil wad ye hac me do, f lantafn r "'' host; ' a gentleman lights down, and asks mpi,, "" ''"' '•^•d n>i» ' manner what nian of sense and lcan,i„„ t l i ' • "• -""" ''' ' ' ' ' ' '"°'*'''

« There is more to Uwidt tboat this oW bridge iicr^f, ' ° '^ a b o u t o u r '«••• Sw Note 4, ,,. svo.

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY . xxix

town tliat can tell him about the antiquities of the place, and specially about the auld abbey—ye wadna hae me tell the gentleman a leef and ye ken \vecl eueugh there is naebody • in the town can say a reasonable word about it, bo it no your-sell, excejit. the bedral, and he is as foil as a piper by this time. So, says I, " There's Captain Cluttcrbuck, that's a yery civil gentleman, and has little to do forbyc telling a' the auld sracks about the abbey, and dwells just hard by." Then says the gentleman to me, " Sir," says he, very ciA-illy, " have the goodness to stop to Captain Clutterbuck -with my compliments, and say I am a stranger, who have been led to these parts cliiefly»by the fame of these ruins, and that I would aill upon him, but the hour is late." Au4 mnir he .said that I have for­gotten, but I weel reiriember it ended, "And, landlord, get a bottle of your Ifest sherry, and supper for two." Ye wadna have had mo refuse to do tlio gentleman's bidding, and me a publican ?' o

'Well, David,' said I, ' I wish j-our virtuoso had taken a litter liour; but as you say ho is a gcut'.eman '

' I'se uphaud him tha t : the order speaks for it.sell—a bottle of sherry, minched collops and a fowl—that's speaking like a gentleman, I trow 1 That's right. Captain, button wool up, the night's raw ; but the water's clearing for a' tha t ; we'll bo on't ueist night wi' my lord's boats, and we'll hae ill luck if I dinna send you a kipper to relish your ale at e'en.' *

In five iiiinutes after this dialogue I found myself in the jiarlour of the George, and in the presence of the stranger.

' He was a grave personage, about my own ago (which wc shall call about fifty), a^id really had, as toy friond Dayid expressed it, .something in his face that inclined men to oblige and to serve" him. Yet this expression of authority was not at all of the cast which I have scon iu tho countenance of a general of brigade, neithci- was the stranger's dress at all martial. I t consisted of a uniform suit of iron-gi-ey clothes, cut in rather an old-fashioned form. His lcgSc>were defended with strong leathern gambadoes, which, accc-ding to an antiquarian •contrivance, opened at the sides, and were secured by steel cla.sps. His countenance was worn as much by toil and sorrow as by age, for it intimated that he had seen and endured mucli. Ilis address was singularly pleasing and gentlemanlike, and the

"The noblonmii whoso tads nre mentioned in tlio text is llio Int.: kind nnd aniiaWc i.oril Soinmcrvillo, nn intiin.ito friend of tho Antlior. David Ivyle was a constant nnd pnvilcgtd nttendaut wlicn Lord SoniniprvUle had a larty for spcarirg salmon; on such occasions, eighty or a hundred Ush were ofton killed betweeu Glcmcsu and Leadcrfoot.

^^ ' ^ WAVERLEY NOVELS

apology which he made for disturbing me at such an hour and m such a manner, was so well and handsomely expressed tha L ^ ^ S e ^ t ^ Y r ™ ^ ' ^ ^ ^ ' by declaring J y A ^ L t S

whid. I feel rather more appet^i :d\ \a7us 'u 1 ' ' ' " ^'^•^^^"•'''"'•

a l l eTera rpe't-^^ S t S N ^ l ^ ^ S ^ ^ ^ ^ ' ^ ' ^ ^ " *^^ ^^ -"^ - ' ' ^ and^le wLlch I had al e a d ^ U a b S T I I T T T "'.''''r the two did the greater hn, ^ 7 T ' I '^*"^' Relievo that I of minced collops. ^ "" ' ' " ' *° "^^ ^"' '"^ ^^^- i ' s fowl and

t u I l t ^ f ' S e i V i r C : ' ' T \ r ''^'^ - ° ^ - - d e a g n e s t s c a l l L i S : i p ^ t t S £ t T K ? ° ' * ' " ' ' " ^'^'^"•^-«1 silent, and somewkf e X l S t f^^^r-f '"^ '^^ P^^^ i ' ' communicate which he kn "v u S \ v e l l how to T^'^'''^ *" pave the way for him I snok^ nf fi *° ^^t^'^duce. To monastery, and of t S h i s t S T .* ! ' ' ' ' " ' " * ™"^« °f the found I hid met m X t c W t'h a ? i e t % f " " * '"^T'"^^' ^ only knew aU that I ecu d tell l^r^Tf ^ ' ' ° stranger not and, what was still more L S J y i t he was f b l ^ \ ^ ' ' ^ ° ^ ° ^ - ° ' to dates, charters, and other S e n c e of T ^ c t s t L ^ « T ^ ' ' " ' ' saj-. 'downa bo disputed.' to cozn-ect many of V e t ^ ^ ^ which I had adopted on loose and Tulga/tradition ^ ^?''''* to confute more than one of my favouritl t l i e S on 'thf ^f '' of the old monks and their dwellings, whioh T V i '"' J*^^* freely in all the presumption of superior nf • '"'Ported liere I cannot but remark that muci of th f™^*'°"- -^nd ments and inductions rested upon the -infi, x^ '^"Ser's argu-Kegisterof Scotland* and his lucubratiom ^ ^ '°^ ^ '- ^^eputy mdefatigable research into the national repn,.! ^'^"^''^mau whoso my trade, and that of all local ant iqua- l? '^ ' ' ' ' * '*° destroy truth mstead of legend and romance. I C ' T °y substituting gentleman did but know how difficult if i. T^'^d the learned petty Avares of antiquity, to '^ ror ug dealers in

Pluck from our memories a iv,„f i Raze out tlve written recorch or ' ' g»n<V Or cleanse our bosoms of t n t [ '!r ''"in,

mat perilono J.„. ^ perilous sti(r_ - I'oiiious stu(r__ md so forth. I t would, I am sure, move h" •

• Thomas Thomson,'Esq. wUos6well.desen.„,, ' "^^ 0 t h ink how - - r page than one flnlt«=i by an intimate frte^ ftT>P'^'<^ ouRht .„ .

"'"'^>-^«Si'.f^„5?,^<.ndonan.

other page

INTEODTJOTION TO THE MONASTERY sxxi

many old dogs he hath set to learn new tricks, how inauy venerable parrots he hath taught to sing a new song, how many grey heads he hath addled by vain attempts to exchange their old mumpsirmts for his new sumj^simns. But let it pass. . Iliinui/ia jierpessi simivs. All changes round us, past, present, and to come : that which was histoi-y yesterday becomes table to­day,' and the truth of to-day is hatched into a lie by to-moiTOW. . Finding myself likp to be overpowered in the monasterj', which I had hitherto regarded as my citadel, I began, like a skilful general, to evacuate tliat place of defence, and figlit my-way through the adjacent country. I had recoiu-se to my acquaifltance with the families and antiquities of the neighbour­hood, ground on which I thougiit I might skirmish at large without its being posirtblc for the stranger to meet me with advantage. But"! was mistaken.

The man in the u-on-gi-ey suit showed a much more minute knowledge of these particulars than^I had the least pretension to. He could tell the very year in which the family of De Haga first settled on their ancient baronj-.*,, Not a thane within reach but he knew his family and connexions—how many of his ancestors had. fallen by the sword of the English, how many in domestic brawJ, and how many by the hand of the executioner for march-treason. " Their castles he was acquainted with from tvuret to foimdatioii-stone'^j and as for the miscellaneous antiquities scattered about the coimtrj', he knew every one of them, from a cromlech to a caim, and could give as good an account of each as if ho had lived in the time of the Danes or Druids.

I was now in the mortif mng predicament of one -who suddenly finds himself a scholar when he came to teach, and nothing was left for mo but to pick up as much of his conversation as I could, tor tlie benefit of the next companj'. I told, indeed, Allan Eamsiiy's story of the 2Ion/c and Mille7-^s Wife, in order to retreat with some honour 'under cover of a parting volley. Here, however, my flank was again turned by the eternal stranger.

'You are pleased to be facetious, sir,' said h e ; ' bu t you cannot be ignorant that the ludicrous incident you mentioned is the subject of a tale much older than that of Allan Ramsay.'

I nodded, unwilling to acknowledge my ignorance, though, * 'Die family of Do Uaga, modernised into Haig, of Bemcrs'ide i.-. of tlie liiglitst

RUtiquity, and is the subject of one of the propliecies of Thomab the Eh>iucr : Betide, hetide, whnto'er 'belido, Ilaig shall be JIaig of Benierside.

x x x i i WAVERLKY NOVELS

in fact, 1 knew no more what he meant than did one of my friend David's post-hoi-ses. • < t

' I do not allude,' continued my omniscient companion, to the curious poem published by Pinkertou from the Maitland Manuscript, called the Fryars of Berwick, altliongh it presents •i very minute and amusing picture of Scottish manncra during the re i^ i of James V. ; but rather to the Italian novelist, by whom °so far as I know, the story was first printed, although unquestionably he fii-st took his origmal from some ancient

'Tt ' is not to be doubted,' answered" I, not very well under­standing, however, the proposition to which I gave sucli un­qualified assent. • , ,• 1

' Ye t ' continued my companion, ' I question much, had you known my situation and profession, whether you would have pitched upon this precise anecdote for my amusement."

This observation he made in a tone of perfect good-humour. I pricked up my ears at the hint, and answered as politely as 1 coidd that my ignorance of his condition and rank could be the only cause of my having stumbled on anytliing disagreeable ; and that I was most willing to apologise for my .unintentional ofTenco so soon as 1 should-know wherein it consisted.

' Nay, no oficnce, sir,' he replied ; ' ofTcnce can only exist where it is taken. I have been too long accustomed to more severe and cruel misconstructions to be offended at a popular jest, though directed at my profession.'

' 'AIU I to uuderstimd, then,' 1 answered, ' that I am speaking with a Catholic clergj-man 1'

' An unworthy monk uf the ordc-i of St. Benedict,' said the stranger, ' belonging to a community of your own countrymen, long esUiblished in France, and scattered unhappily by the events of the Kcvolution.'

"I'hen,' said 1, 'you are a native Scotchman, and from this neiglibourhoodr

'Not so,' answered the monk; ' I am a Scotchman bv ex­traction only, and ncvf" was m tins neighbourhood during niy whole life.' • vi i i

• Never in this neighbourhood and yet so minutely ac­quainted with Its histoi-y, Its traditions, and even its external scenery! You surprise mo, sir," I replied. i-.\ieniai

^S^cr^iv^/uaaifod t r . s aUo tUe subject or tUo n.o.e„ fc^^ ' ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

INTRODUCTION TO THE ^lONASTERY xxxin

' I t is Jiot su'i-prising,' ho said, ' that I should have that sort of local information, when it is considered that my uncle, an excellent man, as well as a good Scotchman, the head also of our religious community, employed mvich of his leisure in makkig me acquainted with these particulars; and that 1 • myself, disgusted w'ith what has been passing ai-ound me, have for many years amused myself by digesting and ammging the various scraps of information which I derived from my worthy Relative and other aged brethren of our order.'

' I presume, sir,' said I, ' though I would by no means intrude, the question, that you are now returned to Scotland with a„viow_ to settle amongst your countrymen, since the great political catastrophe of our time has reduced yoiu' corps ?'

' No, sir,' replied tli;p Benedictine, ' such is not my intention. A European potentate, who still cherishes the Catholic faith, has ofTered us a retreat within liis dominions, where a few of my scattered brctliren are already assembled, to jji-ay to God for blessings on their protector and pardon to tlieir enemies. No one, I believe, will be able to object to us under oui- new establishment, that the extent of our i'evenues will be incon­sistent with our vows of poverty and abstinence ; but let us strive to be" thankful to God that the snare of temporal abundance is removed fi'om us.'

' Many of your conventp abroad, sir,' said I, ' enjoyed very handsome incomes; and yet, allowing for times, I question if any were batter provided for than tlie monastery of this \-illatTe. I t is said to have possessed nearly two thousiu-.d pounds °in yearly money-rent, fourteen chalders and nine bolls of wheat fifty-six chaldere five bolls barley, forty-four chalders and tei'i bolls oats, capons and 'poultry, butter, salt, carriage und aniage, pcatsand kain, wool and ale.'

'Even too much of all these temporal goods, sir,' said my companion, ' which, though vsell intended by the pious donors served only to make the establishment the envy and the prej' of those by whom it was finally devoured.'

' In the meanwhile, however,' I obser\'ed, ' the monks had an easy life of it, and, as the old song goes—

Made glide kale On Fridays when tliey fasted.'

' I understand you, sir,' said the Benedictine. ' " I t is diffi­cult," saith the proverb, " t o carry a full cup without spilling." Unquestionably the wealth of the community', "as it endangered

xxxvi WAVERLEY NOVELS

there not in the side wall of the chapel or recess which yo\i mention a large carved stone, bearing a coat of arms, which no one hitherto has been able to decipher?'

' You are right,' answered the Benedictine ; and agam con­sulting his memoranda, he added, ' the arms on the dextey side are those of Glendinning, being a cross parted by a cross in­dented and countercharged of the same; and on the sinister three spur-rowels for those of Avenel; they are two ancient families, now almost extinct in tliis country—the arms party ;je»- ^Ja^e.'

' I think,' said I, ' there is no part of this ancient strvicture with which' you ai-e not as well acquainted as was tlic mason who b\ult it. But if your information be correct, he who made out these bearings must have had better eyes thau mine.'

' His eves,' said the Bencd'ctme, ' liave long been closed in death • probably when he inspected the monumei)t it was in a more perfect state, or he may have derived his information from the tradition of the place.'

' I assure you,' said I, ' tha t no such tradition now exists. I have made several reconnoissances among the old people, in hopes to learn something of the armorial bearings, but I never heard of such a circumstance. I t seems odd that you should have acquired it hi a foreign land.'

' These trifling particulars,' he replied, 'were foi-mcrly looked upon as more important, and they were sanctified to the exiles who retained recollection of them because they related to a place dear indeed to memor3^ but which their eyes could never ao-ain behold. I t is possible, in like manner, that on the Potomac or Susquehannah you may find traditions current concerning places iu England which are utterly forgotten in tha neighbourhood where they originated. But to my pui-pose. In this recess, marked by the armorial bearings, lies buried a treasure, and it is in_ order to remove it that I have undei-takon my present journey.

' A treasure !' echoed I, in astonishment. 'Yes,' replied the monk, 'an inestimable treasure, for those

who know how to Mse it rightly.' I own my ears did^tingle a little at the word treasure, and

ti,at a handsome tilbmy, with a neat groom in blue and scarlet livery, haying a smart cockade on his glazed hat seemed as it were to glide across the room before^ny eyes S a voice, as of a cr.cr, pronounced ,n my ear, x L S c i u t t e > -buek's t i l bu ry -d r ive up.' But I resisted tlie S , and be fled from me. • ^

TNTKODUCTIOX TO THE MONASTERY xxxvu

'1 believe,' said I, 'all hidden treasure belongs either to the Icing or the lord of the soil; and as I have served his Majesty, I cannot concern myself in any advcntm-e which may have an end in the (.'ourt of Exchequer.'

' T-iie treasure I seek,' said the stranger, smiling, ' will not . be envied, by princes or nobles: it is simply the heart of an upright man.'

' Ah ! I understand you,' I answered ; '• some relic, forgotten ill the confusion of the-Keformation. 1 know the value which men of your pei-suasiou put upon the bodies and limbs of saints. I have seen the Three Kings of Cologne.'

'The relics which I seek, however,' said the Benedictine, 'arc not precisely of that nature. The excellent relative whom I have- already mentioned aniftsed his leisure ho\n-s with putting into- fori),! the traditions of his family, particularly •some remarkable circumstances which took place about the first breaking out of the schism of the church in Scotland, l ie became so nmch interested in his o\\n laboiu's that at length he resolved that the heart of one individual, the hero of his tale, should rest no longer in a land of heresy, now deserted by all his kindred. As he knew where it was deposited, ho formed the resolution" to visit his native coimtrj' for the purpose of recovering this valued relic. But age, and at length disease, interfered with his resolution, and it was on his deathbed that he charged me to undertake the task in his stead. The vario\is important events which have crowded upon each othei-, oiu-ruin and our exile, have for many ycai-s obliged me to post­pone this delegated duty. Whj-, indeed, transfer the relics of a holy and worthy man to a country where religion and virtue are become the mockery of the scorncr? 1 have now a home which I trust may be pei-mancut, if anything in this earth can be termed so. Thither will I transport the iieart of the good father, and beside the shrivko which it sliall occupy I will construct my own gmve.'

' He must, indeed, have been an excellent man,' replied 1, 'whose memory, at so distant a period, calb forth such strouL' marks of. regard.' , "

'He was, as you justly term him,' said the ecclesiastic, 'indeed excellent—excellent in his life and doctrine, excellent, above all, in his self-denied and disinterested sacrifice of all that life holds dear to principle and to friendship. Rut you •shall read liis history. I shall be happy at once to gratify your curiosity and to show my sense of yoiir laudncss, if you

xxxviii WAVKRI.KY NOVELS

will have the gooducss to procure me the means of -accomplish­ing my object.'

I replied to the Benedictine that, as the nibbish amongst •wbich he proposed to search was no part of the ordinary' biunal-ground, and as I was on the best terms with the sextout I had little doubt that I could procure him the meaus-of^ executing his pious purpose.

With this promise we parted for the night ; and on the ensuing morning I made it mj' busuiess to see the sextou, who, for a small gratuity, readily gnuited permission of search, on condition, however, that lie should be present himself, to sec that the stranger i-emoved nothing of intrinsic value.

' To banes, and skulls, and hearts, if he can' find ouy, he shall be welcome,' said this guardian of the ruined monastery, ' there's plenty a' about, an he's curious of yiem.; but if there be ony picts (meaning perhaps pyx), or chnlishes, or the like of such Popish veshells of gold and silver, deil hae me an I con-neeve at their being rcmftvcd.'

The sexton also stipulated that o>ir researches should take place at night, being unwilling to excite observation or give rise to scandal.

My new acqviaintancc and I spent the day as became lovers of hoar antiquity. AVo visited every corner of these magni­ficent ruins again and again duvi))g the forenoon; and, having made a comfortable dinner at David's, we walked in the after­noon to such places in the nciglibourhood as ancient' tradition or modern conjecture had rendered markworthy. Night found us in the interior of the ruins, attended by tlie sexton who carried a dark lantern, and stumbling alternately over tlie graves of the dead im(\ the fragUients of that arcliitecture ' which they doubtless trusted would have canopied their bones till doomsday.'

I am by no means particularly superatitious, and vet there was that in the present service which 1 did not verv mi 1 r t There was something awful in the resolution of r lL , i • i-such an hour, and-iu such a place, the s t S and . t^ t " ° ; - : of the grave. .My co,:,panions were free f 1 this i r r " " " ' tbe stranger from his energetic desire to "ee t V T ' ' ' ° " ' ' for wliieh he came, and the sexton from Inblf, i ."\^. P"''?'^'^'' AVe soon stood in the aisle which, by tho TnT I '"'^'flerencc. dietine, contained the bones of the fum Iv „fTl v ' l ^ ' ^"^^ ' were busily employed in removing the n,l .7^"<i'n»>n& a»d which the stranger pointed out. If „ u\t i^'°"^ ^ •=<'™"'

a iialf-pay Captain could

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY xxxix

have represented"ail ancient Boixler knight, or an ex-Benedictine of the nineteenth century a wizard monk of the sixteenth,^ we might have aptly enough personified the search after Michael •>cott's lamp and book of magic power. But the sexton woidd have teen de irop in the group.*

Ere the .stranger,' assisted by the sexton in his task, had been long at work, they came to some hewn stones, which seemed to have made ])aVt of a small shrine, though now dis-Pkiced and destroyed. .

'Le t us remove these with caution, my friend,' said the stranger,. • lest we injure that whicli I come to seek.'

Ihev are prime staues,' said tlie sexton, 'picked free every aiie of them :* warse than the best wad never serve the monks, 1 se warrant.' « ^ A niinntc -aftei; he had made this observation, he exclauned,

liae fund something now that stands again' the .spade, as if ^ l re neither earth nor stanc.'

I he stranger stooped eagerly to as?iist him. ^^^ 'j''% liaill o' my ain,'said the se.xton :, 'nae halves or

^ javters ' ; and he lifted from amongst tli\3 ruins a small leaden

'if • " ^ '' ^'^ disappointed, my friend,' said the Benedictine, ],^^^°'^ ' -' pect anytjiing there "but the mouldering dust of a

ail heart, closed in an imier case of porphyry.' sext " '"t'°-''°^^ "** ' neutral ])arty, and talcing'tlie box from the it sni ' .''®'"''J<^cd him tliat, if there were treasure concealed in pron 'i* "" " ^ "°*^ become the property of the finder. I then tenbT^f '•^'at, as the place was too daVk to examine the con-\ve ji •", ^^^ leaden casket, wo should adjourn to David's, where on "'f.'*- ''»\'c the advantfigc of light and fire while carryifig =issuri' ,'"''^'^''«'^'^'o"- 'J'lie stranger requested us to go before,

I "g us that he would follow in a few minutes. mi„hf i"' - ' *''"*^ Old Mattocl&s suspected these few minutes tombs f °'"P'o.V«l in oftccting further discoveries amongst the Bei,e,i' . . '• ' glided back through a side-aisle to watch the ^hisi, f ' motion.s, but presently returned, and told me hi a caulH J ' '*"'^* ' '^'I'c gentleman was on l i is knees amaug tlie

stnnes, praying like ony siiuut.'

! ' .^^ ' ' t l ' a t H,'.° ^^„"'!'™ l™-"™!.-' "hich .nu.l now read r'Y'l'^l'if«lVll7^^

tWn "='''' "gainst ^ ^ w " ".'•"'"'' "•••'••' '•"»'». tl"> A""'"^ ^ ^ '^°."f'',l".f t^frc " i s ismc-&n"J ^•'=rn"vst«^.^ ' •"''' ^" ""•"' "" "Wi'ncnt, oft«n repeated, t^"'tj^^^.'^ff I? ' ' j fro; ".""O-- S c w r ' " , " ' " •^""""- "f 'l-""crley-s i-cserv,- conremiDg Sir « a l t « ^ o t ^ ''«'» thi, S ' " ? yom.uinous at l-aat. I Imd a prciit inina t ^ -^ ' f ^Th^ l

•uitioii, but the more candid way Ls to ctpbiu liQW O^oy came there.

.viuua be amiss to keep an e^ on bun. J ^ ^ ^ ^ , ^ ^ ,,, ; r a horse-eouper, and «<^ f ^ ^ ^ Whig frae Kilp.amock

tl>T.t said a giace u"^ ' , " i l l be a Roman, I'se ^^'i^^'J ' , , t Saundei^s,' said I. ^ " . You are perfectly xngh tmt lu t , ^J^^^^^, '^^^^,, t h , t .-ere

' Av, 1 li^^e seen txsa oi tmeo , ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

. ehase lWer bore -xne - o r e ^ C ^ . S heads Ind t i . uuns^ like mad ^ •hen they looked on tn ^^ ^^^^^ , ^^ L a d s in the « r yo de • thej ^^^ . .

U m, but a n e V - ^ ' ' l S 7 : ; ^ Z X ^ I t . a d hae been to k e n - a n d that ^v-^ '^^J^^"J ^^ the abbey in a t uek mght, lang ere ye fand ^'^''^^f^'^^ jock likit a kirk ^vl' a chmi ey 'vi-hia knees on a caukl Btaue.^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ., ^ . ^ ^ ^ . ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ,^,,

;,,'t Mouy a merry p i o > ' ,i'„f.,.iitlv I wad hao carded him; vonder; and ^vhen ho c ^ cd ^ - g j f , „ , , , , j the quality, that bat , or I gat h.s S>^; ; "^persuasion, had the corpse Avhm-ied ,,.ere o' his ain " " f ' ^ ' l i fanned hita after their am pleasure, a'..-ay up t ^ t r kciin'd best. I wad hae made ne.e great charge. donbtless--thej^kmii^ jolmnio, dead or alive. Stay, s e c - t h c

Itninge g e » * ^ T ' ' \ \ . i ' r t o ' S s t him. Mattocks,' said I. 'This 'Hold the lantun_

is rough Wivlk|ng,su. ^^^^^^ . . ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ . ^ ^ ^^^^ ^ . ^

' '' Tl, ''" f-miiliar tft vou ' is 'lo"''p^^'"jj\,g sui-prised if he were,' thought 1 uitemally.

TheXanger 'cont inued: ' Saint Fviiucis bo my speed ! liow oft to-niglit Have roy old feet stumbled at gi-aves !'

ye no V deal" of the churchyard,' said I, ' and have but

TNTRODUCTIOK TO THE MONASTERY xU

a short walk to David's, where I hope we shall find a cheerful ^v fire to enliven us after our night's work.' f

^Yc entered, accordingly, the little parlour, into which Mat- Y'' ^ ^ tocks was also about to push himself with sufficient ejTrpirteryv when'David, with a. most astoimding oath, expelled liim by head and 'shoulders, d—niug liis curiosity, that would not let gentlemen be private m their own inn. Apparently mine host considered his' own presence as no intmsiou, for he crowded up to the tJible on which Thad laid down the leaden box. I t was fi-ail and wasted, a.s might be gue.s.scd, from having lain so many years in the gi'ound. On opening it, we found deposited within a case made of porphp-y, as the stranger had aimounced to us.

' I fancy,' he said, 'gentlemen, your cui-iosity will not be satisfied—perhaps I should say that yo\u- siispieion.s will not be I'enioved —unless I undo this casket; j-et it only contains the mouldering remains of a heart, once the scat of the noblest thoughts.'

He undid the box with great caution; but the shrivelled substance which it contained bore now no resemblance to ^vbat it might oucc have been, the means used liaving been appar­ently unequal Jo preserve its shape and colour, although they were adequate to prevent its total decay. M'c were quite satis­fied, notwithstanding, that it was what the stranger asserted, the remains of a human heart ; and David readily px-omised his influence in the viUage, wliich was almost co-oi-dinate with that of the builie himself, to silence all idle i-umoui's. He was, moreover, pleased to favour us with his company to supper; and having taken the lion's share of two bottles of sheriy, he not only sjinctioned with" his-^ plenary authority the stranger's removal of the heart, but, I believe, would have authorised tlie removal of the abbey itself, were it not that it happens con­siderably to advantage the woi-thy publican's own custom.

Tlie object of the Beuedictiue's visit to the land of his fore­fathers being now accomplished, he aiuiounccd his uitentiou of leaving us early in the ensuing day, but requested my company to breakfast with him before his departure, t came accordingly-, and when.we had finished om- morning's meal, the prie.st took me apart, and, pulling from his pocket a large b\mdlc of papers, he put them into my hands. ' These,' said he, ' Captain Clutter-buck, arc genuine memoirs of the si-Kteeuth century, and exhibit in a singidar, and, as I think, an interesting, point of view the maimers of that period. I am induced to believe that their publication will not be an unacceptable present to the British

xlii WAVKRLEY KOVELS

public; and I willingly make over to you any profit that may accnie from such a transaction.'

I stared a little at this annunciation, and obsel•^'ed, that the hand seemed too modem for the date he assigned to the nianu-seript. .

'Do not mistake me, sir,' said the Benedictine; ' I did not mean to say the memoirs were written in the sixteenth century, but only that they were compiled froni authentic matoriala pf that period, but written in tlie taste and'language of the present daj'. ' ^[y uncle commeuced this book ; and I, partly to improve my habit of English composition, partly to divert mdlanclioly thoughts, amused my leis\ire honi-s with continuing and con­cluding it. You will see tlip period of the story where my uncle leaves oft' his narrative and I coiumcnce mine. In fact, they relate iu a great measure to diftcretit Jjcrsons, as well a.s to a difl'erent period.

Retaining the papers MI my hand, I proceeded to stiite to him my doubts whether, as a good Protestant, 1 could under­take or superintend a publication written probably iu the spirit of Popery.

' You will find,' he said, ' no matter of controversy in these sheets, iior any sentiments stated with which, I trust, the good in all pereuasions will not be willing to join. I remembered 1 was wi-iting for a laud unhappily divided from tlio Catholic faith; and I have taken care to say nothing which, justlv interpreted, could give gi-ound for accusing me of partiality. But if, upon collating my nan-ative with the proofs to which I refer you—for you will find copies of many of the original paipcrs in that parcel—^you arc of opinion that I have been partial to my own faith, 1 freely give you leave to correct my errors in that respect. I own, however, 1 am not conscious of tills defect, and liave mtlier to fear that the Catholics may be of opinion that I have mcutioneu circumstances respectiiio- the decay of discipline which preceded, and partly occasioned^ the great seiusm, callej by you tlic Refomiation, over which! ought to have drawn a veil. . nd, indeed, this is one reason whj 1 choose the papere should appear m a hroicm h,„^ i *„ the press through the hands of a stmngcr^ ' '^ ^ '" ' '

To this I liad notliing to reply nnioc= f„ i ,. incompetency to the task the gocxi fa L ' w , ^^"'^ " T " - ' " pose upon me. On this subject he S s ' , 7 • ^ ^ ' l ' ' " • ' ' ' ' ' ^" '"V fear, than his knowledge of me fuHy ; „ , ? ' ' ' f f ^"^ ^>' "^°'"'^' ^ rate: than my mod^styl-ill V^JilJl^^^r'tT^^I^Z

INTRODUCTION TO Till': MONASTERY xliii.

ended with advising me, if I continued to feel the diffidence which I stated, to apply to some veteran of literature, whose experience might supply my deficiencies. Upon these terms we parted, with mutual expressions of regard, and I have never since'heai-d of him.

• After several attempts to peruse the quires of paper thus

singularly conferred on me, in which I was interrupted by the niost inexplicable fits of 7awnuig, 1 at length, in a sort of despair, coniinuiiiL'att'd tliuni to our village club, Iroui whom they found a more favoiu-ablo reception than the milucky conformatioa of my uerj-es had been able to afford them. They unanimously pronounced the work to be exceedingly good, and assured mc i would" be guilty of the greatest possible injury to our flourish­ing village if-1 shftuld suppress what throw such an interesting and radian.t light upon the historv of the ancient Jlonasterj' of St. Alary.

At length, by dint of listening to their opinion, I became dubious of my own; and, indeed, when I heaixl jjassages read forth by the sonorous voice of our wortliy pastor, I was scarce more tired than I have felt myself at some of his own sermons. Such and so great is the difference betwixt reading a thing one's self, making toilsome way through all the ditticulties of manuscript, and, as the men says in the play, ' liaving the same read to y o u ' : it is positively like being" wafted over a creek in a boat, or wading through it ou your feet, with the mud up to your knees. Still, however, there remained the gi-eat difficulty of finding some one who coidd act as editor, coiTector at once of the press and of the language, which, accordmg to the schoolmaster, was absolutely necessary.

Since the trees walked fortli to choose themselves a king, never was an honour so bandied about. The parson would not leave the quiet of his chimnBy-corner ; the bailie i)leaded the dignity of his situation, and the approach of tlie great annual fair, as reasons against gouig to Edinburgh to make an-ange-monts for printing the Benedictine's Manuscript. The school-inastor alone socmed of malleable stuff; and, desirous perhaps of emulating the fame of Jedediah Cleishbotham, evinced a wish to undertake this momentous commission. But a rcmoiistrauce from three opulent farmers, whose sons he had at bed, boai-d, fuid schooling for twenty pounds per amumi a-head, came like a frost over the blossoms of his literary ambition, and he was compelled to decline the service.

xliv WAVERIiEY NOVELS

In these circvn^istanccs, sir, I a])ply to you, by the advice of CUV little council of war, nothing doubting yon will not be dis­inclined to take the duty iipon you, as it is mncii connected with tha t in which you have distinguished yoiu-self. Wliat 1

. request is, that you will review, or rather revise and correct, the inclosed packet, and prepare it for the press, by such altera­tions, additions, and curtailments as you think necessary. Forgive my hinting to j-ou that the deepest well may be ex­hausted, the best corps of grenadiers,-as our old general tif brigade expressed himself, may bo used up. A few hints can do you no harm; and, for the prize-money, let the battle be first won, and it shall be parted at the drum-head. _ i hnpc you will take nothing amiss that I have said. I am a plain soldier, and little accustomed to coiiiplimeuts, 1 may add, that 1 should be well contested to mai-ch iu the front with you—that is, to put my name with yours on the title-page.

I have the honour to be.

Sir,

Your uuknowu humble Servant,

CUTHBERT CLDUTEUBUOK.

VILLAGE OF KF.XXAQUH.^IK, of April 18— *

For the Avitlior or W^axcrlcy, etc., care of 111'. Joliii Ballautyiie, , Hanover Street, Ediiiburgli.

• A N S W E R

IIY

" THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY

•]'0 Tltli

" FOREGOING LETTER

i-noii

CAPTAIN CLUTTERBUCK

DEAU CAPTAIN'— Do not admire that, notwithstftuding the distance and

cereniouy of yoiu- address, I return au answer in the terms of familiarity. The truth is, your origin and native coinitrv are better known to me than even to youi-self. You derive \-our respectable parentage, if I am not greatly mistaken, from a land which has afforded much pleasure, as well as profit, to tliose who have traded to it successfully. 1 mean that part of tlie terra incognita which is called the province of Utopia. Us productions, though cens>ired by many (and some wlio use lea and tobacco without scruple) asidloand luisiibstautial luxuries, have nevertheless, like mauy other luxuries, a general acccjit-ation, and arc scci-ctly cnjoyal even by those AVIIO express tlio greatest scorn and dislike of them in public. The di-am-driuker is often the first to be shocked at the sraell_^of spirits; it is not unusual to hear old maiden ladies declaiiii against scandal; the private bookcases of some grave-seeming men would not brook decent eyes; aud mauy, I say not of the wise and learned, Init of those most anxious to scorn such, when the spring-lock of their library is drawn, their velvet cap pulled over their eai-s, tlieir feet insinuated into their turkey slippers, arc to bo found, '•'ere their retreats suddenly intruded upon, busily engaged with

the last new novel.

^yl WAVERLEY NOVELS

I have said, the truly wise and learned disdain these shifts and will open the said novel as avowedly as they wonld the he of their smff-bo.. I will only quote one mstance hough know a hundred. Did yon know the celebrated A\'att of Bu.-min.^ham, Captain Clutterbuck? I believe not, though, f rom Ivhat I am about to state, he would not have failed to have sought an acquaintance Nvith you. I t was only once my iortuno to meet him, whether in body or in spirit it matters not. 1 here were assembled about half a score of our Northern Lights, who had amongst them, Heaven knows how, a well-kuown character of your country, Jedediah Cleishbotham. This worthy person, haviu"- come to Etlinburgh during the Christmas vacation, had become a sort of lion in the place, and was led in leash from house to house along with the guisards, the stone-eater, and other amusements of the season, which 'exhibit their unpar­alleled feats to private family parties, if required.' Amidst this company stood Mr. Watt, the man whose genius discovered the means of multiplying our national resources to a degree perhaps even beyond his own stupendous powei-s of calculation and combination—bringing the treasures of the abyss to the summit of the earth, giving the feeble arm of man the momentum of an Afrite, commanding manufactures to arise,' as the rod of the prophet produced water in the desert, affording the means of dispensing with that time and 'tide which wait for no man, and of sailing without that wind which defied the covnniands and threats of Xerxes himself.* This potent commander of the" elements, this abridger of time and space, this magician, whose cloudy machinery has produced a change on the world the effects of which, estraoi-dinary as they are, are perhaps only now beginning to be felt, was not only the most profound man of science, the most successful combiner of powers and calculator of numbers, as adapted to practical pui-poses, was not only one of the most generally well-inforre.ed, but one of the best and kindest of human beings.

There ho stood, surrounded by the little band I have men­tioned of Northern' literati, men not less tenacious, generally speaking, of tlicir own fame and their own opinions than the national regiments are supposed to be jealous of the high chai-acter Avhich they have won upon service. Mcthinks.T yet

* Protably the ingenious Autlior alludes to tlic natiouni ailnge : The king said iyiil, liut tlio wind said no.

ftnr sehoolmaster, -vho is also a land-5ur\eyor, thinks this wliole passage refers to Mi-rwalt's improvenicntton the steataningine.—-Vole by CirT.vis CLITTKRUCCK.

INTRODUCTION TO TIIK MONASTERY xlvii

SCO and hear what I shall never see or he&r again. In his eighty-fifth year, the alert, kind, benevolent old man had his attention alive to every one's question, his information a t eveiy onc'.s command.

ifis ttileiits and»fancy overflowed on ever^' subject. One" gentleman was a deep philologist—ho talked with liim on the origin of the alphabet as if he had been coeval with Cadmus; qnothcr a celebrated critic—you would have said the old man had studied political economy and belles-lettres all his life ; of science it is unnecessary to speak, it was his own distinguished walk. 'And yet, Captain Chittcrbuck, when ho spoke with j 'our counti'jnnan, Jedediali Cleishbotham, j^ou would have sworn he had been coeval with Claver'so and Burley, with the persecutoi-s and ])ersecnted, and cdiild number every shot the dragoons had fired at the fugitive C'ovcnantei"s. In fact, we discovei'ed that no novel of the least celebrity- escaped his perusal, and that the gifted man of science was as much s'.ddicted to the prodiictions of your native country (the land of Utopia aforesaid)—in other wo«ls, as shameless and obstinate a ])oruscr of novels as if he ' had been a very milliner's apprentice of eighteen. I know little apology for troubling j-ou Avith these things, excepting the desire to commemorate a deliglitful evening, and a wish to encourage you to shake oil' that modest difKdence which makes yon afraid of being supposed connected with the fairyland of "delusive fiction. I will requite your tag of verse from Horace himself, witli a paraphrase for your own use, my dear Captain, and for that of your comitry club, excepting in reverence the clergyman and schoolmaster:

A"c sil anciHic tihi amor pudori, etc.

Take tho\i no .scorn, Of fiction born,

Fair tictjon's muse to woo ; Old Horaer'.s theme "Was but a dicain,

Himself a fiction too.

Having told you your country, I must next, my dear Captain Cluttorbuck, make free to mention your own immediate descent. Yon" arc not to suppose youj- land of prodigies so little known to Us as the careful concealment of your origin would seem to iniply. But you have it in common with many of your coimtrj', studiously and anxiously to liide any connexion with it. There is this difference, indeed, betwixt your counaynieu and those of

xlviii WAVERLEY NOVELS

our more material world, that many of the most estimable of them', such as sm. old Highland gentleman called Ossian, a monk of Bristol called Rowley, and othei-s, are inclined to pass them­selves off as denizens of the land of reality, whereas most of our fellow-citizens who deny their comitry are such as that country would be very willing to disclaim. The especial circumstances you mention relating to your life and services impose not upon us. We know the versatility of the misubstantial species to which-you belong permits them to assume all manner of dis­guises : we have seen them apparelled in the caftan of a Persian, and the silken robe of a Chinese,* and are prepared to suspect their real character under every disguise. 13ut how cair we be io-norant of yom* country and mannera, or deceived by the eva.sion of its inhabitants, when the voyages of discovery! whicii have been made to it rival in number those reflbrded by Purchas or by Hackluytl Aiid to show the skill and perseverance of your navigators and tiuvel'ers, we have only to name Sindbad, Aboulfouaris, and Eobinsou Crusoe. These were the men for discoveries. Could wo have sent Captain Greenland to look out for the north-west passage, or Peter Wilkins to examine BafiSu's Bay,' what discoveries might we not have expected ! But there are feats, and these both numerous and extraordinary, performed by the inhabitants of your country, which we read without once attempting to emulate.

I wander from my purpose, which was to assure you, that I know you as well as the mother who did not betir you, for MacDuffs peculiarity sticks to your whole race. You are not bom of woman, unless, indeed, in that figurative sense in w^hich the^ celebrated Maria Edgeworth mi^', iu her state of single blessedness, bo termed mother of the finest family in England. You belong, sir, to the editors of the land of Uto'pia, a sort of persons for whom I have the highest esteem. How is it possible it should be othenvisc, when you "i-eckon among your corpora­tion the sage Cid Hamet Benengeli, the short-faced president of the Spectator's club^ poor Ben Silton, and many others, who have acted as gentlemeii-ushcrs to works which have cheered our heaviest, and added wings to our lightest, hours 1

What I have remarked as peculiar to editors of the class in wliich I venture to enrol you is the happy combinatiofi of fortuitous circumstances, which usually put you iu possession of the works which you have the goodness to bring into public

" See Thermlan LMers, aud The Citizen nflhc TKorW. • t SBO ies Voyat/es Imatiinaira.

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY xlix

notice. One walks on tlie sea-sliore, and a wave casts on land a small cylindrical trunk or casket, containing a manuscript much damaged with sea-water, which is with difliculty deci­phered, and so forth.* Another steps into a chandler's shop, to purchase a pound of butter, and behold ! the waste-paper on. which it js laid is tile manuscript of a cabalist.f A third is so fortunate as to obtain from a woman who lets lodguigs the curious contents of au antique bureau, the property of a deceased lodger. J Ail, these are certainly possible occuiTences; but, I know not how, they seldom occur to anj' editors save those of. your countr^ At least I can answer for myself, that in my solitai-y walks by the sea, I never saw it cast ashore any­thing but dulse and tangle, and now and then a deceased star­fish : my landlady never preseiited me with any manuscript save her curacd b^ll; and the most interesting of my discoveries in the way of waste-paper was finding a favourite passage of one of my own novels wrapt round au oiuice of snuff. No, Captain, the funds from which I have drawn my power of amusing the public have been bought othenvise than by fortui­tous adventure. I have buried myself in libraries, to extract from the nonsense of ancient da3\s new nonsense of my own. I have tm-ned over volumes which, from the pot-hooks I was obliged to decipher, might have been the cabalistic manuscripts of Cornelius Agrippa, although I never saw ' the door open and the devil come in.' § But all the domestic inhabitants of the libraries weve disturbed by the vehemeuoe of m^ studies :

From my research the boldest spider fled, And moths, retreating, trembled as I read.

From this learned sep--dchre I emerged, like the Magician in the Persian l^ales from his twelvemonth's residence in the momitain, not like him to soar over the heads of the multitude, but to mingle in the crowd, and to elbow amongst the throng, making my way from the higliest society to the lowest, under­going the scorn, or, what is harder to brook, the patronising condescension of the one, and enduring theyulgar familiarity of the other; and all, you will say, for wh-^t? To collect materials for one of those tiianuscripts with which mere chance so often accommodates your countrymen—in other words, to write a successful novel. ' 0, Athenians, how hard we labour to deserve your praise !'

' See the ntslnry of Avlomrithrs. t AilmiUires off Guinea. t Ailrenturei of nil Atom.

§ Seo Sontliey's PMlnd on Iht Young Mun vho raid in^a Coiijuror's Hooks.

1 WAVERI.KY NOVELS

I might stop here, my dear Clutterbuck; i't woidd have a touching effect, and the air of proper deference to our dear public. But 1 will not be false with you, though falsehood is —excuse the observation—the current coin of your coiuitrj';

. the truth is, I have studied and lived for the purposg of gigitify-iug my own curiosity, and passing my owfi t ime; •ai\d though the result has been that, iu one shape or other, I liave been frequently Ijcfore the public, perhaps more frequently than prudence wan-auted, yet I cannot claim from them the favour

' due to those who have dedicated their ease and leisure to the improvement and entertainment of othcra.

Having comminiicated thus freely with you, my dear Cai)-tain, it follows of coui-se that 1 will gratefully acC'ept of your communication, which, as yo'iir Benedictine observed, .divides • itself both by subject, manner, and age into two parts, i3ut I am sorry I cannot gmtify your literary amliition by sud'ering your name to appear upon the title-page; and I will candidly tell you the reason. ••

The editors of yoiu- country are of such a soft and passive disposition that they have fre(|ucntly done themselves great disgrace by giving up the coadjutora who first brought them into public notice and public favour, and suffering their names to be used by those quacks and impostors who live upon the ideas of others. Thus I shame to tell how the sage Cid Haraet Benengeli was induced by one Juan Avellaueda to play the Turk with the ingenious ^liguel Cervantes, and to pidilish a Second Part of the adventures of his hero, the renowned Don Quixote, without the knowledge or co-operation of his principal aforesaid. I t is true, the Arabian sage returned to his allegiance, and thereafter composed a genuine Continuation of the Knight of La Mancha, in which the said Avellaueda of Toixlesillas is severely chastised. For in this you pseudo-editors resemble the juggler's disciplined ape, to which a sly old Scotsman likened James 1.: ' If you have Jackoo in your hand you can make him bite me ; if 1 have Jackoo in my hand I can make him bite you.' Yet, notwithstiindii-g the amende honorable thus made by Cid Hamet Benengeli, his - temporary defection did not the less occasion the decease of the ingenious hidalgo Don Quixote, if he can be said to die whose memoiy is inmiortal. Cervantes put him to death lest he should again fall into bad hands. Awful yet just consequence of Cid Hamet's defection !

To quote a more modern and much less important instance. I am sorry to ob,serve my old acquaintance, Jedediah Cleish-

INTRODUCTION TO THE MONASTERY li

botham, has misbehaved liimself so far as to desert his original patron and set up for liimself. I am afraid the jjoor peda­gogue will make little by his new allies, unless the pleasure of cntcrfeiiuing the i)ublic, and, for aught I know, the geutlemeu of tlse long robe, with disputes about his identity.* Observe,, therefore;. Captain Cluttcrbuck, that, wise by these great ex­amples, I receive you as a partner, but a sleeping partner only. As I give you no title to employ or use the firm of the co-pnrtnen' we are about to form, I will announce my property in my title-page, and put my own mark on my own chattels, which the attorney tells me it will be a crime to counterfeit, as much gs it would to imitate the autograph of any other empiric —a crime amounting, as advertisements ui)on little vials assure Us, to nothing short of felony. " If, therefore, my dear friend, your name should hereafter appear in any title-page without mine, rcad.cra will know what to think of you. 1 scom to use either argvunents or threats ; but you cannot bvit be sensible that, as you owe your literary existence to me on the one hand, so, pii the otlier, your very all is at my disposal. I can lit pleasure cut oft' your annuity, strike your name from the half-pay establishment —nay, actually put you to death, with­out being answerable to any one. These are plain words to a gentleman who has served during the whole war; but I am awaro you will t«ke nothing'amiss at my liaiuks.

And now, my good sir, let lis address oiu-solves to our task, and arrange,as we best can the manuscript of your Benedictine, so as to suit the taste of this critical age. You will find I have made veiy liberal use of his permission to alter whatever seemed too favourable to the Church of Rome, which 1 abominate, were it but for her fasts and penances.

Our reader is doubtless impatient, and we must own witli .lohn Buuyan:

Wo luivo too long (letain'd liiin in tho ])orcli, And kept him from the sunshine with a torch.

Adieu, therefore, my dear Captain; remember me respectfully to

" I am since more corn'ctly informed tluit Mr. Cli^islibotlmm died some montliR since at Gau(Jcrclc«s;li, and Uiat Uio l»rson ass\uniiig his name is an impostor. QTio real Jedcdiah made a most Cliristian and cdifjing end ; and, as I urn credibly intonnwl liaving.sent for a Cameranian I'lergyman when he was in citrcmh, was so fortnnnte n» to convince the good man that, after all, lie had no wish to bring down on the scattered remnant of Mountain folks ' tho bonnets of Bonny Dundee.' Hani that tho speculators in in'int and jxaper will not allow a good man to rest quiet in his grave!

This note, and the passages in Iho text, wore oi^casionod by n London bookseller having printed, as a speculation, an additional collection of Talis 0/ tiij; Landlord which was not 80 fortiinate as to succeed in passing on the world af,genuine.

lii . WAVERLKY Is'OVELS

the pareon, the schoolmaster, and the bailie, and all friends of the happy club in the village of Kenuaquhair. I have never seen, and never shall see, ouc of their faces ; and, notwithstanding, I believe that as yet I am better acquainted with them tlian auy other man who lives. I shall soon introduce you to my jocund friend, Mr. John Ballantyne of Trinity Grove, whom you will find warm from his matcli at single-stick with a brother pub­lisher.* Peace to their differences! I t is a wratliful trade, and the irritahile (/enus comprehends the bookselling as well as the hook-writing species.—Once more adieu!

• ' , THE AuTHon OK WArERLKv.

• In conscquenco of tliopseuOo'i'uJcs.i/my JyiiitHorrf printed In Lomlon, as iiUv.idv .iiientioned, the liitu Jtr. John Ballautyno, the Author's publishCT, hail a controvcrsV

with the interloping bibliopolist, eaeli insisting tliat his Jciled'-ih Cletehbolliani was t!w riMl Simon Puro.

o o

THE MONASTEKY

.CHAPTER I

0 ay ! the monks, the monks, tlicy did the mischief! Theirs uU the gi'ossuess, all the superstition Of a most gross and superstitious age. iMay Ho be praised tliat sent the licalthful tempest And soatter'd all these pestilential vapours ! But that \vc owed tlicm all to youder harlot Throned on tlie seven hills with )ior cup of gold, 1 will ns soon Ijeliovo, with kind Sir Kogor, Tliat Old iloll White took wing with cat and broomstick. And raised tlio last night's tlmudor.

Old Play.

THE village descTibed in the Bouedictine's manuscript by the name of Keunaquhair bear.s the same Celtic tennination which occui-s in Ti-aquhair, Caquhair, and other compounds. The learned Chalmers derives this word '(luliair' from the windin'^ coui-se of a stream; a deiinition which coiucides, in a remarkable degree, with the serpentine turns of the river Tweed near the village of which we speak. I t has been long famous for the splendid Monastery of St. Mary, founded by David the First of Scotland, iu whose reign weis formed, in the same county, the no less splendid establishments of Melrose, Jedburgh, and Kelso. The donations of land with which the King endowed these wealthy fraternities procured him from the monkish historians the epithet of Saint, and from one of his impoverished descend­ants the splenetic censui-e, ' that he had been a sore saint for the crown.'

It seems probable, notwithstanding, that David, who was a wise as well as a pious monarch, was not moved solely by reli­gious motives to those groat acts of munificence to the cliurch, but annexed political views to his pious genci-o-sity. His posses-

WAVERLEY NOVELS

sionsin Northumberland and Cumberland became •prcc<arious after the loss of the Battle of the Standard; and since the com­paratively fertile valley of Teviotdale was likely to become the frontier of his kingdom, it is probable he wished to secure at

• east a part of these valuable possessions by placing them io tlie hands of the monks, whose property was for a long time respected, even amidst the rage of a frontier war. In this manner alono had the King some chance of ensuring protection and security to the cultivators of the soil; and/ iir fact, for several agfts the possessions of these abbeys were each a sort of Goshen, cnjoymg the calm light of peace and immunity, whila the rest wn. o n r r ' i " ^ ' °'''T^^ ^y ^•"' ' ' ^ ' "d marauding parous,

E u t f ? ? ' " ' " ' of confusion, blood, and unremittedMitrage. the .mwn! T'^'^'fT ^"^ °°^ °> ti"J'< down to the union of k ^ Tml Sooi°"l ^?'"f '^'^^ 1 "- ° the H-ars betwixt Eng-n a L T l h i n v ' ^""t^^f.^^'"'' '^"g""^! <=haract(ir of iutm-a s t r r l lo f f ' ' v ' ' ° ^ ' ^^ ^'"''^'' o» the part of the English b S f d do I n ^T.' . '"" ' ?^ '^^' ' ^ t'^° S' ots a despcrate°and

<;ir1p (ifiii i,«„ luuf er saciea tiom incui-sious ou either side. Still, however, the tenants and vassals of the mreat abbeys had many advantages over those of the lay barouf who were

church on the o t t , ^ ^' of peace. The vassal., of the

parative quiet to pos^eTthpi, 5 • ? Y""'^ permitted in coiu-e.xhibited superior bl!ni i n ? T ^°^ ^<^ * They, of course, vation of Z s o n aid we 0 th7'"°\*^f*^ - ' ted to the culti-iuformed than t .e m S i C ^ S ^ nf° H ^''''''r ' "' ' ' ' ' \ nobles in their neighbourhoS * ' "''tless chiefs and

vill^^i:^S,tllS°^^J-^-Was --"y i" ^ -^" C Ic-I tion, some thirt • orIS-tv f i ^ ' , ° ^ '"^t'^'^1 ' id and pi-otcc-

^^ i called the town,ind t t t a n J l r ' ^^'^* t«go*er. • This was A - by whom the t o S was l ^ ^ r ? ' ' ^ to the various families

. ^ ^ M TLy usually posses ed the S n e o " ' ^ ^ " ^ " f H .t ^ -"^? ' : .SL' proportions, according to t h e l l I ?^"'°" ' ^ '0"^^^ '" ' ' " " " f

ii'^ . township properly ailbYe and ke't ^"""l'" '^^' P" ' ' °^ *i f .^ 1 1 F J- "''iwe, ana kept as such continually under ^ • ^ ' • Sfe Church Teuunto. Nolo I.

THE > I O N A S T I : R Y S

tlic plough, was called in-fuld: Here the use of quantities of mamu-e supplied in some degree the exhaustion of the soil, and tlie fcuars raised tolerable oats and bear, usually sowed on alternate ridges, on -svhich tho labour of the whole community was "bestowed withojit distinction, the produce being divided' after har\'esl;, agreeably to their respective interests.

There was, besides, out-fiehl laud, from which it was thought possible to exti-act a crop now aud then, after which it was abandoned to tho ' skyey influences' luitil tho exhausted powera of vegetation were restored. These out-field spots were selected by any fcuar at his own choice, amongst tho sheep-walks and hills w^iich were always annexed to the township, to serve as pasturage to the commmiitj-. The trouble of cultivatiug tliese patches' of out-field, and the precarious chance that the crop would pay the lab'oui-, were considered as giving a right to any feuar who chose to undertake the adventure to the pi-oduce which might result from it.

There remained the pasturage of extensive moors, where the valleys often afforded good grass, and upon which tho whole cattle belonging to the comraimity fed indiscriminately during the summer, under tho charge of the town-hei-d, who regularly drove them out to pasture in the morniug, aud brought them back at night, without wliich precaution they would liavc fallen a speedy prey to some of the snatchei-s in tho neighboxrrhood. 'Hiese are things to make modern agricultvu'ists hold up their hands and stiire; but tlie same mode of cultivation is not yet entirely in desuetude in some distant parts of North Britain aud may be witnessed in fvill force aud exorcise in tho Zetland Archipelago. s

The habitations of the churcli feuara were not less primitive than their agriculture. In each village or town wore several small towers, having battlements projecting oyer tho side walls, and usually an adva.^ced angle or two with shot-holes for flanking the doorway, which was always defended by a strong door of oak, .studded with nails, and often by an exterior gi-ated door of iron. These «mall peel-houses were ordinarily inhabited by tho principal feuars and their families; but, upon the alarm of approachiug danger, the whole inhabit­ants tln-onged fi-om their own miserable cottages, which were situated aroimd, to garrison these points of defence. I t was then no easy matter for a hostile party to penetrate into the village, for the men were habituated to the use of bows and fireai-ms, and the towers being generally so placed that the

4 WAVEKLEY NOVELS

discharge from one crossed that of another, it was •impossible to assault any of them individually.

The interior of tliese houses was usually sufHciently wretched, for it would have been folly to have furnished them in a manner which could excite the avarice of their lawless neighboui-s.* Yet the families themselves exhibited in their appearance a degree of comfort, infoi-mation, and independence wliich could hardly have been expected. Their in-field supplied them with bread and home-brewed ale, their herds and flocks with beef aild mutton (the extravagance of killing lambs or calves was never thought of). Each family killed a mart, or fat bullock, in November, which was salted up for winter iise, to which the goodwife could, upon gi-cat occasions, add a dish oi pigeons or a fat capon; the ill-cultivated garden afforded ' laug-calfe'; and the river gave salmon to serve as a relish during •the season of Lent.

• Of fuel they had plenty, for the bogs afFoi-ded turf; and the remains of the abused woods continued to give them logs for burning, as well as timber for the usual domestic pui-poses. I'^ addition to these comforts, the goodman woidd now and then sally forth to the gi-eenwood, and mark down a buck of season with his gun or his cross-bow; and the father confessor seldom refused him absolution for the trespass, if duly invited to take his share of the smoking hauncte Some, still bolder, made, either with their own domestics or by associating themselves with the moss-troopers, in the language of shepherds, ' a start and overloup'; and the golden ornaments and silken head-geai' worn by the females of one or two families of note were invidi­ously ti-aced by their neighbours to, such successful excursions. This, however, was a more inexpiable crime in the eyes of the abbot and community of St. Maiy's than the boiTowing one of the 'gude king's deer ' ; and they failed not to discountenance and punish, by eveiy means in their power, oftences which were sure to lead to severe reti\liation upon the property of the church, and which tended to alter the character of thcii" peaceful vassalage.'

As for the information possessed by those dependants of the abbacies, tliey might have been truly said to be better fed than taught, even thoiigh their fare had been worse than it was. Still, however, thfey enjoyed opportunities of knowledge fi'onj which othei-s were excluded. The monks were in general well acquainted with their vassjvls and tenants, and familiar in the families of the be iter class among them, whore they wore sure

•

THE MONASTERY

to be received with the respect due to their twofold chai-acter of spiritual father and secular landlord. Thiis it often hap­pened, Avheu a boy displayed talents and inclination for study, one of the bretliren, with a view to his being bred to the church, or out of good-nature, in order to pass away his own idle time, • if he had^no better motive, initiated lum into the mysteries of reading and writing, and imparted to him such other knowledge as he himself possessed. And the heads of these allied families, litiving more time for- reflectiou, and more skill, as well as stronger motives for improving their small properties, bore amongst their neighbours the character of shrewd, intelligent men, »ho claimed respect on accouut of their comparative wealth, even while they were despised for a less warlike and enterprising turn than tho other Bordorera. They lived as much as they w>ell could aniougst themselves, avoiding the company of others, and dreading nothing more than to be involved in the deadly feuds and ceaseless contentious of the secular laudholdore.

Such is a general pictme of these communities. During the fatal Wat's in the commencement of Queen Sfarj^'s reign they had suffered dreadfully by the hostile invasions. For the English, now a Protestant people, were so far from spaiiug the chm-cli lands, that they foraj-cd them with more unrelenting sevei'ity than even the possessions of the laity. But the peace of 1550 had restored some degree of tranquillity to these dis­tracted aud harassed regions, and mattei*s began a^ain gradually to settle upon the foi-n\er footing. Tho monks repaired their mvaged shrines; the feuar again roofed his small fortalice which the enemy had ruined; the poor labourer rebuilt his cottage—an easy task, where a few sods, stones, aud a lew pieces of wood from the next copse furnished all the materials necessai-y. The cattle, lastly, were driven out of the wastes aud thickets in which the rcemant of them had been secreted; aud the mighty bull moved at the head of his semglio and their followei-s, to take possession of their wonted pastures. There ensued peace and quiet, the state of'^he age and nation considered, to the Monastery of St. JIafy and its dependencies for several tranquil yeare.

C H A P T E R II

In yoii lono vale his early youth was bred, Not solitary then ; the buglo-hom Of fell Alecto oficiiwaked its windings, From where the brook joins tlw majestic vivcr To the mid northern bog, t!>c curluwis haunt, Where oozes forth its fii-st and feeble streandet.

Old nay.

W E have s;iid that most of the feuars dwelt in the village be­longing to their township. This was not, however, universally the case. A lonely tower, to which the reader nnist now be introduced, was at least one exception to the general ride.

It was of small dimensions, yet larger than those wliicli occun-ed in the village, as intimating that, in case of assault, the proprietor would have to rely upon his own luiassisted strength. Two or three miserable huts, at the foot of the fortalice, held tlio bondsmen and tenants of the >feiiar The site was a beautiful green knoll, whicli started up suddenly in the veiy throat of a wild and narrow glen, and which bein^' surrounded, except on one side, by the windin<' of a' small stream, affoi-ded a position of considerable s t rennh

But the great security of Ulendearg, for so%ho place was called, lay ni its secluded and almost liidden situation To reach the tower, it was nccessiryto travel three miles up the glen crossmg about twenty tnne.s the little stream, which, winding through the narrow valley, encountered at every hun­dred yards the opposition of a rock or preci,,itous bank on the one .side, winch altered its course, and caused it to shoot off in an oblique direction to the other. Tiie hills which ascend on eacli side of this g en are very steep, and rise boldly over the stream, wlucli is thus imprisoned within their barriers The sides of the glen arc impracticable for hoi-se, and are only to be traversed by means of the sheep-paths which lie along their ' sides. I t would i:3t bo readily supposed that a road so hope-

I

T H E MONASTEUY ">

less and so' dilliciilt could lead to any habitation more important tlian the summer shealiug of a slicpherd.

Yet the glen, though lonely, nearly inaccessible, and sterile, was not then absolutely void of beauty. The turf which ^ coveil'd the small portion of level ground on the sides of the . stream was as close and verdant as if it had occupied the scythes of a hundred gardeners once a-fortnight; and it was garnished with an embroidery of daisies and wild-flowei-s which the scythes would certainly have destroyed. The little brook, now confined betwixt closer limits, now left a t large to choose its coui-SR through tlic narrow valley, danced carelessly on from stream* to pool, light and unt\u-bid, as that better class of spu-its who pass their way thi-oufjh life, yielding to insurmount­able obstacles, but as iar from being subdued by them as the sailor who meets> by chance with an unfavourable wind, and shapes his course so as to be driven back as little as possible.

The mountains, as they W'Ould have been called in England, ScoUicd the steep braes, rose abruptly over the little glen, here presenting the grey face of a rock, from which the turf had been peeled by the torrents, and there displaying patches of wood and copse, which had cs&ipcd the waste of the cattle and the sheep of tiie feuars, and which, feathering natiu-ally up the beds of empty torrents, or occupjdug th& concave recesses of the bank, gave at once bea-uty and varietj' to the landscape. Above these scattered woods rose the hill in barren but piu'ple majesty; tho dark rich hue, particularly in autumn, contrast­ing beautifully with the thickets of oak and birch, the moun­tain-ashes and thorns, the aldei-s and quivering aspens, which chequered and varied thp^descent, and not loss with the dark-green and velvet turf, wiiich composed the level part of the narrow glen.

Yet, though thus embellished, the scene could neither be strictly termed sublime or b<»utiful, and scarcely even pictur­esque or striking. But its extreme solitude pressed on the heart ; the traveller felt that uncertainty whither he was going, or in what so wild a path was to termintite, which at times strikes more on the imagination thnii the grand featiu-cs of ii show-scene, when 3'ou know the exact distance of the inn wher.e your (linner is bespoke, and at the moment preparing. These are ideas, however, of a far later age; for at the time we treat of, the picturesqvie, the beautiful, the sublime, and all their intemiediate shades, were ideas absolutely unknown to the mhabitauts and occasional visitoi's of Cilond«ir'>.

, 8 WAVERLEY KpVlXS

These had, however, aittached to the scene feelings fitting the time. Its name, signifying the Red Valley, seems to have been derived not only from the purple coloiu* of the heath, with which the upper part of the rising banks was profusely clothed, but also from the dark red colour of the rocks, t£nd of the precipitous earthen banks, which in that country are called ' scaurs.' Another glen, about the head of Ettrick, lias acquired the same name from similar circumstances ; and there are prob­ably more in Scotland to wiiich it has been given.

As our Glondearg did not abound in mortal visitants, super­stition, that it might not be absolutely destitute of inhabitants, had peopled its recesses with beings belonging to anothei: world. The savage and capricious Brown Man of the Mooi-s, a being which seems the genuine descendant ojf the Northern dwarfs, was supposed to be seen there frequently, especially after the autumnal equinox, when- the fogs were thick and qbjects not easily distinguished. The Scottish fairies, too, a whimsical, irritable, and mischievous tribe, who, though at times capri­ciously benevolent, were more frequently advcree to mortals, were also supjjosed to have formed a residence in a particularly wild recess of the glen, of which the real name was, in allusion to that circiunstauco, CoiTio-naii-Shian, which, in corrupted Celtic, signifies the Hollow of the Fairies. But the neighbours were more cautious in speaking al>out this place, and avoided giving it a name, from an idea common then throughout all the

• British and Celtic provinces of Scotland, and still, i-etained in many places, that to speak either good or ill of this capricious race of imaginary beings is to provoke their resentment, and that secrecy and silence is what they.chiefly desire from those who may intrude upon their revels or discover their haxnits.

A mj'sterious terror was thus attitched to the dale, which afforded access from the broad valley of the Tweed, up the little glen we have described, to the fortalice called the Tower of Glendearg. Beyond the knoll, where, as we have said, the tower was situated, the hills grew more steep, and narrowed on the slender brook, so as scarce to leave a footpath ; and there the glen tenninated in n wild waterfall, where a slender tiu'cad of water dashed in a precipitous line of foam over two or three precipices. Yet farther in the same direction, and above these successive cataracts, lay a ^ 'ild and extensive morass, frequented only by water-fowl—wide, waste, apparently almost interminable, and serving in a great measure to separate the inhabitants of the glen from thosp who lived to the northward.

^ 1

THK MONASTERY °

To restless and mdefatigaUc ^^^°^^:t'-««P,2J:f a^^^^^^^ morasses ^vere veU known, and sometimes =;<^ '^j;\^:^;^;^^,a They often rode do.v-n the gle.j, cal ed ^\^^^ ^^''-;'^^ ^U and received hospitality, but stiU ^vlth a ^^'^^ f '^^''X^^^ • parted itsraoreicaceful "^'^l^it.^^^t^'.^^^^V' i f b v T i c w a party of North American Indians might be received ^l^''^ European settler, as much ont of fear as hosp.talitj, ^^hde t e uppermost wish of the landlord is the speedy dcpartnro oi tlie savaKC guests. " ,. . ' , ^•^^^„

This had not always been the current of feeling m thehttlc valley and its tower. Simon Glcndinning, its former mhabitant, boasted!* his .connexion by blood to that ancient family ot Glcndomvync, on the western boi;der. He used to nun-ate at his fireside, in the autumn evenings, the feats of the family to which ho belonged, one of whom fell by the side of the bravo Earl- ot Douglas at Ottcrbourne. On these occasions Simon usually held upon his knee .an ancient broadsword, wliich had belonged to liis ancestors before any of the family had consented to accept a fief under the peaceful dominion of the monks of St. Jilary's. In modern days, Simon might hiive lived at case on his own estate, and quietly mumuircd against the fate that had doomed him to dwell there, and cut ofl" his access to martial renown. But so many opportunities, nay, so many calls, there were for hfiu who in those days spoke big to make good his words by his actions, that Simon Glcndinning was soou imder the necessity of marching with the men of the halidomc, as it was called, of St. Mary's, in that disastrous campaign which was concluded by the battle of Pinkie

The Catholic clergy wei;e deeply interested in that national quarrel, the principal object of which was to prevent the union of the infant Queen Mary with the son of the heretical Henry VI11. The monks had called out their vassals, under an experienced leader. Many of«themsolves had taken arms and marched to the field, under a banner representing a female sujjposed to personify the Scottish Church, kneeling in the atti­tude of prayer, witli the legend, Afflictw^'iponsw ne obliviscaris.

The Scots, however, in all their wars, had more occasion for good and cautious generals than for excitation, whether political or enthusiastic. Their headlong and impatient courage uui-fonnly induced them to rush into action without duly weighing either their own situation or that of their enemies, and the nievitable consequence was frequent defeat. With the dolorous Slaughter of Pinkie we have nothing to d«, csccptiiK^ tb-vt

10 WAVERLEY NOVELS

among ten thousand men of low and liigli degree, Simon Gleu-dinnmg, of the Tower of Glendearg, bit the dust, no way dis­paraging in his death that ancient race from which ho claimed his descent.

When the doleful news, which spread terror and nioftniiug through the whole of Scotland, reached the Tower of 'Glendeai-g, the widow of Simon, Elspeth Brydone by her family name, was alone in that desolate habitation, excepting a hind or two, alike past martial and agricultural labour, 'and the helpless widows and families of those who had fallen with their master. The feeling of desolation wa.s universal; but what availed it 1 The monks, their patrons and protector.s, were driven from their abbey by the English forces, wlio now overran the country, and compelled at lea.st an appearance of submission on the part of the inhabitants. The Protector, Somerset, formed a strong camp among the ruins of tlie ancient castle of Roxburgh, and

•• compelled the neighbouring country to come in, pay tribute, and take assurance from liini, as tlie phrase then went. Indeed, there ' was no power of resistance remaining; and the few barons, whose high spirit disdained oven the appearance of suiTendei', could only retreat into the wildest fastnesses of the country, leaving their houses and property to the wrath of the English, who detached parties everywhere to distress, by military exaction, those whoso "chiefs hud not made their submission. The abbot and his community having retreated beyond the Forth, their lands were severely forayed, as their.-sentiments were held peculiarly inimical to the alliance with England.

Amongst the troops detached ^n this service was a small party commanded by Stawartli Bolton, a captain in the Englisli ai-my, and full of the blunt and unpretending gallantry and generosity which have so often distinguished that nation. Resistance was in vain. Elspet'i Brydone, when she descried a dozen of horeemcn threading their way up the glen, with a man at their head whose scarlet cloak, bright amiour, and dancing plume proclaimed him a leader, saw no better protec­tion for hei-self than to issue from the iron gate, covered with a long mourning veil, and holding one of her two sons in each hand, to meet the Englishman, state her deserted condition, place the little tower at his command, and beg for his merer. She stated, in a few brief words, her intention, and added, ' I submit, because I have nae means of resistance.'

'And I do not ask your submission, mistress, for the same

3 THK MONASTERY ^ ^ ^ 11

reason,' replied the Englishman. 'To be satisfied of your _ - -peaceful intentions is all I ask; and, from what you tell me, there is no reason to doubt them.'

'A t least, sir,' said I'^lspcth Brydone. ' take share of what our siVncg nnd our ^gariici's aflbrd. Tour horses are t ired; • your lolk -rfant refrcshnicirT* ?5l/vjA'-'—P"V*^i.^-^

' Xot a whit—not a whit,' answered the'honest Englishman ; ' it shall never be said we disturbed by carousal the widow of a "brave soklieV, while'she was mourning for her husband. Comrades, face about. Yet stay,' he added, checking his war-hoi-se, ' my paities are out in every direction; they must have some tcdccn that your family are under my assurance of safety. Hero, my little fellow,' said he, jspeakiug to the eldest boy, who migiit be about nine or ten yeare old, 'lend me thy bonnet.' ' •

The child reddened, looked sulky, and hesitated, while the mother, with many a ' fj'C ' and ' nay pshaw,' and siich sarsenet chidings as tender mothers give to spoiled childi-eu, at length succeeded in snatching the bonnet from him, and handing it to the English Icadei-.

Stiiivarth Bolton took his embroidered red cross from his barret-cap, and" putting it into the loop of the boy's bonnet, said to the mistress, for the title of lady was not given to dames of her degree, ' By this token, which all my people will respect, you will be freed from any importunity on the part of our forayers.''* He placed it on the boy's head; but it was no sooner there than the little fellow, his veins swelling and his ^ f v eyes shooting fire through tears, snatched the bonnet from his J ^\ "^ head, and, ere his mother qould interfere, skimmed it into the ' '^^^ brook. The other boy ran instantly to fish'it out again, threw it back to his brother, first taking out the cross, which, with gi-eat veneration, he kissed and put into his bosom. The Englishman was half-diverted,ohalf-surprised with the scene.

' What mean ye by throwing away St. George's red cross 1' said he to the elder boy, in a tone betwixt jest and earnest.

'Because St. George is a Southern ^pin*^,' said the child, sulkily. •

'Good ! ' said Stawarth Bolton. 'And what did you mean l y taking it out of tiie brook again, my little fellow?' he demandtil of the younger.

' Jiecause the priest says it is the common sign of salvation to all good Christians.'

• Sco Gallantrj'. Note 2.

12 WAVKRLEY NOVELS

'. Why, good again !' said the honest soldier. ' I protest unto you, inistress, I envy you these boys. Are they both yours i '

Stawarth Bolton had reason to put the question, for Halbert Gtlendinning, the older of the twp, had hair as dark as ffis ta\'en'8 plumage, black eyes, large, bold, aiid° sparkling, that glittered under eyebrows of the same complexion, a skin deep embrowned, though it could not be termed swarthy, and an air of activity, frankness, and determination far beyond his age. On the other band, Edward, the younger brother, was light-haired, blue-eyed, and of miror complexion, in counte­nance i-ather pale, and not exhibiting- that rosy hue which colours the sanguine cheek of robust health. Yet the Iwy had nothing sickly or ill-conditioned in his look, but was, on the contrsiry, a fair and handsome child, with U, smiling face and mild yet cheerful eye.

The mother glanced .u proud motherly glance, fii-st at the one and then at the other, ere she answered the Englishman —' Surely, sir, they are both my ciiildi-ou.'

' And by the same father, misti-ess ?' said Stawartli; but, seeing a blush of displeasure arise on her brow, he instantly added, ' Nay, I nacan no on'ence; I would have asked the same question at any of my gossips in merry Lincoln. Well, dame, you have two fair boys; I would 1 could boiTow one, for Dame Bolton and I live childless in our old hall. Come, little fellows, which of you will go with me ?'

The trembling mother, half-fearing as he spoke, drew the children towards her, one with either hand, while they both answered the stranger. ' I will nof- go with yon,' said Halbert, boldly, ' for you arc a false-hearted Southern, and the Southerns killed my father ; and 1 will war on you to the death, when 1 can draw my fatiier's sword.'

'God-a-mercy, my little levin-bolt,' said Stawartli, ' t h e goodly custom of deadly feud will never go down in thy day, 1 presume. And j'ou, my fine white-head, will you not go with me, to ride a coek-lioi'se 1' i^ 'i »A"- J.\•••[,[

' No,' said l":dwai-d, dcnuirely, ' for you arc a l5££cki;." ' 'Why, God-a-mercy sti l l! ' siiid Sttuvartli fioltm' 'Well,

dame, 1 see I sliall find no recruits for my troop from you; and yet I do envy you tliese two little chubby knaves.' He sighed a moment, as was visible, in spite of gorget and corslet. and tlien added, ' And yet my dame and I woul3'but quarrel whicii of the kna'.-es we should like best; for I should wish for

^ ^•''•m'^'''^U:" ^^^':^^^^i^j^i

it'- ;#• xseiuV^ni^

I Jljl • \ ; >

Copi/ri.jlil 18M i , A. * C. ;«uc l

DAMK OLENDIXNINO'S INTEKVIKW WITH STAWARTH UOI.TO>.

kp ^i.. V,f.t/-^>W- e<A,--ft?AWv

THE MONASTERY 13 "

the black-eyed rogue, and she, I warrant me, for that blue-^yed, fair-haired darling. Natheless, we must brook our solitary wedlock, and wish joy to those that are more fortxx-nate. Sp-rp^eant Brittson. do thou remain here till recalled; pro- ' ' tect tHis family, as under assurance; do them no WTong, and . suffer no wrong to b'e done to them, as thou wilt answer it. Dame, Brittson is a married man, old and steady; feed him on what you will, but give him not over much liquor.'

•Dame Gleudinning again offered refreshments, but with a' faltering voice, and an obvious desire her invitation should not be accepted. The fact was, that, supposing her boys as precioa.= in the eyes of the Englishman as in her own (the most ordinary of parental errors), she was half afraid that the admiration he expressed of them in his blunt manner might end in his actually caiTyiug off one or other of the little darlings whom he appeared to covet so much. She kept hold of their hands, therefore, as if her feeble strength could have been of service had any violence been intended, and saw with joy she could not disguise the little party of hoi-se countermarch, in '^'\ ,. order to descend the glen. Her feelings did not escape o**-^^ Stawarth Bolton. ' I forgive you, dame,' he said, ' for being 'X. suspicious that an English falcon ^ was hovering over your c> VoP Scottish moor-brood. But fear"not—those who have fewest C^^VA'^ children have fewest cares; nor does a wise man covet those *•; ,. of another household. Adieu, dame; when the black-eyed ( ^ ^ ^ ^ rogue is able to drive a foray from England, teach him to'spare? ^ r- * *) women and children, evenroi' the sake of Stawarth Bolton.'

'God be with you, gallant Southern! ' said Elspeth Glen-" diiming, but not till he was out of hearing, spuiTiiTf'on his 'ilv> t>* good horse to regain the liead of his party, whose plumage and " ' armour were now glancing and gradually disappearhig in the /"v t distance, as they winded down the glen.

'Mother,' said the elder b?y, ' I will not say " amen" to a prayer for a Southern.'

' Mother,' said the younger, more i-everentially, ' is it right to pray for a heretic V "

'The God to whom I pray only knows,' answered poor Elspeth; ' bu t these two words, "Southern" and "heretic," have Bjlready cost Scotland ten thousand of her best and bravest, and me a husband and you a father; and, whether blessing or banning, I never wish to hear them more. Follow me to the place, sir,' she said to Brittson, ' and such as we have to offer you shall be at your disposal.'

CHAPTER III

They lighted doxv-n on Tweed water,

\,»1B hi"!,'"''=°='l-'^'^=ie hot,

All in an c%x>nuig late.

Auld Maitland.

•heard this S o r t frZ^ f.t'''^ ^^•'^*- ^ ^ ° " g °th< -« ^ ' ° higher b r a T t L n Elspeth G l t T ° ' " ^ ^ ^ ^^'^°' °"°° "^^'''^ calamity reduced to ev r S e a t e T ^ " ^ " ' ^ ' ' ' " ' ^°^^' ^ '''" ' " ' " '

She was the widow o f ^ t °^^^^?!-.t»ne. scended of a very andent Bo 1 ? / ° ' ' ^ ' ' ' ' WalteLAv_enel, dc-immense estates in Eskdale T) f'^J"' ^ ' o oiice possessed them into other hands but \hJ^r!X • "" S ^'"'''^ P'1 s<^ ^^"^ of cbnsidei-able extent not ,,o '^P ^"Joyed an ancient barony Mary's, and lyino' u n L tV« ' ' " ^^"^ ' ^ patrimony of St. n a r r L v a l e o ^ G l e n S g . t t h ^ l ' t "/ *' ^ ' ' r with the tower of the Glendinnings F """^ °^ ''"^^"^^ '''^^ *1'° " " ^ respectable rank amongst tlie eent!n f^^.J""^ ^^^°'^' ^«^""S ^ neither wealthy nor jiowerfid Tl • province, though much augmented by the skill general regard had been had been displayed by Walter AveneTTlLT"^. f *^''P''''^ ' '^^' '^

When Scotland began to recovpv f "?* ^^^•°"-she had sustamed after the batHoJ^-D-,"^ ^^^ dreadful shock one of the fii-st who, assemblinga s i l l " ' . ^ ^ ' ' ' ° ^ ' ^ ^ " j i ^™' those bloody and unsparinr, s k i r S "';''.' ""* ^" example in nation, though conquered and S ? . ' T " ' ^ 'J^°^^^ t' * '' wage against them such a war of debii Inc ^ " i 7 - ®'"**' '^'^^ ^^^ come fatal to the foreigners. In OHP nVli ""H ' ° *' ^ "'"'^ ^^• Aven£lJeUrand the news which came t o t t f f ' ^ ° '7f -' ^^i^lter .vas followed oy the distracti i ig^intiencerar^^^^^^^^^

THE MONASTERY 15

Englishmen'were'coming to plunder the mansion and lands of his widow, in order, by this act of terror, to prevent others from following the example of the deceased.

The unfortunate lady had no better refuge than the miser­able C(i>ttage of a shepherd among the hills, to which she was hastily removed, scarce conscious where or for what pm-pose her terrified attendants were removing her and her infant daughter from her own house. Here she was tended with all the" duteous service of ancient times by the shepherd's w-ife, Tibb Tacket, who in better days had been her own bower-woma"nr Por a time the lady was unconscious of her misery ; but wiion the first stunning eifect of grief was so far passed away that slie could form an estimate of her own situation, the widow of'Aveuel had cause to euvy the lot of her husband in his dark and silent abode. The domestics who had guided her to her place of refuge were presently obliged to disperse for tlieir own safety, or to seek for necessai'y subsistence; and the shephei-d and his wife, whose poor cottage she shared, were soon after deprived of the means of affording their late mistress even that coai-se sustenance which thej ' had gladly shared with her. Some of the English forayers had discovered and driven oif the few sheep which had escaped the first researches of their avarice. Two cows shared the fate of the remnant of their stock ; they had ufTorded the family almost their sole support, and now famine appeared to stare them in the face.

'We are b'-oken and beggared now, out and out,' said old ^^rtuij the shepherd, and he wTmig his hands in the bitter-nessoJ agony; ' the thieves—the harrying thieves ! not a cloot left of the haill hirsel! '

'And to seg poor frH^yvjiiid Ornmniie.' said his wife, 'tm-n-ing back their necks to thebyre , and routing while the stony­hearted villains were brogging them on wi' their lances !'

' There were but four of them,' said Martin, 'and I have seen the day forty w ad not have ventured this length. But our strength and manhood is gane with our puir maister 1'

' For the sake of the holy rood, whisht, m^n I' said the good-wife ; ' our leddy is half gane already, as ye may see by that fleightering of the ee-lid—a word mair and she's dead outright.'

' I could almost wish,' said Martin, ' we were a' gane, for what to do passes my puir wit. I care little for mysell, or j^ou, Tibb; we can make a fend—work or want—we can do baith, but she can do neither.'

They canvassed their situation thus openly before the lady.

IG WAVERLEY NOVELS

convinced by the paleness of her look, lier qu iver ing lip, and dead-set eye t h a t she ne i ther heard nor underetood w h a t t h e y were saying.

' There is a way, ' said t he shepherd, ' b u t I konna if she could br ing her hea r t t o i t : there ' s Simon Glendinning ' s widow of t h e glen yonder has had assurance from t h e Sou the rn loons, and nae soldier to steer t h e m for one cause or othei". Now, if t h e leddy could bow her. mind to t ake qua r t e r s wi th Elspoth Glendinning till be t ter days cast up , nae d o u b t i t wad be doing an honour to the like of her, b u t '

' A n h o n o u r ! ' answered Tibb : ' ay, by m y word, sic an houoiu- as wad be pride to her k in mony a lang year a' ' ter her banes were in t he mould. Qh ! gudcmau, to hea r ye even the Lady of Avenel to seeking quai-tci-s wi' a kirk-vassal 's widow ! '

' Lotli should I be to wisli he r to it, ' said J\Iarttn ; ' b u t w h a t may we do 1 To s tay here is mere s tarvat ion ; and \vhcre t o go, I 'm siure I ken nae mai r t h a n ony t u p I ever herded. '

' Speak no more of it," said t h e widow of Avenel, su'ddenly joining in the conversation, ' 1 will go to t h e tower. D a m e Elspeth is of good folk, a widow, and the mothe r of o r p h a n s ; she will give lis house-room unt i l something be t l iought upon . These evil showers make t he low b u s h be t t e r t h a n no bield. '

' See there—see there , ' said Mart in, ' you see t h e leddy has twice our sense.'

' And na tu ra l i t is,' said Tibb, ' seeing t h a t she is convent-bred, and can lay silk broidery, forbye whi t e - scam and shell-work. '

' Do you not thuik , ' said t he lady to i l a r t i n , still ch\si)ing her child to her bosom, and mak ing i t clear from wha t motivgs she desired t h e refuge, ' t h a t Dame Glendinning will m a k e us welcome 1'

' Blythcly welcome—blj-thely welcome, m y leddy, ' answered Mart in , cheerily, ' and we shall deserve a welcome a t he r hand . Men are scarce now, m y leddy, wi th these w a r s ; a n d gie me a thought of time to it, I «in do as gude a day's dar" as ever I did in my life, aud'^Tibb can sort cows with ony living woman.' '

'And nnicklc mair'could I do,' said Tibb, 'wore-it in ony feasible house ; but there will be ncitlier pearlins to mend nor pinners to busk up in Elspoth Glendinning's.'

' Whislit wi' your pride, woman,' said the shepherd ; . 'enough ye can do, baith outside and inside, an ye set your mind to i t ; and hard it is if we twa canna work for three folks' meat, forbye my dainty wee leldy there. Come awa'—come awa', nae use in

THK MONASTERY 17

Staying heiu langer; we have five Scots miles over moss aiid muir, and that is nac easy waUv for a leddy born and bred.'

Household stuff there was little or none to remove or care for; an old pony wliich had escaped the plmiderci's, owing partly^to its pitiful appeamnce, partly from the i-eluctancc which it showed to be cauglit by strangers, was eniploycd to carry the few blankets aud other trifles which they possessed. When Shagram came to his mastei-'s well-known whistle,,he was sur­prised to find the poor thing had been wounded, though slightly, by an arrow, which one of the forayers bad shot olF in auger after he had long chased it in vain.

' \y- Shagram,' said the old man, as ho applied something to the wound, 'must you rue the lang-bowas weel as all of u s l '

'Wha t corner in Scotland rues it no t? ' said the Lady of Avenel.

'Ay, ay. madam,' said Martin, 'Clod keep the kindly Scot from the cloth-yard shaft, aud he will keep himself from the handy stroke. But let us go our way; the trasli that is left I can come back for. There is nae aue to stir it but the good ncighboui-s, and they '

' For the love of God, goodman,' said his wife, in a remon­strating tone, ' baud yoiu- peace! Think what ye're saj-ing, and we hae sac muckle wild land to go over before we win to the girth gate.'

The husband nodded acquiescence ; for it_ was deemed highly imprudent to speak of the fairies either by their title of ffocxl neighhmirs* or by any other, especially when about to pass the places which they were supposed to haunt.

They sot forward on their pilgrimage on the last day of October. 'Tins is thy birtiiday, • my s ^ J g e t i ^ ^ ' said the mother, as a sting of bitter recollection crossed "her mind. ' Oh, who could have believed that the head which, a few years since, wius cradled amongst so many rejoicing friends, may perhaps this nigl)t seek a cover in vain ! '

The cviled family then set forwanl—ilary Avenel, a lovely aii..bct\3:£eu_fixe-uud six yeai-s old, riding gipsyTaslnon upon "Shagram, betwixt two bundles of bedding; the Lady of Avenel walking by the animal's side; Tibb loading the bridle ; aud Old .Alartiij walking a l i t t le before, looking anxiously around him to explore the way.

Martin's hisk as guide, after two or three miles' walking, became more difficult than he himself had expected, or than

• Scii Note 3.

WAAT3RLEY NOA' ELS

Hciglits and hollows, mosses and rocks, interveiie, ';"d 'iH t " local impediments which throw a traveller ont of ^ ^ ^^^^.^ So that Martin, however snre of his S^'^^-J.?"- f J n ^ "^Jat ' ' conscious, and at length - - / « - - ^ / ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ he had missed the direct road ^ W C . K W ^ hou, ^ S ^ ' l S ^ s I S f ^ r ^ U w a ^ - ^ ^ a r e o n t h e t o p o f t h o

* ° ^ ^ : to get^across t h e ^ , - a P ^ ^ ^ - - J ^ I / S S -

uusound the o-mKl becau ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ places of great peril, then ' ' ' f'f" , ^j^„gcr iu rctnnuug.

step, and I ' f f j ' " ^ its back. , uide greatly hesi-

tated, for all ' - •^" lep 'Soughs of^^lack en ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ torn each ot'^^r bydccp ^Sleeting j h a t he thoi 8 _ ^ .

'J^lat c^nside;^^- ' / / - ^ , i fo,.ard . | | g S ; ^ ^ ^ d , laid his

indicated. Old i ^^^^hority, oi to dete ^.^^forted by

THE MONASTERY 19

• signs to us "to come j'on gate.' They all looked in the dii-ectibn where the child pointed, but saw nothing, save a wreath of rising mist, which fancy might form into a human figure; but which afforded to Martin only the soiTowfnl conviction that the danger of their situation was about to be increased by a heavy \ fog. He oac6 more essaj^ed to lead forward Shagram; bu t the animal was inflexible in its determination not to move in the direction Martin recommended. 'Take your awn waj' for it, then,' said Martin, 'and*let us sec what you can do for ns.'

Shagram, abandoned to the discretion of his own free will, set ofl' boldly in the direction the child had pointed. Tliere was. nothin-; wonderful in this, nor in its bringing them safe to the other side of the dangerous, morass; for the instinct of these animals in traversing bogs is one of the most curious parts of their nature, and is a fact generally estiiblislied. But it was remarkable- that the child more than once mentioned the beautiful lady and her signals, and tl^at Shagram seemed to be in the secret, always moving in the same direction which she in­dicated. The Lady of Avenfel took little notice at the time, her mind being probably occupied by the iusfaint danger ;--but her attendants exchanged expressive looks with each other more than once.

' All-Hallow eve !' said Tibb, in a whisper to Martin. ' For the mercy of Our Lalij-, not a word of that now 1' said

Martin iij reply. ' Tell your beads, woman, if you camiot be silent.'

When they got once more on fimi ground, JIartin recognised certain landmarks, or caii'us, on the tops of the neighbouring hills, by which ho was enabj^cd to guide his course, and ero louo-they arrived at the Tower of Glendearg.

I t was at ihe sight of this little fortalico that the misery of her lot pressed hard on the poor Lady of Aveuel. When by any accident, they had met at church, market, or other place of public resort, she remembered the distant and respectful air with which the wife of the warlike baron was addressed by the spouse of the luunblc feuar. And now.^o much was her pride humbled, "that she was to ask to share the precarious safety of the same feuar's widow, and her pittance of food, which might perhap.s be yet more precarious. Martin probably guessed what was passing in her mind, for be looked at her with a wistful h l S ^ ^ " ^° deprecate any change of resoKition; and answer-of subdued pride once more glanced from h6i- eye, ' I f it were

20 WAVERLEY NOVELS

X ^ ' S ^ A r S l ^ ' ' ' ^ ' ^ ' ' ^ ^ ^ " * ^ - * ' - "^^ - t . the last

t h e ' S s s n , m f J n ? V ^^' ' '^^I^'-""' h-i^tily; and, as if to prevent

and s^W J ?, n; f ™" ^ ^ " ' '»'«b'"^d weel, and have bought and sold ^^ ,th him, for as gi-eat a man as he was.'" '

n.Kl m n k > . „ d , n o T c S E l s ^ e h " r M ° •'"''•^ Buperioj; birth felt sympathy for a woma^ S L ^ VP " ' / ' / I /"J" ' ' ' '^ ' ' : ' ' ' ' many points.'yet was so 1 h mo ^ L v ^ ? ' ' ' " " " ' ' • " ' f liospitality was «ladlv and ,-«c,l fc ^? "'''''''''7 species of t r e s L t iLellerl , a ^ L y w e ^ S T'"'f."' * ' " '^^" long at Giendea^ as their circn, 1 ^ requested to stiiy as

or their inclination prompted '"' "" '^ ''''°''''^'

* i _ - < ^ ». a?

?: ' "^ iWV ' - a ^ l ^

* ^ - ^ j

Cvpi,riiil,i ibUJ l,if .1. i t . /,|ae*

THI ! AIM'AIUTION ON TIIK MdOII.

C H A P T E R IV

Xo'er be I found bj' tlicc uuawcd, On that tlu'ice hallow'd ovc abroad, When goblins haunt.from flood and feu,

The steps of uien. T CoLLlNs's Ode to Fear.

As the countiy became more settled, the Lady of Aveuel would have willingly returned to her husband's mansion. Bn t ' tha t was no longer in her powei\ I t was a reign of minority, wheiS the strongest had the best right, and wlieii acts of usurpation were frequent amongst those who had nuich power and little conscience. -•'•^^ ' '

"•lujjuu.Avenel, the younger brother of the deceased Walter, waii a person of this description. He hesitated not to seize Tipon ' his brother's house and lands so soon as the retreat of the English i permitted him. At fii-st he occiqjied the property in thenam'e,

^ of his niece; but when the lady proposed to return with her child, to the mansion of its fathers, he gave her to imdei-stand that Avcncl, being a male fief, descended to the brother, instead lof the daughter, of the last possessor. The ancient philosopher declined a dispute with the emperor who commanded twenty

' legions, and the widow of AValter Avencl was in no condition tor maintain a contest with the leader of twenty nioss-ti-oopers. Julian was also a man of service, who could back a friend in case of need, and was sure, therefore, to find protectors among the I'lding powers. In short, however clear the little Mary's right to the possessions of her father, her mother saw the necessity oi giving way, at least for the time, to the usurpation of her xmcle.

Jler patience and forbearance were so far attended with ad^ vantiige, that Julian, for very shame's sjike, could no longer suffer Ijpr to be absolutely deijcndent on the charity of Elspeth.Glen-j

^ dinning. A drove of cattle and a bidl, which were probably niissed by some English farmer, were driven to the pastures of ^leudearg; presents of raiment and household stuff were scut

24 . WAVKRLEY NOVKLS

manufacture, read small detached i>assages from a thick clasped volume, which she prcsei-ved with the greatest care. The a r t of reading the lady had acquired by her residence in a nunnery during her youth, but slie seldom of late yeare nut it to any other use than perusing this little volume, which formed her whole library. The family listened to tho portions which slie selected, as to some good thing which there was a merit in hearing with respect, whether it was fully understood or no. 'I'o her daughter Alice of Avcncl had detenuined to impJirt then- mystery more fully, but the knowledge was at that period attended with personal danger, and was not raslily to be trusted to a child.

The noise of the romping children inten-upted, from time to time, the voice of the lady, and drew on the noisy culprits the i-cbuke of Elspeth.

'Could they not go farther a-ficid, if .they bchovud to make such a din, and distm-b. the lady's good words?' And this command was backed with the threat of sending the whole jjarty to bed if it was not attended to punctually. Acting under tiie injunction, tho children first played at u ".reater distance from the party, and more quietly, and then be'"-uii to stray into the adjacent apartments, as they became imp1i,tiont of the restraint to whicli they were subjectetl. But all at once the two boys came open-mouthocl into the hall, to tell that there was an armed man in the S]5ence.

' I t must be C h r i s t i e o m j n t i p , ' s i i i d Martin, risin.r • <wh.,t can have brought hiiu liere at this time ?' °'

' O r how came ho in? ' said Elspeth. , 'A las ! what can he .seek?' snwi fi,„ T i ,. .

wiiom this man, a reUine. of h e M m i i l ^ ' , f - ^ ^ " T ' ' !° sometimes executed bis con.nnssion - I S ' l ? ^'•°'^'^"' " " ' ' / ' ' ^ ^ of secret apprehension and suspicion . ('""'^.^^'-ft 7"« "» object added, rising up, 'where is ^„v chikl V • ' ' !ui '^ '^T' ' ' ; ' '" ' ' ' ' " '^ spence, Halbort Glendinning finst armil,!. Wn L I'f" ' u ' ' ^^ " ' ' sword, and the yo^niger seizing npou tho , ' , ^'*;^''tli -<• rusty hastened to tiie speuc?, and wore reliev^l ' ' " '°° ' ' - '''''^'^ anxiety by meeting Mary at the door of Ti " " ^ '"'" "^ * ' ' ° ' ' ' did not .seem in the .slightest de-a-oo i "P'''rtmeiit. .She They rushed into the spcuoc, a HQ^ of'• \™'.°'' °'' ^'isturbed. which the family ate their victuals in tl, .""^'• '° ' ' apartment in there was no one there. '•' ^'inuuer sea.sOn ; but

' 'Where is C;hi-istio of Cliuthill ?' o.r i ' I do not know,' said little Alurv •""i ^^''rtiu.

•> • ' 'lever siiw him.'

THE MONASTERY 25

' And what made you, ye misleard loons,' said Dame Elspeth to her two boys, ' come yon gate into tlie ha', roaring like bull-seggs, to frighten the ledd.v, and her far frae strong?' The boys jooked at each other in silence and confusion, and their mother proceeded wi^h her lecture. ' Coidd ye find nae night for daffin hu l Hallowe'en, and nae time but when the leddy was reading to us about the holy saints ? ^lay—ne'er be in my fingers, if i dinna sort yo baith" for i t ! ' The eldest boy bent his' ej'es on the ground, the j-ounger bcgau to weep, but neither spoke; and the mother would have proceeded to extremities, but for the interposition of the little maiden.

' Dame lilspeth, it was )nt/ fault; I did si\y to them that I saw a man in the spence.'

'And what made you do so, child,' said her mother, ' to startle iis all thus ?'

' Because,' said Mary, lowering her voice, ' I could not help it.' 'Not help it, Mary !—you occasioned all this idle noise, and

3'ou could not help it? llow mean you by that, minion?' ' There rcallj'- was an armed man in the spence,' said Mury ;

'and because I was sm-prised to sec him, I cried out toHalbcrt. and Kdward ' - ^"^

'' .'5tio T as told it herself,' said Halbert Glcndinning, 'or it had never been told by me.'

'Nor by mc neither,' said"Edwai-d, emulously. 'Mistress Mary,' said I'^lspeth, 'you never told us anything

before that was not t rue ; tell us if this was a Hallowe'en c<antrii), • iind make an end of it.' The Lady of Avenel looked as if she would have interfered, but knew not how; and Elspeth, who was too eagerly cm-ious to regard anv distant Innt, jjei-severed in her inquiries. ' W as it Christie of the Clinthill ? 1 would not for a iiiiii-k that he were about the house, and a body no ken whare.'

' I t was not Christie,' .siiid Mary; ' i t was—it was a gentle­man—u gentleman with a bright breastplate, like what 1 hae seen langsync, when we dwelt at Avenel '

'Wliat like was he? ' continued Tibb, wh^ now took share in the investigation.

' Hlack-haircd, black-eyed, with a peaked black beard,' said ihe child, 'and many a "fold of pearling round his neck, and langiiig down his Ijreast ower his breastplate; and he had a wautifui hawk, with silver bells, standing on his left hand, With a crini.soii silk hood upon its liead '

'Ask her no more questions, for the love of,Ood,' said the "uxious menial to Elspeth, ' but look to my leddy !' But the

26 WAVKRLEY NOVELS ' • !

Lady of Avenel, taking Maiy in her hand, turned hastily away,'* and, walkiug into the hall, gave tliem no opportunity of remark- ( ing in what manner she received the child's communication, wliich she thus cut short. What Tibb thought of it appeared from her crossing herself repeatedlv, A'ld whispering' iuto ]':ispeth'.s car, ' St. Mary preserve us f the lassie 'has seen her father !'

When they reached the hall, they found the lady holding her daughter on her knee, and kissing "her repeatedly. \\"hen they entered, she again rose, as if to shun observation, and rctn-ed to the little apartment where her child and she occupied the same bod.

The boys were also sent t<9 their cabui, and no one i-cmained by the hall fire save the faithful Tibb and Dame ]<:isi3eth, ex­cellent pei-sons both, and as thorough gossips as ever wiwiied a tongue. .

I t was but natm-al that they should instantly resume the subject of the supernatural appearance, for such they deemed it, which had this night alai-med the family.

' I could liae wished it had been the dell himself—bo good to and preserve us !—rather than Christie o' tlio Clinthill,' said the mati-on of the mansion, ' for the word runs rife in the country that he is ane of the maist ma.storfu' thieves ever laj) on horse.'

' Hout tout, Dame Elspeth,' siiid Tibb, ' fear ye naethino-frae Christie; tods keep their ain holes clean. You- kirk-folk make sic a fasherie about men shifting a wee bit for their livin"'! Our Border lairds would ride with few men at their hack if°,' the light-handed lads were out o' gate.' '

'Bet ter tiiey rade wi' nane than-'lisfi-ocs: fi.„ ± •, , gate they do,' k i d Dame Elspetlu *''" ^°^»tO'-«>de the

' B u t wha is to hand back tho Southi-n,, fi > • i m-,, ' if ye take away the lances and b r o S S m - d ' ? 7 " / ' ""^ ^'^^' wives couldna do that wi' rock and ^ S *' '° ' ' ' '''" ''"''^

,onks wi' bell and book.' ^ ^ ' ' ' ' ""^ as little the

Auarews cross, i reckon tlieir skel • . '"^"* ever wore and hfting honest men's gear, has bee ^^'° - ^ '' "' forward, breach between us and Kngland, and l" * "^'^'" " '" " ^ °' ' "•' *''® kind goo<lman. They spoke about tli '^'^.^"'''^ that cost me a and om- Queen, but it's as like to bo H Y - "S ^^ the Prince land folks' stockmg that brought tl„^m i ^ ' ^ ' " ' g of the Cumber-

"omdownonuslikech-agons.'

THK JIONASTERY " 27

ribb woiild not have failed in other circmnstiinccs to answer wliat she thought reflections disparaging to her country folk ; but she recollected that Dame Elspcth was mistress "of the family^ curbed her own zealous patriotism, and hastened to change the subject.

'And is It iiot strange,' she said, ' t ha t the heiress of Avenel should have seen her father this blessed night? '

' And ye think it was her father, then 1' Siiid Elspcth Gleu-dnihing.

'Wha t else can I th ink? ' said Tibb. ' i t may hac been something waur, in his likeness,' said Dame

t'lendinning. ' I ken uaething about that,' Sidd Tibb; ' bu t his likeness it

was, tliaf I will be sworn to, just as he used to ride out a-hawk-lug; for having enemies in the couutrv, he seldom laid oft' the breastplate r and for my part, 'added "Tibb, ' I dinna thhik a man looks like a man unless ho has sti'cl ou his breast and by his side too.'

' I have no skill of your harness on breast or side either,' s^id Dame Glendinning; ' bu t 1 ken there is little luck in Hallowe'en sights, for I have had ane mysell.'

'Indeed, Da'mo Elspcth?' said old Tibb, edging her stool closer to the huge elbow-chair occupied by her friend, ' I should like to hear about that. '

'Ye maun ken then, Tibb,' said Dame Gleudinniug, ' that , when I was a hempie of nineteen or twenty, it wasna my fault " I wiisna at a' tlie merry-makings time about.' _ "I'hat was very natural,' siud Tibb; ' bu t j'O hae sobered

smee that, or ye wadna hand onr braw gallants sac lightly.' ' 1 have had that wad sober me or ony ane,' siiid the matron.

Aweol, Tibb, a lass like mc wasna to lack wooers, for I wasna Kao^ill-favom-ed that the tykes wad bark after mc.'

' How should that be,' sjiid Tibb, 'and you sic a wccl-favoured woman to this day ?'

' l-'ie, fie, cunnnor,' said the matron of GJendearg, hitching iier seat of honour, in her turn, a little nearer to the cuttic-«ool on which Tibb was seated; 'weel-favoured is jiast my tunc of day; but 1 raiglit pass then, for I wasna sae tocherless 'J'lt what I had a bit huid at my breust-lace. iMy father was Portioner-of Littlodearg.'

' Yo hae tell'd me that before,' SJiid Tibb; ' but anent the Hallowe'en?'

'Aweel—aweol, I had mair joes than au^ but I favoured

28 WA-VTilRLEY NOVELS

nano o' t h e m ; and sae, a t Hallowe'en, Father Nicolas, the cellarer—he was cellarer before tliiS father, Father Clement, t ha t now is—was cracking his nuts and drinking his brown beer witli lis, and as blythe as might be, and they would have me t ry a canti'ip to ken wha suld wed rne ; and the monk said there was nae ill in it, and if there was, he would dssoil nie for it. And wha bu t I into the barn to winnow my three weights o' uaething? Sair, sair my mind misgave me for fear of wrang-doing and wrang-suffering ba i th ; but I had aye a bauld spjrit. I had not mnnowed the last weight clean out, and the moon was shining bright upon the floor, when in stalked the pre­sence of my dear Simon Glendinning, that is now happy. 1 never saw him plainer in m j life than I did that moment; he held up an arrow as he passed me, and I swarf'd awa' wi' fright. Muckle wark thei'e was to biing me to mysell again, and sair they tried to make mo believe it was a trick of Father Nicolas

. and Simon between the/,n, and that the aiTOw was to signify Cupid's shaft, as the father called i t ; and mony a time Simon wad thi-eep it to me after I was married—gude man, he liked not it should be .said that ho was seen out o' the body ! But max-k the end o' it, Tibb : wo wore married, and the grcj'-goose wing was the death o' him after a ' ! '

' As it has been of ower mony brave men,' said Tibb; ' I wish there wasna sic a bird as a goose in the wide wtu-ld, forbyo the decking that we hae at the bum-side.'

' B u t tell me, Tibb,' said Dame Glendinning, 'what does your leddy aye do reading out o' that thick black book wi' the silver clasps'! there arc ower mony gude words in it to come frae ony body but a priest. An it were about Robin Hood, or some o David Luulsay's ballants, ane wad ken better what to =5ay to It I am no misdoubting your mistress nae S ^ l i g ; l e 2 l n e " ' ' ^ '''' ' '^^-"^ ^ - - ' - n n t e d .d '

' Ye hae nae reason to doubt mv Icddv or f>„„ f i • ' " i or does. Dame Glendinning,' said "the fdthfuTTil " " ° ''.P. offended; 'and touching the bairn, it's wee/k^.V,?^! '^°'^^«*'°e on Hallowe'en was nine years srane «, ; f i ! '"" '^ , ' '^°^^ '^« ^ ° " ' on naiiowo vn wus nine years gane anrl +h^, <.i . , — Hallowe'en whiles see mair than ither folk'^ ""^ '''''' ^'°™ ° "

'And that wad be the cause thou fi, *. x, mak muckle din about what it saw? Tf-f r , , ^'^'™ ^^'^^'^ himself, forbye Edward, who is of A „ ^ ^ 1 ^een my Halbert

yammered the haill night of a constanov n •'-'^' '"^ "'^'^ '"" Mary has sic sights mair natural to he •' ^^'^ '^^^ Mistress

THE MONASTERY 29

' That may weel be,' said Tibb; ' for on Hallowe'en she was born, as I tell ye, and our auld parish priest wad fain hae had the night ower, and All-Hallow day begun. But for a' that the sweet bairn is just like ither bairns, as yc may see yoUr-sell; iind except this blessed night, and ance before when we were in that weary bog on the road here, 1 kenna that it saw rnair than ither folk.'

'Bu t what siiw she in the bog, then,' said Dame Glendinnmg, ' forbye moor-cocks and heathei'-blutters 1'

'The wean saw something like a white leddy that weised us the gate,' siiid Tibb, 'when we were like to hae perished m the moss-hags : certain it was that Shagram reisted, and 1 ken Martin thinks he saw something.'

' Aud-what might the white leddy be ?' said Elspeth; ' have ye ouy guess o' that V

' It's weel kenn'd that, Dame Elspeth,' said Tibb; ' if ye had lived under grit folk, as I hae dune,, ye wadna be to seek in that matter.' , .

' I hae aye keepit my ain ha' house abune my head,^ said Elspeth, not without emphasis, ' and if I havena lived wi' gn t folk, grit folk have lived wi' me.'

'Weel—weel, dame,' said Tibb, 'your pardon's pmyed, there was nae ofieuce meant. But yo maun ken the great ancient families canna be just served'wi' the ordinary saunts—praise to them !—Hke Saunt Anthony, Saunt Cuthbert, and the like, that come and gang at every sinner's bidding, but they hae a sort of saunts or angels, or what uot, to themsells; and as for the Wiite Maiden of Avenel, she is kenn'd ower the haill country. And she is aye seen to yammer and wail before ony o that family dies, as was weel kenn'd by twenty folk before the death of Walter Avenel, haly be his cas t ! ' , , ^

'If she can do nae mair than that,' said Elspeth, somewhat scornfully, ' they needua make mouy vows to her, I trow. Can SJ - :::ake nae better fend for them than that, and has naethmg ^^etter to^i^° thnji wait o n t h e m ? ' ^ i . 4,1 <-„•

' M „ ° "^^-coun^ . . ,_can the White MaicJfen do for them to the bo°,^ ^''^^v servfflid iB>rae in the au?d histories,'said l i b b ; '^^'t Tm°f^^*lj^ ^ » < i t ; ? S ^ J '1-y. " ^ P* '' ''•'' ^'''''''''''' ^ ^ i y U | a w i n t h e T o ? ^ ^ ® » ^ > * b a m e Glcndinning, rising and liehttr^'H^^^-eel Til.i . 1 great privileges of your grand fo!k 1 * « "-on 1 unn ^i! ' ^ a i d l L l are good eneugli saunts for

4 a ^ d ^ ^ 0 ^ • L a d y P ; ^ ^ ^ . ^ * leave L in.a.bog that they '«<^^van.antthe^

30 •WAVERLFA' NOVELS

can help me out o', seeing I send four waxen candles to their chapels every Candlemas; and if they arc not seen to weep at my death, I'se wan-aut tliem smile at my joyful rising again, whilk Heaven send to all of us, Amen.'

' Anion,' • answered Tibb, devoutly; ' and now it's 'time I . should hap \ip the wee bit gathering turf, as the 'fire is ower low.'

Busily she set heraelf to perforin this duty. Tlic relict of Simon Glcndinuing did but pause a inomcnt to cast a heedful and cautious glance all around the hall, to see that iiothin" was out of its proper place; then, wishing Tibb good-night, she retired to repose.

'The deil's in the carline,«said Tibb to hersel a was the wife of a cock-laii-d, she thinks heraelf g.. 5- ^" 'iioit. than the bower-woman of a lady of that ilk !' ;tirt\ang giv.iir vent to lier supi)ressed spleen in this little ejaculation, T las also betook hereelf to slymber. lifv

^me

C H A P T E R V

\ priest, yc cry, a priest!—lame shepherds they, ilow shall they gather In the str-aggling flock ? Dumb clogs which bark not—how shall they compel The loitering vagrants to th', Jlaster's fold .'

• l-'itter to bask belbre the blazing fire. And smifl' the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, Thau on tlio snow-wreath battle with the wolf.

T/io Itcformalion.

THE health of the Lady of Avenel had been gmdually decaying ever since her disaster. I t seemed as if the few years which" followed her husband's death had done on her the work of half a century. She lost the fresh elasticity of form, the colour and the mien Of health, and became wasted, wan, aud feeble. She appeared to have no formed complaint; yet it was evident to those who looked on hci' that her strength waned daily. Her lips at length became blenched and her eye dim ; yet she spoke not of any desire to see a priest, until Elspeth Glen-diimiug iu her zeal could not refram from touching upon a point which she deemed essential to salvation. Alice of Avenel received her hint kindly, and thanked her or It.

' If any good priest would take the trouble of such a journey,' she said, ' he should be welcome; for the prayers aud lessons of the good must be at aU times advant^igeous.

'Hiis (luiet acquiescence was not qiute what Elspeth Glen-dinning" Wished or expected. She made up, however, by her own enthnsiasm, for the lady's want of eagerness to a^•all her­self of ghostly counsel, and Martin was despatched wuth such haste as Shagi-am would make, to pray one of the religious men of St. Mary's to come up to iidministcr the last consolations to the widow'of Walter de Avenel. , , ^ ^, ^

When the sacristan had aunounccd to the loi-d abbot that the lady of the umquhile Walter dc Avenel .was in very weak health in the Tower of Glendearg, and desired the assistance of a father confessor, the lordly monk paused on the request.

32 ' WAVERLEY NOVELS

' ' W e do remember Walter de Avenel,' lie said—'a good knif'ht and a valiant; he -was dispossessed of his lands, and slain by the Southron. May not the lady come hither to the sacrament of confession 1 The !,-oad is distant, and painful to

travel.' (^;W^,-^;i -' ''•'^•^•''^1 f^-^"-*) ' The lady is unwell, holy father,' aiis\vfcred -the sacristan,

' and unable to bear the journey.' -^—'-' True ay—yes—then miist one of our. brethren go to her.

Knowest thou if she hath aught of a jointure from this ^Valter de Avenel V V O * > - C o - i .«^ t v J v T C n ^ t--^c^,l •^ ^ ^ f

' Very little, holy father,' said- the sacristan; ' she hath-t»»,-resided at Gleadearg since her luisband's death, wellnigh on- , the charity of a poor widow,,called Elspeth Olcndinniug.' v^-^^y^

'WTiy, thou knowest all the widows in the counti-y-side^'J^-*' said the abbot. ' Ho ! ho ! ho !' and lie shook- his portly sides at his own jest.

' Ho ! ho ! ho !' echoed the sacristan, in the tone and tune in which an inferior applauds the jest of his superior; then added, with a hypocriticid snuffle and a sly twinkle of liis ej'e, ' I t is our duty, most holy father, to comfort the widow. He ! h e ! he ! h e ! '

This last laugh was more modeinite, until tlie abbot nhould put his sanction on tlio jest.

' Ho ! ho !' said the abbot; ' then, to leave jesting. Father Philip, take thou thy riding-gear, and go to confess this Dame Avenel.'

' But,' said the sacristan 'Give me no " b u t s " ; neither " b u t " nor "if" pass between

monk and abbot. Father Philip; the bands of discipline must not be relaxed ; heresy gathei-s force like a snowball; tlie multitude expect confessions and preachings from the Benedictine as they would from so many beggarly friars, and wo may not desert tiie vineyard, though the toil be grievous unto us.'

'And' with so little advantage to the holy monastery,' said the sacristan.

' True, Father Philio ; but wot you not that what prcvcntclh harm docth good 1 Tliis Jidian do Avenel lives a light and evil life, and should we neglect the wT?iow of liis brother, he might foray our lands, and we never able to show who luu-t us ;, moi'c-over it is oui- duty to an ancient family, who, in their day, have been' benefactoi-s to the abbey. Away with thee instantly, brother; ride night and day, an it be necessary, and let men see how dilio-entoAbbot Boniface and his faithful children arc

THK MONASTEliV ' 33

hi the execution'of tlieir sijiritual du ty ; toil not detemng them, for the glen is five miles in length ; fear not withholding them, for it is said to be haunted of spectres; nothing moving thcni from pursuit of their spiritual calling, to the confusion of calithmious lieretics, and the comfort and edification of all true and fakliful sons •of the Catholic Church. I wonder what our brother Kustace will say to this? '

Breathless with his own picture of the daugera and toil which lie was to encounter, and the fame which ho was to acquire (both Ijy proxy), tlie abbot moved slowly to finish his luncheon in the refectory ; and the sacristan, with no very good will, accom­panied Old Martin in his return to Glondearg; the greatest impediment in the journey beinj? the trouble of restraining iiis pampered mule, that she might tread in sometliiug like ail equal pace with poor jaded Shagram.

Aftei- remaining an hour in private with his penitent, the monk returned, moody and full of thought. Dame Elspeth,' who had phiced for the lioiioiired guest some refreshment in the hall, was struck with the embarrassment which appeared in his countenance. Elspeth watched him with gi-eat anxiety. She observed there was that on his brow which rather resembled a pei-son come from hearing the confession of some enormous crime than the look of a confessor who resigns a reconciled penitent, not to earth, but to-Heaven. After long hesitating, she could not at length refrain from hazarding a question. ' She was sure,'' she s;iid, ' the leddy had made an easy shrift. Five years liad they resided together, and she could safely say no woman lived better.'

'Woman,' said the sacristan, sternly, ' thou speakest thou knowesfc not what. What 'avails clearing the outside of the platter, if the inside bo foul with heresy?'

' Our dishes and trcuchci-s are not so clean as they could be ' wished, holy father,' said Elspeth, but half undoi-standing what lie sjiid, and beginning with her apron to wipe the dust from the plates, of which she supposed him to complaiu.

'Forbear, Dame Elspetii,' said the monk9 'yom- plates are as clean as wooden treuchei-s and pewter flagons can well b e ; the foulness of which I speak is that of pestilential heresy, which is daily becoming ingrained in this our Holy Church of Scotland, and as a canker-worm iu the rose-garland of the Spouse.'

' Holy Mother of Heaven!' said Dame Elspeth, crossing hei-self, "• have I kept house with a heretic 1'

' No, Elspeth—no,' re])licd the monk ; ' it were too strong a

34 WAVT-KLFA' N 0 \ T : L S

speech for mc to make of this unhappj la'dy, hut I would I could say she is free from heretical, opinions. Alas ! they fly about like the pestilence by noonday, and infect even the fii-st and fairest of the flock • For i t is easy to see of this dame that she liath been high in judgment as in rank.' "

'And she can write and read, I had'alnio.st •fsaid as weel as your reverence,' said Elspeth.

' 'Wlioin doth she write to, and what doth she read 1' said the monk, eagerly. . r

' Nay,' replied I'vlspcth, ' I cannot say I ever saw her write a t all, but her maiden that was—she now serves the family— says she can write. And for reading, she has often read to us good things out of u thick Ijlack volume with silver clasps.'

' Let me see it,' said the monk, hastily—' on your allegiance as a tnie vassal—on j'oin- faith as a Catholio (.'lu'istian—in­stantly—instantly, let me see i t ! '

The good woman hesitated, alarmed at the tone in which the confessor took up her infoi-mation; and being, moreover, of opinion that what so good a woman as the Lady of Avenel studied so devoutly could not be of a tendency actuallj' evil. But, borne down by the clamour, exclamations, and something like threats, used by Father Philip, she at length brought him the fatal volutue. I t was easj' to do this without suspicion on the part of the owner, as she lay on her bod exhausted with the fatigue of a long conference with her confessor, and as the small ' round,' or tuiTct closet, in which was the book and her other trifling property, was accessible by another door. Of all her eftects, the book was the last she would have thought of securing, for of what use or interest could it be in a family who neither read themselves nor were in the habit of seeing any who did 1 So that Dame ELspeth had no difficulty in possessing herself of the volume, although her heart all the while accused her of an ungenerous and an inhospit<iblo part towards her friend and inmate. The double power of a landlord and a feudal superior was before her eyes; aiid, to say truth, the boldness with which she "might otherwise have resisted this double authority was, 1 grieVe to say it, much qualified by the curi­osity she entertained, as a daughter of Eve, to have some ex­planation rcsjiecting the mysterious volume which the lady cherished with so nmch care, yet whose contents she imparted with such caution. For never had Alice of Avenel read them any passage from the book in question until the iron door of the tower wuS locked, and all possibility of intrusion prevented.

THE MONASTKRY 35

Even then-she had shown; by the selection of jjarticular piiss-a"es, that slie was more anxious to impress ou their minds the principles whicli the volume contained tiian to introduce them to it !is a new nde of faith.

When Elspeth, half-cmious, half-reniorsoful, had placed the book in the monk's hinds, ho exclaimed, after turning over tlie leaves, ' Now, by mine oixler, it is as I suspected ! iNly mule— my mule ! I will abide no longer here. Well hast thou done, daine, in placing in my hands this perilous volume.'

' Is it tlien witchcraft or devil's work 1' said Dame Elspeth, in great agitation.

' Nay, Ood forbid,' said the monk, signing himself with the cross, ' it is the Holy Scripture. > But it is rendered into the vulgar tongue, and therefore, by the order of the Holy Catholic Church, unfit to be iu the hands of any lay pei-sou.'

'And yet is the Holy Scripture conununicated for our com­mon salvation,' said Elspeth. 'Good fatiier, you must instruct mine i'Miorance better; but lack of wit cannot be a deadly sin, and truly, to my poor thinking, I .should be glad to read the 1 loly Scriptm-e.'

' I daresay thou wouldst,' said the monk; ' and even thus did our mothei'Evo seek to have knowledge of good and evil, and thus sin came into the world, and deatli by sin.'

' I am sure, and that's tiite !' said Elspeth. ' 0, if she had dealt by the counsel of St. Peter and St. Pau l ! '

' If she had reverenced the command of Heaven,' said the monk, ' which, as it gave her birth, life, and happiness, fixed upon the gi-ant such conditions as best corresponded with its holy pleasure. I tell thee, Elspeth, the Word slaijeth; that is, the tc.\t alone, read with imskilled eye and unhallowed lips, is like those strong medicines which sick men take by the advice of tho IciVi-ned. Such patients recover and thrive ; while those dciiling in them at their own hand shall perish by their own deed.'

' Nae doubt—nae doubt,' said tho poor woman, ' your rever­ence knows best.'

' Not I,' said Eather Philip, iu a tone as deferential as he thought could possibly become the sacristan of St. Maiy's— ' not [, but tho Holy Father of Cliristciulom, and oui- own holy father tho lord abbot, know best. I, the poor sacristan of St. Jlary's, can but repeat what I hear from othere my superioi-s. "i'ot of this, good woman, be assured—the "Word—tho mere Word, slayeth. But the church hatli her ministei-s to glozc

36 WAVERLKY NOVELS

aud to expound the same xmto her faithful congregation; and this I say not so much, my beloved brethren—I mean, my beloved sister (for the sacristan had got into the end of one of his old sermons)—this I speak not so much of the rectors, curates, and secular clergy, so called because' they live after the fashion of the seculuin or age, \mbound by tho'so tics which sequestrate us from the world; neither do I speak this of the mentlicant friai-s, whether black or grey, whether crossed or uncrossed; b\it of the monks, and especially of the moidks Benedictine, reformed on the rule of St. Bernard of Clairvaus, thence called Cisterciiui, of which monks, Christian brethren— sister, I would say—gi-eat is the happiness and glory of the country in possessing the holy ministers of St. Mary's, whereof I, thougli an unworthy brother, may say it hath produced more saints, more bishops, more popes—may oxu* patrons make us thankful! — than any holy foundation in Scotland. Where­fore But I SCO Mi'rtin hath my mule in readiness, and I will but salute you with the kiss of sisterhood, which maketh not ashamed, and so betake me to my toilsome return, for the glen is of bad reputation for the evil spirits which haunt it. Moreover, I may arrive too late at the bridge, whereby I may bo obliged to take the river, which I observed to be somewhat waxen.'

Accordingly, ho took his leave of Dame Elspeth, who was confounded by the rapidity of his iitterance, and the doctrine he gave forth, and by no means easy on the subject of the book, which her conscience told hei- she should not have communi­cated to any one without the knowledge of its owner.

Notwithstanding the haste which tlio monk as well as his mule made to return to better quarters than they had left at the head of Glendoarg; notwithstanding the eager desire Father Philip had to be the very first who should acquaint tlic ablwt that a copy of the book they most dreaded had been foinid within the halidome, or patrimony, of the abbey; notwitlistanding, moreover, certam feehngs which induced him to hurry as fast as possible througli the gloomy and evil-reputed glen, still the difliculties of the road, and the rider's want of habitude of qiuclc motion, were such that twilight came upon him ere he had nearly cleared the narrow valley.

I t was indeed a gloomy ride. The two sides of the valley were so near that at even- double of the river the shadows fi-om the western sky fell upon, and totally obscured, the eastern bank; the thickets of copsowood seemed to wave with a por-

THE MONASTERY 37

teutons agitation of bouglis and loaves, and the very crags and scaurs seemed higher and grimmer than they had appeared to the monk while he was travelling in daylight and in company. Father Philip was heartily rejoiced when, emerging from the narrow glen, ho gained the open- valley of the Tweed, which held on its«majestic c6ui-sc from curi-ent to pool, and from pool stretched away to other currents, with a dignity peculi;u- to itself amongst the Scottish rivers; for, whatever may have been the» drought of the season, the Tweed usually fills up the space between its banks, seldom leaving those extensive sheets of shingle which deform the margins of many of the celebrated Scottish streams.

The monk, insensible to beauties which the age had not )'e"aixled as deserving of notice, was, nevertheless, like a prudent gcTieral, pleased to find himself out of the narrow glen in whicli the enemy might have stolen upon him imperccived. He drew up his bridle, reduced his mule to her natural and luxurious amble, instead of the agitating and broken trot at which, to his no small inconvenience, she had hitherto proceeded, and, wiping liis brow, gazed forth at leisure on the broad moon, which, now mingling with the lights of evening, was rising over field and forest, village 'and fortalice, and, above all, over the stately monastery, seen far and dim amid the yellow light.

The worst pai-t of this 'magnificent view, in the monk's apprehension, was that the monastery stood on the opposite side of the river, and that, of the many fine bridges which have since been built across that classical stream, not one then existed. There was, however, in recompense, a bridge then standing which has since disappeared, although its niins may be still traced by the cmious. / I t w-as of a very peculiar form. Two strong abutments wore built on either side of the river, at a part where the stream was peculiarly contracted. V\x>n a )-ock in the centre of the current was built a solid piece of masonry, con.structed like the pier of a bridge, and presenting, like a piei-, an angle to the current of the stream. The masonry continued solid until the pier rose to a level with the two aljutments upon cither side, and from thence the buildinj,' rose in the form of a tower. The lower story of this tower consisted only of an archway or i»ss.igc through the building, over cither entrance to which hung a drawbridge with counterpoises, cither of which, when dropped, connected the archway with the opposite abut­ment, where the further cud of the drawbridge rested. When

38 WAVERLEY N0%T3LS

both bridges were thus lowered, the passage over tlic river was complete.

The bridge-keepei-, who was the dependant of a neighbour­ing baron, resided with his family iu the second and third stories of the tower, which, when both drawbridges were raised, fonncd an insiilated fortaliee in the midst of the river. He l\as entitled to a small toll or custom for the passage, concerning the amount of which disputes sometimes arose between him and the j)ass-engers. I t is needless to say that the-bridge-ward had usually the better in the.se questions, since he could at pleasure detain the traveller on the opposite side; or, suffering him to pass half-way, might keep him prisoner in his tower till they fl-ere agreed on the rate of pontago.*

But it was most frequently with the monks of St. Mary's that the warder had to dispute liis perquisites. Tliesc holy men insisted for, and at length obtained, a right of gratuitous pass-ago to themselves, gi-eatly. to the discontent of the bridge-keeper. But when they demanded the same immimity for the inimerous l^ilgrims who visited the shrine, the bridge-keeper waxed restive, and was suppoi-ted by his lord in his resistance. The contro­versy grow animated on both sides: the abbot menaced ex­communication, and the keeper of the bridge, "though imable to retaliate in kind, yet made each individual monk who had to

^ v6ross and recross the river endurS a sort of purgatoiy ere he , ^ ^ would accommodate them with a passage. This was a great in-

9 convenience, and would have proved a more serious one, but that if , the river was fordable for man and horse in ordinary' weather.

? • It was a fine moonlight night, as we have already .said, when Father Philip approached this bridge, the singular constmction of which gives a curious idea of Hie insecurity of the tiroes-The river was not in flood, but it was above its ordinary level —'a heavy water,' as it is called in that coiintry, throngu which the monk had no particular inclination to ride, if h^ conld manage the matter better.

'Peter, my good friend,' cried the sacristan, rnisinj^ ' ' _ voice—' my very es:cel]|!nt friend, Peter, be so kind as to loxvei the drawbridge. Peter, I say, dost thou not hear? it is thy gossip. Father Philip, wlio calls thee.'

Peter heard him perfectly well, and saw liim into the bargan'; but, as he had considered the sacristan as peculiarly his enemy in his dispute with the convent, ho went quietly to bed, after reconnoitring the monk through his loophole, observing to his^

•-• I * see Drawbridge at Briilgo-oud. JJote 4. » ['p^ I

THE, MONASTERY 39

wife, that '-riding tlie water in a moonlight niglit would do the sacristan no harm, and would teach him the value of a brig the ' neist time, on whilk a man might pass high and dry, winter and summer, flood and ebb.'

After exhausting his voice in entreaties and threats, which were equaliy -unattenVlcd to by Peter of the Brig, as he was called. Father Pliilip at length moved down the river to take the ordinary ford at the head of the next stream. Cursing the rustic obstinacy of Peter, he began, nevertheless, to pereuade himself that the passage of the river by the ford was not only safe, but pleasant. The banks and scattered trees were so beaiitifully reflected from the bosom of the dark stream, the whole cool and delicious pictin-e rformed so pleasing a contrast to liis k t e agitation, to the wamith occasioned by his vain endeavours to move the relentless porter of the bridge, that the result was rather agreeable than otherwise.

As Father Philip came close to the water's edge, at the spot where he was to enter it, there sat a female under a large, broken, scathed oak-tree, or rather under the remains of such a tree, weeping, wringing her hands, and looking earnestly on the current of the river. The monk was struck with astonish­ment to see a ffemale there at that time of night.' But he was in all honest service—and if a step fai-ther, I put it upon his own conscience—a devoted Sqiiire of dames. After observing the maiden for a moment, althoiigh she seemed to take no notice of his presence, he Ava.s moved by her distress, and will­ing to offer his assistance. 'Damsel,' said he, ' thou seemcst in no ordinary distress; peradventurc, like myself, thou hast been refused passage at the bridge by the churlish keeper, and thy crossing may concern tnee either for perfoi-manco of a vow or some other weighty charge.'

The maiden uttered some inarticulate sounds, looked at the river, and then in the face of the sacristan. I t struck Father Philip at that instant that a Highland chief of distinction had been for some tune expected to pay his vows at the shrine of St. Mary's; and that possibly this fair^^mafden might be one of his family, travelling alone for accomplishment of a vow, or left belimd by some accident, to whom, therefore, it would be but right and prudent to use every civility in his power, especially as she seemed imacquaiuted with the Lowland tongue. Such at lca.st was the only motive the sacristan was ever known to assign for his courte.sy; if there was any other, I once more refer it to his owu consciefice".

40 WAVEKLEY NOVELS

To express himself by signs, the common language of all nations, the cautious sacristan firet pomted to the river, then to his mule's crupper, and then made, as gracefully as lie could, a sign to induce the fair solitary to mount behind him. She seemed to understand his meaning, for she rose up as if to accept his offer; and while the good monk, who, -as we liavc hinted, was no great cavalier, laboured with the pressure of the right leg and the use of the left rein to place his mule with her side to the bank in such a position that the ludy might mount with ease, she rose from the gi-ouud with rather portentous activity, and at oue bound sate behind the monk upon the animal, much the firmer rider of the two. The mule by no means seemed to approve of this double burden; she bounded, bolted, and would soon have thrown Father Philij) over her head, had not the maiden witli a firm hand detained him in the saddle.

At length the restive brute changed her Inimour; and, from refusing to budge off the spot, suddenly stretched her nose homeward, and dashed into the ford as fast as she could scamper. A new terror now invaded the monk's mind: the ford seemed unusually deep, the water eddied off in strong npple from the counter of the mule, and began to rise upon lier side. Philip lost his presence of mind, wliich was at no time his most ready attribute ; the mule yielded to the weight of the cun-ent, and as the rider was not attentive to keep her head turned up tlie river, she drifted downward, lost the ford iind her footing at once, and began to swim with lier head down the stream. And what was sufficiently strange, at the same moment, notwithstanding the extreme peril, the damsel began to sing, therel)y increasing, if anything could increase, the bodily fear of the worthy sacristan.

Merrily swim we the moon shines briRlit Both current and ripple arc dancing in light. l \°^iiri ,Ul"'f^*^" ".'Sl't raven, I heard hiin croak, As we plashed along beneath the oak

Thoir S n ' ^ ' ^-'°"^^ ' '^"^hes so far and so wide, ' AvL w l-Pn '"'" ^^V"'^ '? "»^l«t °f the tide. 'Mv I,™t !l 1^^ nesthngs,' the raven he said, For^a 1 W J ° '" " " " ! ' " '"^ ^ood be red. ^01 a blue swoln corpse is a dainty meal And 111 have my share with the jlikc ^ id the eel.' Merrily swim we, the moon .shines bright There s a golden gleam on the distant height; Theres a^ilver shower on the al.lers dank

THK JtONASTERY 41

Aucl the drooping willows tliat wave on the bank. I .see the abbe,y, botb timet and tower, It is all astir for the vesper hour ; The monies for the chapel arc leaving each cell, But Where's Father Philip, should toll the bell ? "

JMerrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downiward we di-ift through shadow and light. Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep.

, The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, Ho has lighted his candle of death and of dool. Look, father, look, and you'll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee !

Good luck to your fishing, whflm watch ye to-night ? A man of mean or a man of might ? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove. Or lover who crosses to visit his love ? Harlc ! heard yc the Kelpy re])ly as we pass'd— ' God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the bridge fast! All that come to my cove are sunk, Priest or layman, lover or monk.'

How long the damsel might have continued to sing, or where the teiTified monk's joiiniej- might have ended, is uncei-tain. As she sung the last stanzii, they an-ivcd at, or rather in, a broad tranquil sheet of water, caused by a strong wear or dam-head running across the river, wliich dashed in a broad Cixtaract over the barrier. The mule, whether from choice or influenced by the suction of the cmi-ent, made towards the cut intended to supply the convent mills, and entered it half swimming, half wading, and pitching the unlucky monk to and fro in the saddle at a fearful rate.

As his person flew hither and tliither, liis gamient became loose, and in an effort to retain it, his hand lighted on tlie volume of the Lady of Avenel which was in his bosom. No sooner had he grasped it than his companion pitched him out of the saddle into the stream, wliere, still keeping lior j hand ou his collar, she gave him two or three good _smTses '^'*''*' iu the watery fluid, so as to ensure that 'Svery part o fh im cr\s ^^ had its share of wotting, and then quitted her hold when v .__ he was so near the side that by a slight eflfort—of a great ' ^ \ ^ one he was incapable—he might sc_ramble ou shore. This v^*~ accordingly he accomplished, and "turning his eyes to see iAA^*-what liad become of his extraordinary companion, she was ' nowhere to be seen: but still he heard, as if from the surface of the river, and mixing with the noise of the'water breaking'

-tC

42 WAVEBLEY NOVELS

over the dam-head, a fragment of her wild song, which seemed to inui thus :

Landert—landed ! the black book hath won, I'lse had you seen Benvick with morning sun ! Sain yo, and save ye, and blytho mot ye be, For seldom they land that go swimming with rac.

The ecstasy of the monk's teiTor conld be endured no longer; his head grew dizzy, and, after staggering a few steps onwijrd, and i-unniug himself against a wall, he sunk down in a state of insensibility.

C H A P T E E VI

I\"o\v let us sit ill conclave. That tliesc woeils Be rooted from the viiioyaitl of the church, That these I'oul t.ires bo scver'd from the wheat, We are, I trust, agi-eecl. Yet how to do this,

• Kor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine-i)lants, r ' Craves good adnsement. ^ , ' - ' ' - -^ ' • . ' ' f t iviAii , V\C>-^>>'^*^**^'*^ n,-licformation. THE vesper sci-vice in tlic nioiiusterv churcli of St. Mary's was now'over, 'rho.alibfit-hiid tllsrobeci liimsclf of his niagniticent vestures of ceremony, and resumed his oixliiiary habit, wliicli was a black "own, worn over a white cassock, with a narrow ncapulary; a decent and venerable dress, which was well cal-cuiaJSl to set" oft" to advantage the portly mien of Abbot ^ A r Eoniface. Slv>^«^4 - ^ j v y ^ v . Viv I • »—v- V^^^O^ ^ V ^ o J ^

In quiet times no one could have filled the state of a mitred abbot, for such was his dignity, more respectiibly than this worthv prelate. He had, no doubt, many of those habits of self-indulgence which men are apt to acquire who live for them­selves alone. He was vain, moreover; and, when boldly con­fronted, had sometimes sho'vn symptoms of timidity not very consistent with the high claims wiiich ho preferred as an eminent member of the churcli, or with the punctual deference which he exacted from his religious brethren, and all who wore placed under his command. But ho was hospitable, charitable, and by uo means of himself disposed to proceed with severity against any one. In short, he would in other timj;s have slumberal oiit his term of preferment with as mr<!h credit as any other ' purple abbot,' who lived easily, but at the same time decorously, .slept soundly, and did not disquiet himself with dreams.

But the wide alarm spread tlu-ough the whole Church of Home by the ]irogress of the reformed doctriiuw sorely disturbed the ropo.sc of Abbot ]?oniface, and opened to liim a wide field of duties and cares which he had never so much as dreamed of. There were opinions to be combated and refuted, practices to

44 WAVERLEY NOVELS

be inquired into, heretics to he detected and pifnishcd, the fallen ofl' to he reclaimed, the wavering to bo confirmed, scandal to he removed from the clergy, and the vigour of discipline to he re-established. Post upon post an'ivcd at the Monastery of St. Mary's—horses reeking and riders exhausted —this from the privj^ council, tha t from' the Primate of Scot­land, and this other again from the Queen Mothei-, exhorting, approving, condemning, requesting advice upon this subject and requiring information upon that. • '

These missives Abbot Boniface received with an important air of helplessness, or a helpless air of importance, whichever the reader may please to term it, evincing a t once gratified vanity and profound trouble t)f mind, ('r' i'^ <^'^i^>') i\ p 'V. • -* '

The sharp-witted Primate of St. Andrews liad fofLliCcn tlic deficiencies of the abbot of St. Mary's, and endeavoured to pro­vide for them by getting admitted into his monastery, as sub-prior, a brother Cistercian, a man of parts and knowledge, devoted to the service of the Catholic Church,and very capaVile not only to advise the abbot on occasions of difficulty, but to make him sensible of liis duty in c;ise he should, from good­nature or timidity, be disposed to shrink from it.

Father Eustace played the same part in the monastery as the old general who, in foreign armies, is placed a t the elbow of the prince of the blood, who iTominally couunands in chief, on condition of attempting nothing without the advice of his dry-nurse ; and he shared the fate of all such dry-nui-ses, being heartily disliked os well as feared by his principal. Still, how­ever, the Primate's intention was fully answered. I'^ithcr Eirstace became the constant thence and often the bugbear of the worthy abbot, who hardly dared to turn himself in liis bed without considering wdiat Father Eustace would tliink of it. lu every case of difficulty. Father I'Instace was sununoued, and his opinion asked ; and no sooner was tl>o embarrassment j'emovcd than the abbot's next thought was how to get rid of his adviser. In every letter which he wrote to tliose in power, lie recom­mended' Father E^stafe to some high church preferment—a bishopi-ic or an abbey; and as they di-opped one after another, and were otherwise conferred, ho began to think, as he confessed to the siicristan in the bitterness of his spirit, that the Monastery of St. i lary 's had got a life-rent lease of their sub-prior.

Vet* more indignant ho would have been had he susjjccted that l<'atlier Eustace's ambition was fixed upon his own niit;re, which from soine*attacks of an apoplectic nature, deemed by the

THK M0J7ASTERY 45

abbot's friefids to bo more eerions than liy liinisclf, it was sup­posed inight bo shortly \-acant. But the confidence which, like other dignitaries, he reposed in liis own liealtli, prevented Abbot Ronifaco from imagining that it held any concatenation with the motious-of Father JCnstaco.

The nectssity under which he found hiniuolf of consulting with his gi-aud adviser, in cases of real difiiculty, rendered the worthy abbot particularly desirous of doing witiiout him in^all ordinary cases of administration, though not without consider­ing wliiit Father Eustace would have said of the matter. He scorned, therefore, to give a hint to the snb-])i-ior of the bold stroke by which ho had despatched Brother Philip to C!lendear<'' • but wlion the vespers cnmo withoiic his reappearance he became a little ilnoasy, the more as other matters weighed upon his mind. The feud with the warder or keeper of the bridge threatened to be attended with bad consequences, as the man's quarrel was taken up by the martial baron imder wliom he served ; and pressing letters of an unpleasant teudenc\- had just arrived from the Primate. Like a gouty man who catches hold of iiis crutch while he cui'ses the infirmit3' that reduces him to use it, the abbot, however reluctant, foinid himself obliged to require I'lustace's presence, after the sen'ico was over, in his house, or rather palace, which wa-s attached to, anil made part of, the monastery.

Abbot Boniface was seated in his high-backed chair, the grotesque carved back of which terminated in a mitre, before a fire where two or three large logs were reduced to one red glow­ing mass of charcoal. At his elbow, on an oaken stand, stood the remains of a roasted capon, on which his reverence had made his evening meal, flanked by a goodly stoup of Bourdcaux of excellent flavour, l ie was gazing indolently on the fire, partly engaged in meditation on his past and present fortunes, partly oucupied.by endeavouring to trace towers and steeples in the red embers.

'Yes,' thought the abbot to himself, ' in tl^at red perepective I could fancy to myself tiic peaceful t-nvei-s of Dinidreimau, where I passed my life ere 1 wjxs allied to pomp and to trouble. A quiet brotherhood we wore, regular in our domestic duties; and when the frailties of humanity prevailed over us we con­fessed, and were absolved Ijy each other, and the most formidable piirt of the penance was the jest of the convent on the culprit. ' can almost fancy that 1 see tlie cloister garden and the pear-trees whicli I grafted with my own hands. And for what have

4G. WA\T5UI,KY NOVKLS

I changed all this, but to be ovevwhcUiiel with business which concerns me not, to be called "My LonI Abbot," and to bo tutored by Father Eustace ? 1 would these towew were the Abbey of Aberbrothwick, and Father Eustace the abbot; or 1 would he were in the fire on any tei'ms, so I were i-id of hini! The Primate says our Holy Father the Pope hath an adviser; 1 am sure he could not live a week with such a one as mine. Then there is no learning what Father Eustace thinks till you confess your owu difficulties. No hint will -bring forth his opinion: he is like a miser, who will not unbuckle his puree to bestow a farthing, until the wretch who needs it has owned his excess of poverty, and wrung out the boon by importunity. And thus I am dishonoured in the ejes of my religious brethren, who behold me treated like a child which hath no sense of its own. I will bear it no longer! Brother Bennet (a lay brother answered to his call), tell Father Eustace that I ijeed uot his presence.'

' I came to say to your reverence that the holy father is entering even now from the cloistcr.s.'

' Be it so,' said the abbot, ' ho is welcome; remove these things—or rather, place a trcnchor, the holy father may be a little hungi-y ; yet no, remove them, for there is no good fellow­ship in him. Let the stoup of wine remain, liowever, and placQ another cup.' •

The lay brother obeyed these contradictory commands in the way he judged most seemly : ho removed the carcass of the half-sacked capon, and placed two goblets beside the stoup of Bourdeaux. At tlie same instant entered Father Eustace.

He was a thin, sharp-faced, shglit-mado little man, whose keen grey eyes seemed almost tolook through the person to whom he addressed himself. His body was emaciated uot only with the fasts which he observed with rigid pimctualitj', but also by the active and imwearied e.Kercise of his sharp and piercing intellect:

A fiery soul, «)ucli, working out its way, FrAtcd the puny body to decay, And o'eP-infonii'd the tenement of clay.

He turned with conventual reverence to the loi-d abbot ; and as they stood together it was scarce possible to see a more complete difference of form and expression. The good-iiatured rosy face and laughing eye of the abbot, which even his pre­sent anxiety joiild not greatly niffle, was a wonderful contrast to the thin, palTid cheek and quick, j)enctrating glance of the

THK MONASTERY 47

monk, in wliich an eager and keen spirit glanced through eyes to which it seemed to give supernatural lusti-e.

The abbot opened tlie convei'Siition by motioning to the monk to tsike a stool, and inviting him to a cup of wine. The courtesy was declined with respect, yet not without a remark that the vcsper-servict) was past.

' For the stomach's sake, brother,' said the abbot, colouring a little—'you know the te.\t.'

i I t is a dangerous one,' answered the mouk, ' to handle alone, or at late hours. Cut off from human society—the juice of the gi'ape becomes a perilous com]>aniou of solitude, and therefore I ever shuii it.'

Abbot Boniface had poured 'Iiimself out a goblet which miglit hold about half an English pint; but, either struck with the trutli of the observation, or ashamed to act in direct opposi­tion to it, he suffered it to i-eniain untastcd before him, and immediately changed the subject.

' The Primate hath written to us,' said he, ' to make strict search within our bounds after the heretical persons denounced in this list, who have withdraw'n themselves from the justice which their opinions deserve. It is deemed probable that they will attempt tO retire to England by our borders, and the Primate requireth mo to watch with vigilance, and what not.'

' Assuredly,' said tlio monk, ' the magistrate shoiild not boar the sworf in vain—those be they that turn the world upside (lowni—and doubtless your reverend wisdom will with due dili­gence second the exertions of the right reverend father in God, being in the peremptory defence of the Holy Church.'

'Ay, but how is this to be done?' answered the abbot. ' St. Mary aid us ! The Primate writes to me as if 1 were a temporal baron—a man under command, having soldiers under him ! He says, send forth—scoiu- the covmtry—guard the passes. Truly these men do not travel as those who would give their lives for nothing: the last who went south passed the Dry ]\Iarch at the Hiding Burn with an escort of thirty speai-s, as our reverend brother the abbot of Kelso did write imto us. How are cowls and scapularies to stop the way ?'

' Your bailiff is accounted a good mau-at-anns, holy father,' said Eustace; ' your vassjds arc obliged to rise for the defence of the Holy Kirk—it is the teimre on which they hold their lauds; if they will not come forth for the church which gives them bread, let their possessions be given to othei-s.'

'We shall not bo wanting,' siud the abbot, collecting himself

48 WAVErU.EY NOVELS

witli importiiuco, ' t o do whatever may advantage Koly Kirk— thyself shall hear tlic charge to our bailiff and our officials ; but here again is our controvei-sy with the warden of the

, bridge and the Barou_of Meurallot. St. Mary ! vexations do so multiply upon the-Bbuso, luTdlipou the generation, that a man wots not wliere to turn to ! Thou didst sav, Father Eustace thou wouldst look into our evidents touching this free passaco for the pilgrimsr ''-^•VH t v i . C< .^.w'^ v-'^^ . .,' '^ '°-^y. ?°''"^ ' ' " ° ^^'° chartulary of the housed holy father, said Eustace, 'and therein 1 find a written and formal gi-ant of all duties and customs payable at the drawbridge of Lngton, not only by ecclesiastics of this foundation, but bv every pdgrim truly designed to accomplish his vows at thii house, to the Abbot Ailfoi-d, and the monks of the-house of ht. iMary in Kennaquhair, from that time and for ever Th« deed is dated on St. Bridget's Even, in the year of -Redemption 113(, and bears the sign and seal of the gi-antcr, Charles of Mcigallot, great-great-grandfatiier of this baron, and pm-nort. to be gnxnted for the safety of his own .soul, and for the weal of the souls of his father and motiicr, and of all his predecessoiN and successoi-s, being Barons of Mcigallot.' > ''oora

'But ho alleges,' said the abbo't, ' t ha t the bridKc-wnvk have been in possession of these duo.s, and have rendered tlt^n available, for more than fifty yea,^, and the baron threate.w violence ; meanwhile the journey of the pilgi-inis is iaterrupte? to the prejudice of their own souls, and the diminution of fi ' revenues of St. Maiy. The s^xcristau advised us to pufc o, ' boat; but the warden whom thou kuowest to be a god L^ man, has sworn the devil tear bin., but that if thn,- , f ""'^^'* boat on the laird's stream, he will rive her board f^ombn°" f

.And then some nay we should compound the claim for n T li sum in silver.' Here the abbot paused a moment for, , i but receiving none, he added, 'But what thinkest tl,r,„ v lv• ' ' ' Eustace ? why art thou silent 1' ^ " ' ° " ' ^' "tlier

'Because I am surprised at the question „•!,; i .i , abbot of St. Marys ask^ at the y o u n g e S h i br hre " ' " ' '

' ^ omigest in time of your abode with us Brr.tlio, v ' ^ , .said the abbot, 'notyoungest in years or 1 t'b^ 1 J^ustace,' - sub-pr ior also of this convent.'^ ' ' ^ *'""'^' ' " ^^"P^-ience

' I am astonished,' continued Eustace, ' tha t the abbot of this venerable house should ask of any one whether he can alienate the patrimony of our lioly and divine patmness or r up to an unconscientious, and perhaps a heretic, baron t l ' !

THE MONASTERY 49

rights conffrred on this church by liis devout progeuitor. Popes and councils alike prohibit i t ; the honour of the living and the weal of departed souls alike.forbid i t : it may not be. To force, if he dai-e use it, we must suiTender; but never by our consent should we see the goods of the church plundered, with as little scruple as he would drive oft' a heixl of English bcevea. Rouse yourself, reverend father, and doubt nothing but that the good cause shall f)revail. Wliet the spiritual swofd, and. direct it agahist the wicked who would usurp our holy rights. Whet the tcmpond swoixl if it be necessary, and stir up the courage and zeal of your loyal vas.sals.'

The abbot sighed deeply. 'All this,' he said, ' is soon .spoken by liiiu who hath to act' it not ; but ' Ho was interrupted by the entrance of Benuet rather hastily. ' The mule on which the sacristan had set out in the morning had returned,' he Siiid, ' to the convent stable all over wet, and with the saddle turned round beneath her belly.'

' S;inctii r^rnrja,!' said the abbot, 'our dear brother hatli perished" by the way !'

' It may not be,' said Eustace, hastily ; ' let the bell be tolled —cause the brethren to get torches—alarm the village—hurry down to the river—I myself will be the foremost.'

Tlie real abbot stood astonished and agape when at once he beheld his office fdled, and saw all which he ought to have ordered going forward at the dictates of the youngest monk in tiie convent. But ere the orders of Eustace, which nobody dreamed of disputing, were carried into execution, the necessity was prevented by the suddeu apparition of the sacristan, whose supposed danger excited all the alarm.

'7^

C H A P T E R Y I I

\ Erase tlie written troubles ol' the brain, 1 Cleanse the foul bosom of the jierilous stuff ! That weighs upon the heart.

" Macbeth.

^ ' AT betwixt cold and fright, the afflicted sacristan stood before liis superior, jjroppcd on tlic friendly arm of tlie convent miller, drenched with water, and scarce able to utter a syllable.

After various attempts to speak, the first words he uttered were

'Swim wc merrily, the moon shines bright.'

' Swim wc merrily ! ' retorted the abbot, yidignanth' • ' a merry night have j-e chosen for swimming, and a becomiu"-salutation to your superior!' ^ °

'Our brother is bewildered,' said Eustace; 'speak, Father PhUip, how is it with you 1'

' Good luck to your fishing,'

continued the sacristan, making a most dolorou.s attempt at the tunc of his strange companion.'* • ' '

' Good luck to your fishing !' repeated the abbot, still more surprised and displeased ; ' by my halidome, he is drunken with wine, and comes to our presence with his jolly catches in his throat! If bread and water can ciu-e this folly . ' •

'Wi th your pardon, venemble father,' said the sub-prior, 'of water our brother has had enough; and methinks the confusion of his eye '.s rather that of terror than, of au<'ht unbecoming his profession. Where did you fmd him Hob Mil lerJ^ ' "" •""'A'n it please your reverence, I did but go to shut the sluice

of the mill, and as I was going to shut the sluice, I heard some­thing groan near to m e ; but judging it was one of Giles Fletcher's hogs—for so jilease you, ho never shuts his gate

THE MONASTERY 51

I caught up my lever, and was about—St. Mary forgive me !— to strike where I heaitl the soimd, when, as the saints would have it, I heard the second gi'oaa just like that of a living man. So I called up my knaves, and foimd the father sacristan lying wet and senseless under the.wall of our kiln. So soon as we brough'i him to himself a bit, he prayed to be brought to your reverence, but I doubt me his wits have gone a bell-wavering by the road. I t was but now tliat he spoke in some­what better form.'

' Well! ' said Brother Eustace, ' thou hast done well. Hob Miller; only begone now, and remember a second time to pause ere vou strike in the dark.'

• 'I'leaso your reverence, it shall bo a lesson to me,' said the miller, 'not to mistake a holy man for a hog again,.so long as I live.' And, making a bow with profound hmnility, the miller withdrew. . rvi -i- , • i T.

' And now that this clnirl is gone, I'^ather Philip, said Lustace, 'wilt thou tell our vouerable superior what ails thee?. Art thou vino gi-avatm, man 1 If so, we will have thee to thy cell.'

' Water! water! not wine,' muttered the exhausted sacristan. ' Nay,' said the monk, ' if that bo thy complaint, wine may

perhaps cure t hee ' ; and he reached him a cup, which the patient drank oft" to his great benefit.

' And now,' said the abbdt, ' let his garments bo changed, or rather let him be earned to the infirmary; for it will pre­judice our healtli, should we hear his narrative while he stands there, steaming like a rising hoar-frost.'

' I will hear his adventm-o,' .said Eustace, ' and report it to your reverence.' And, accordingly, he attended the sacristan to his cell. In about half an hour he returned to the abbot.

'How is it with Father Philip?' said the abbot; 'and through what ciune he into sucli a state ?'

' He .comes from Glendearg, reverend sir,' said Eustace; ' and for the rest, lie telleth such a legend as hath not been heard in this monastery for many a long day.' He then gave the abbot the outlines of the sacristaivs adventures in the home­ward journey, and added, that for some time he was inclined to think his brain was infirm, seeing he had sung, laughed, and wept all in the same breath.

' A woiiderful thing it is to us,' said the abbot, ' that Satan lias been permitted to put forth his hand thus fair on one of our sacred brethren !'

' True,' said Father Eusbice; ' but for every text there is a

52 WAVERLEY NOAT.LS

paraphrase ; and I have my suspicions tliat, if the drenching of Father Philip cometh of- the Evil One, yet it may not have been altogether without his own personal fault.'

' How! ' said the father abbot; ' I will not believe that thou makest doubt that Satan, in former days, hath been per­mitted to afflict saints and holy men, oven as he afflicted the pious Job 1'

' God forbid I should make question of it,' said the monk, cro.ssing himself; 'yet, where there is an exposition of the sacristan's talc which is less than miraculous, I hold it safe to

y consider it at least, if not to abide by it. Now, this Hob the T Miller liatli a buxono^ daughter. Suppose—I say only suppose S-j —that o\u- siicrls&vh'met he»' at the ford on her return from

; her uncle's on the other side, for there she hath this evening been; suppose that, in courtesy, and to save her stripping hose and shoon, the sacristan brought her across behind him; s u p pose he earned his familiarities farther tlian the maiden was willing to admit; and we may easily suppose, father, that this wettmg wa.s the result of i t '

' And tliis legend invented to deceive us !' said the superior reddening with wrath ; ' but most strictly shall it be sifted and mquu-cd mto ; it is not upon us that Father Philip must hope to pass the result of his own evil practices for doiuf'S of Satan To-moiTO\v cite tlio wench to appear before u s ; wo ^vill examine, and v.-e will punish.

'Under your reverence's favour,'said Eustace, ' t ha t were but poor policy. As things now stand with us, the heretics catch hold of each flying report which tends to the scandal of our clergy. M e must abate the evil, not only by strengthening discipline, but also by suppressing and stifling tlic voice o1 scandal If my conjectures are true, tlie miller's daughter will be silent for her own sake ; and your reverence's authority may also impose silence on her father and on the sacristan If he is again found toaftbixl room for throwing dishonour on hisoixler, he can be punislicd with sevoi-ity, but at the same time with secrecy, l o r what sa.y the Decretals? Faci7iora ostendi dm inmientur, flagitia auteni abscondi debent.' V ^

A seiitenco of Latin, as Eustace had before observed had often much inlluencc on the abbot, because ho understood it not fl

iiently, and was a.shamed to acknowledge his ignonuice. On these terms they parted for the night.

Tlio nest day, AbtjotJiiaiiiace strictly interrogated Philip on the real cause of his disaster of the previous night. P.ut the

THE MONASTERY 'i*-U.t'-) 58

sacristan.stood firm to liis story; nor was ho found to vary from any point of it, altliough the answera he returned were in some degree incolieront, owing to his intermingling with them ever and anon snatches of the strange damsel's song, which liad made . . such deep impression on his imagination that he could not pre­vent himsdlf from inlitating it repeatedly in the course of his examination. The abbot had compassion with the sacristan's involuntary frailty, to which something superuatiu-al seemed aniioxed, and finally became of opinion that Father Eustace's more uatm-al explanation was rather plausible than just. And , indeed, although we have reconicd the adventure as we find it ^ , -.^i written down, we cannot forbear to add that there was a schism ^ ^ ' / ou the subject in the convent, and that several of the brethrenu.-'v\vv^ jn-etendCsd to have gooH'reason for thinking that the miller's^^, i t ^ , black-eyed daughter was at the bottom of the afl'air after all. .' ,.' Whichever- way it might be interpreted, all agreed that it kuV «.'> "^^ too ludicrous a souud to bo permitted to get abroad, and there- • fore the sacristan was charged, on his vow of obedience, to say no more of his ducking—an injunction Avhicli, liaving once eased his mind by telling his storj-, it may be well conjectured that he joyfully obeyed.

The attention of Father Eiistaco was much less forcibly "aiTcstcd by the marvellous tale of the sacristitu'.s danger and his escape than bj- the meiltion of the volume which he had brought with him from the Tower of Glcndcarg. A copy of the Scriptures, translated into the vulgar tongue, had found its way even into the proper territory of the chiu-ch, and had been discovered in one of the most hidden and sequestered recesses of the halidomc of St. Mary'.s!

He anxiously requested to sec the volume. In this the sacristan was unable to gratify him, for he had lost it, as far as he recollected, when the supernatural being, as he conceived her to be, took her departure from him. li'ather Eustace wout down to the spot in person, and searched all around it, m hopes •of recovering the volume in question; but his labour was in Wain. He retm-ned to the abbot, luu] reported that it must iiave fallen into the river or the mill-stream; ' For I will hardly believe,' ho Siiid, ' that Father Philip's musical friend would fly off with a copy of the Holy Scriptures.'

'Being,' said the abbot, 'as it is, an heretical ti-anslatiou, it uiay bo thought that Satan may have power over it.'

' Ay,' said I'ather Eustace, ' it is indeed his chiefest magazine of artillery, when he inspireth presumptuous and daring men

M WAVERLEY NOVEtS

to set forth their own t)pinions and expositions of ffoly 'W^rit. But'though thus abused,,the Scriptures are the source of our salvation, aud are no more to be reckoned unholy, because of these nish men's proceedings, than a powerful medicine is to be contemned, or held poisonous, because bold and evil leeches have employed it to the prejudice of their patients. * With the permission of yoiur reverence, I would that this matter were looked into more closely. 1 will myself visit tlie Tower of (Jlen-deai-g ere I am many hours older, and wc shall see if any spectre or white woman of the wild will vcntiu'e to interrupt my journey •or return. Have I your reverend permission and your blessing t' he added, but in a tone that appeared to set no great store by cither.

' Thou hast both, my brother,' said the abbot ; ' but no sooner had Eviataco left the apartment thai\ Boniface could not help breaking on the willing ear of the sacristan his sincere wish that any spirit, black, white, or grey, would read the adviser such a lesson us to cure him of his presimiption in esteeming himself wiser than the whole community.

' I wish him no worse lesson,' said the sacristan, ' than to go swimming merrily down the river vnth a ghost behind, and Icelpics, night-crows, and mud-eels all waiting to have a snatch at him.

Jlerrily swim we, the moon shines bi i"]it I Good luclj to yonr fishing, whom ivatcli you to-niglit ?'

« 'Brother Philip,' Siiid the abbot, 'wc e.xliort thee to .say thv

prayers, compose thyself, aud banish that foolish chant from thy mind; it is but a deception of the devil's.'

' I will essay, reverend father,' .Tiid the sacristan, ' bu t the tmie hangs by ray memory like a burr in a beggar's i-a^s- it mingles with the psalter ; the very bells of the convont°se'em to repeat the woi-ds, and jingle to the tune; and were you to l)ut me to death at this vciy moment, it is my belief I should die singing i t—" Now .swim we merrily": it is as it were a spell upon mc.'

He then again began"- to warble ' Good luck to yonr fisliing.'

And cliecking himself in tlie strain witli difficulty, ho exclivimed, ' I t is too certain—I am but a lost priest I " Swim we merrily " —I shall sing it at tlie very mass. Woe is me ! 1 shall sing all the I'emainder of my life, and yet never be able to change the t u n e ! '

THl'; ^rOXASTERY , 55

The honest abLot replied, 'Ho knew many a good fellow in the same condition ' ; and concluded the remark with ' ho ! ho ! ho !' for his reverence, as the reader may partly have observed, was one of those dull folks who love a quiet joke. ^li , \r^^^

The sacristan, well acquainted with his superior's humour, S'W^ endeavoured .to join in the laugh, but his unfortunate canticle came again across his imagination, and iuteiTupted the "hilaitty of his customary echo. z

'V,' B3' the rood. Brother Philip,' said the abbot, much moved, ' you become altogether intolerable ! and I am convinced that such a spell could not subsist over a person of rehgiou, and in a religious house, unless he were under mortal sin. Wherefore, say the seven penitentiary psalms—make diligent use of thy scourge, and hair-cloth—refrain for three days from all food, save bread and watei-—I myself will shrive thee, and we will see if this ginging devil may be driven out of thee; at least I . think Father Eustiice himself could devise no better e^xOTciani.' •

Tlie sacristan sighed deeply, but know remousti-auco was vain. He retired therefore to his cell, to tiy how far psaLuoody ^ might be able to drive ofl the sounds of the siren^tuno which ^'Al***'^ haimted his mcmorj-. Y^(^i4iX.^Jie*^Cs*^i^ Ppcj,^^.^ - ao-*>

Jleanwhile,'Father Eustace proceAlcd to the drawbridge, in^ . , __i'^ his way to the lonely vallej- of Glendoarg. In a brief convcr- •^V"'^ sation with the churlisli wai-der, he had the address to render"<ywU^*^' him more tractable in the contix)versy betwixt him and the convent. He reminded-him that his father had been a vas.sal under the community; that his brother was childless ; and that their possession would revert to the church on his death, and might be either granted to himself the waixler, or to some greater favourite of the abbot, as mattera chanced to sfaiud betwi.xt them at the time. The sub-prior suggested to him, also, the necessary connexion of interests betwixt the monastery and the oflice which this man enjoyed. He listened with temper to his rude and churlish answei-s; and liy keeping his own interest firm pitched in his view, ho had the satisfaction to find that Peter gradually softened his tone, and consented to lot eveiy pilgrim who travelled upon foot pass free of exaction until Pentecost next; they who tmvolled on horseback or otherwise consenting to pay the ordinaiy custom. Having thus acconmio-dated ainat tcr in which the weal of tlic convent was so deeply interested, Father Eustuce proceeded on his journey.

C H A P T E R V i n XI •I . Nay, dally not with time, llie wise \iiaii's Ircasmx', .'. Tliough fools are lavish ou ' t ; the fatal Fisher ' Hooks souls, while we waste moments.

Old riaij.

A NovK.MBEii miat overspread the little valley, up •which slowly but steadily rode the monk Eustace. He was not insensible to the feeUiig of melancholy inspired by the scene and by the season. The stream seemed to munnur with a deep and oppressed note, as if bewailing the departure of autumn. Among the scJittered copses which hero and there fringed its banks, the oak-trees only retained that pallid green that precedes their russet liuo. Tlie leaves of the willows were most of them stripped from the branches, lay rustling at each breath, and disturbed by every step of the mule; while the foliage of other trees, totally withered, kept still precarious possession of the boughs, waiting the first wind to scatter them.

The monk dropped into the natural ti-ain of pensive thought which these autumnal emblems of mortal hopes arc peculiarly calculated to inspire. 'There,' he said, lookhig at the leaves which lay strewed around, ' lie the iiopes of early youth, firet formed that they may .soonest withei-, and loveliest in spriu"- to become most contemptible in winter; but you, ye lin«erei-s,' he added, looking to a knot of beeches wliich still bore their withered leaves—'you are the proud plans of ad^'ellturolls manhood, formed later, and still clinging to the mind of age, although it acknov.-led<^es their inanity! None lasts none endures, save the foliage' of the hardy oak, which only begins to show itself when that of the rest of the forest has'enjoyed half its existence. A pale and decayed hue is all it possesses, but still it retains that symptom of vitality to the last. ' So be it with Father I'Aistaoe! The fairy hopes of my youth I have trodden under foot like those neglected rustlers; to the prouder dreams of my manhood I look back as to lofty chimeras, of

THE MONASTERY 57

which the pith and essence have long since faded; but my religious vows, the faitliful profession wliicli I have made in my maturer age, shall retain life wliilo auglit of Eustace lives. Dangerous it may be—feeble it must be—yet live it shall, the l)roud determination to serve the churcli of which I am a member, and to comb;et the heresies by which she is assailed.' Thus spoke, at least thus thought, a man zealous according to liifj imperfect knowledge, confounding tlie vital interests of Clu'stianity with the extravagant and usurped claims of the Churcli of Home, and defending his cause with ardoiu- worthy of a better.

While moving onward in this contemplative mood, he could not help thinking more than once "that he Sivw in his path the form of a.fcmale dressed in white, who appeared in tlie attitude of lamentation. But the impression was only momentary, and whenever he.looked steadily to the point where he conceived the figure appeared, it always proved that ho had mistaken some natur.d object—a white crag, or tlie trunk of a decayed birch-' tree with its silver bark—for the appearance in question.

Father Eustace had dwelt too long in Rome to partake the supei-stitious feelings of the more ignomnt Scottish clergy; yet he certainly thonght it cxtraoixlinaiy that so strong an impres­sion should have been made on his mind by the legend of the sacristan. ' I t is sti-ange,'he'said to himself, ' tha t this story, which doubtless was the invention of Brother Philip to cover his own impropriety of conduct, should run so much iu my head, and disturb my more serious-thaughts : I am yoiit, _T_thiiik, to have more conmiand over ffiy_SCUgcs. I will repeat my prayers, anffbaulSh'sifch'TolTy"from my recollection.'

The monk accoi-dingly began with devotion to tell his beads, In ]>ursuance of the prescribed rule-of-ilis order, ana was not again distm^bcd by any wtmderings of tho.jmagination. until he found hirnself beneath the little fortalice of Glendearg.

Damo Glendinning, who stood at the gate, set up a shout of Kurjiri.se and joy at seeing the good father. 'Martin,' she said —' Ja.spcr, where be a' the folk 1 Help fhe i ight reverend sub-j)rior to dismount, and take his mule from him. 0 fatlier! God lias sent you in our need. I was just going to send man and horse to the convent, though I ought to be ashamed to give so much trouble to your reverences.'

' Our trouble mattera not, good dame,' said Father Eustace ; ' in what can I pleasure you 1 I came hither to visit the Ladv ofAveneL' '

58 WAVERLEY NOVELS

' Well-a-day 1' said Dama Elspeth, 'and it was-on her part that I had the boldness to thiuk of summoning you, for the good lady will never bo able to wear over the day ! Would it please you to go to her chamber 1'

'Ha th she not been shriven by Fatlier Ph i l ip r said the monk. •

' Shriven she was,' said the Dame of Glendearg, ' and by Father Philip, as your reverence truly stiys; but 1 wisli it may have been a clean slirift. Methought Father P&ilip looked but moody upon i t ; and there was a book which ho took away with him, that ' Slio paused, as if unwilling to

•proceed. ' Speak out. Dame Glendiiuiing," said the father; ' with us

it is your duty to have no secrets.' ' IS'ay, if it please your reverence, it is not that I would keep

• auji;hiug from youi- reverence's knowledge, but I fear I should prejudice the lady in your opinion; for slic is an excellent lady —montlis and years has she dwelt in this tower, and none more exemplary than she ; but this matter, doubtless she will explain it herself to your reverence.'

' I desire first to know it from you. Dame Glendiuniug,' said the monk; 'and I again repeat, it is your duty to tell it to me.'

' This book, if it please your reverence, which Father Philip removed from Glendearg, was this morning returned to us in a strange manner,' said the good widow.

' Returned !' said the monk. ' How mean you ?' ' I mean,' answered Dame Glendinning, ' tha t it'was broiigiit

back to tlie Tower of Glendeai-g, the si\ints best know how that same book which Father Philip cari-icd with him but yesterday Old Martin, that is my taslcer and the lady's servant was driving out tlie cows to the pasture—for we have three good milk-cows, reverend father, blessed be St. Waldhave and thanks to the holy monastery '

The monk groaned" with impatience; but he remembered that a woman of the good dame's condition was like a top which if you let it spin on mitouchcd, must at last come t6 a pause • but, if you interrupt it by flogging, there is no end to its gyrations. ' But to speak no more of the cows, your reverence though they are hkely cattle as ever were tied to a stake the tasker was drivmg them out, and the lads, that is my Halbert and my Edward, that jwir reverence has seen at church on holidays, and csifeciiilly Halbert—for you patted him ou the

THE MONASTERY 60

head, and gave h'ini a hroocli of St. Cnthbcrtj which ho wears in his bonnet — and little JIary Avenol, that is the lady'.s daughter, they ran all after the cattle, and boguu to play iiji and down the pasture as young folk will, your reverence. And at length they lost sight of Martin and the cows; and they began to run up a little clench which we call Corric-nan-Shian, where there is a wee bit stripe of a bum, and they saw there —Good guide us !—a white woman sitting on the bum-side wriiigiug her hands ; so the bairns were frighted to see a strange woman sitting there—all but Halbert, who will be sixteen come Whitsuntide—and, besides, lie never feared ony tiling—and when they went up to her—behold she was passed* away! ' .' ^ * \

' For ahanie, good woman !' said Father Eustace; ' a woman Y of your sense to listen to a tale so idle ! The young folk told you a lie, and that was all.'

' Nav, sir, it was more than that,' said the old dame; ' for, besides that they never told me a lie in their lives, I must warn j-ou that on the very ground where the white woman was sitting they found the Lady of Avenel's book, and brought it with them to the tower.'

' That is worthy of mark at least,' said the monk. ' Know you no other copy of this volume within tliese bounds ?'

'2s^one, your reverence,' returned Elspeth; 'why should there ? no one could read it were tliere twenty.'

' Then you are sure it is the very same volume which j'ou gave to Father Philip V said the monk.

' As sure as that I now speak with your reverence.' • I t is most singular !' sivid the monk; and he walked across

tiie room in a musing posture. ' I have been upon nettles to hear what your reverence

would say,' continued Bamo Glendiuning, 'respecting this matter. There is nothing I would not do for the Lady of Avenol and her family, and that has been proved, and for her sen'ants to boot, both Martin and Tibb, although Tibb is not .so civil sometimes a.s altogetlior I Iiave a rjght ' to expect; but I cannot think it beseeming to have angels, or ghosts, or fairies, or the like, waiting upon a leddy when she is in another woman's house,.in respect it is no ways creditable. Ony thing she had to do was alwaj's done to lier hand, witiiout costing her either pains or pence, as a countiy body .saj's; and, besides the dis­credit, I cannot but think that there is no safety in having sucli unchancy creatures about anc. But I baTe tied red thread

60 WAVERLEY NOVELS

round the bairns's throats (so her fondness still called them), and given ilk ano of them a riding-wand of rowan-tree, forbjo sewing up a slip of witch-elm into their doublets; and I wish

. to know of your reverence if there bo ony thing mair that a louo AToman can do in the matter of ghoste and fairies 1 be here ! that I should have named their unlucky names twice owcr! '

' Danic Glcndinning,' answered the monk, somewhat abruptly, •when the good woman had finished her narrative, ' I pray you, do you know the miller's daughter'?'

' Did I know Kate Happer?' rcjjlied the widow ; ' as wccl as the beggar knows his dish—a canty quean was Kate, and a special cummer of my aiu mtly bo twenty years syne.'

'She cannot be the wench I mean,' said Father Eustace: ' siu3 after whom I inquire is scarce fifteen, a black-eyed gir l ; you may have seen her at the kirk.'

' Your reverence must be in the right; and she is my eum-mei''8 niece, doubtless, that you are pleased to speak of. But I thank God I have always been too duteous in attention to the mass to know whether young wenches have black eyes or

, green ones.' The good father had so much of the world about him that

ho was unable to avoid smiling when the dame T>oasted her absolnto resistance to a temptation which was not quite so liable to beset lier as those of the other sex.

' Pcrliaps, then,' ho said, ' you know jier usual dress, Dame Glcndinning 1'

' Ay, ay, father,' answered the dame readily enough,' a white kirtle the wench wears, to hide the. dust of the mill no doubt; and a blue hood, that might weel be spared, for pridefulncss,'

' Then, may it not be she,' said the father, ' who has brought back this book, and stepped out of the way when the children came near her 1'

Tho dame paused, was unwilling to combat tlio solution suggested by the monk, but was at a loss to conceive why the lass of tho mill sh'ould come so fiu- from homo into so wild a corner, merely to leave an old book witti three children, from whose observation she wished to conceal terself. Above all, she could not underetand why, since she had acquaintances in the family, and since the Dame Glendinning had always paid her multure and knavoship duly, the said lass of the mill liad not come in to rest hci-self and eat a morsel, and tell her the cun-cnt news of the water.

THK MONASTERY- • 01

These very objections satisfied the monk that his conjectures were riglit. ' Dame,' he said, ' you must bo cautious in what j'oii say. Tliis is an instance—I would it were the sole one— of the power of the Enemy in these days. The matter must be sifted with a curious and aireful liand.'

' Indeed,' said Elspeth, trying to nitch and chime in witli the ideas of the sub-prior, ' I have often tiiought the miller's folk at the monasteiy mill were far over careless in sifting oiir meivier, and in bolting it- too ; some folk say they will not stick at-whilcs to put in a iiandful of ashes amongst Christian folks' corn-meal.'

'That shall be looked after also, dame,'said the sub-prior, not displeased to see tliat the good' old woman went off on a false scent; '-aud now, by your leave, I will see this lady ; do "you go before, and prepare her to sec me.'

Dame Glendinuing left the lower apartment accoi-dingly, w-hich the monk paced in anxious reflection, considering how-he might best discharge, with humanity as well as with effect, the important duty imposed on him. He resolved to approach the bedside of the sick person with reprimands, mitigated only hv a feeling for her weak condition ; ho determined, iu case of her reply, to which late examples of hardened heretics might encourage her, to be prepared with answers to their customary scniples. High fraught, also, with zeal against her miauthor-ised intrusion into the priestly function, by study of the Sacred Scriptures, ho imagined to himself the answere which one of the modern school of heresy might retiirn to him; the vic­torious refutation which should lay the disputant prostrate at the confessor's mercy; and the healing, yet awful exhortation, which, uijder paiu of refusing the last consolations of religion, he designed to make to the penitent, conjuring her, as she loved her own soul's welfare, to disclose to him what she knew of the (lark mystery of iniquity by which heresies -wcro introduced into the most sechided sjiots of the very patrimony of the church herself; - vliat agents they had who coidd thus glide, as it were unseen, from place to place, bring back, thif volume which the chui-ch had interdicted to the spots from which it had been removed under her express auspices; and who, by encouraging the darino- and profaue thirst after knowledge forbidden and useless to the laity, had encouraged the Fisher of soxds to use with effect his old bait of ambition and vainglory.

Jluch of this premeditated disputation escaped the goo<l father when Elspcth returned, her tcare iBwiug faster than

62 WAVERLEY NOVELS Wt>4^ UA^W|-;V

her apron could dry them, and made him a ^ ^ i ^ 'to follow her. 'How,' said the monk, ' is she then so near her end? Nay, the church must not break or bruise, when comfort is yet possible'; and, forgetting his polemics, the good sub-prior hastened to the little apartment wESreTon the wretched bed

-which she had occupied since her misfortunes hud driven her to the Tower of Glendearg, the widow of Walter Avenel had rendered up her spirit to her Creator. ' My God !' said the sub-prior, ' and has my unfortunate .dallying suffered lier to depart without the church's consolation ! Look to her dame ' he exclaimed with eager impatience ; ' is there not yet a'sparlde of the life left? may she not be recalled—recalled but for a moment? Oh ! would that she could express, but by the most-imperfect word, but by the most feeble motion, her acquiescence ra the needful task of penitential prayer ! Does she not breathe? Art thou sure she doth not ?'

' She will never breathe more,' said the matron. ' 0 ' the poor fatherless girl—now motherless also ! 0, the kind com­panion I have had these many years, whom I shall never see again ! But she is in Heaven for certain, if ever woman wpnf

. there ; for a woman of better life • 'Woe to me,' said the good monk, 'if indeed she went not

hence m good assumnce; woe to the reckless shepherd who suffered the wolf to cany a choice one from the flock, while h, busied lumself with trimming his sling and his staff to eive tho taonster battle ! 0 ! if in the long Hereafter aught b u r w e d should that poor spirit share, what has my delay cost? fZ value of an immortal soul! ' ^ ' J tost i the

He then approached the body, full of the deen natural to a good man of his persuasion, who devoutlv 1^.T°^^? the doctrines of the Catholic Chm-ch. ' Av ' s a k l T ! ^ ^^^"^ the pallid coi-pse, fmm which the spirit had parted l ^ T ^ i ^ " as to leave a smile upon the thin blue lips, wh ch had t^^ ^' long wasted by deciy that they had parted w i r t h e l l l . !? of animation without the slightest c o n v u W ? ^ ' ' ' ' ' ' * ^ ' said Father Eustace, ' there lies the iSdtZt * T ° ' " ~ ^ ^ ' ' so it l ies-awful thought for me, sho dd L n ' ; "^ f' '* ' ^ it to descend in an evil d i r e c t i o n ' ' H ; r / ° ° 8 ^ 1 ^ ° * have left conjured Dame Cxlendinning to tell him whTt T^l T°T demeanour and ordinary wSk of the r ce l sed - ""^ *^°

All tended to the high honour of the deceased Kdv • t u companion, who admired her sufficiently while vdiv^ \lT-.f standing some trifiing points of jcalousyfnow r d o h S K t t

\^p ^ THE MONASTERY, 63

her death, f nd co'uld think of no attribute of praise with which she did not adorn her memory.

Indeed, the Lady of Avenel, however she might privately doubt some of the doctrines announced by the Clim-ch of Rome, and although she had probably tacitly appealed from thai corrupted system of. Christianity to the volume on which Christianity itself is founded, had nevertheless beeu regular in her'attendance ou the worehip of the church, not, perhaps, oxteyding her scruples .so far as" to break off communion. Sucli, indeed, was the firat sentiment of the earlier refoz-mere, who seem to have studied, for a time at least, to avoid a schism, until the violence of the Pope rendered it inevitable.

Father Eustace, on the present occasion, listened with eager­ness to eyeiythiug which could lead to assure him of the lady's orthodoxy ui the main points of belief; for his conscience reproached him sorely that, instead of protracting convei-sation with the Dame of Glendearg, ho had not instantly hastened where his presence was so necessary. ' If,' he said, addressing the dead body, ' thou art yet free from the utmost penalty due to the followei-s of false doctrine; if thou dost but suifer for a time, to e.xpiate faults done in the body, but partaking of mortal frailty more thau of deadly sin, fear not that thy abode shall be long in the penal regions to which thou mayest be doomed— if vigils, if masses, if penance, if maceration of my body till it I'cscmbles that extenuated form which the soul hath abandoned, may assure thy deliverance. The Holy Church, the godly foundation, our blessed patroness herself, 'shall intercede for one whose errors were counterbalanced by so many virtues. Leave me, dame;' here, and by her bedside, will I perform those duties which this piteous case demands !'

Elspeth left the monk, who employed himself in fervent and sincere, though erroneous, prayers for the weal of the departed spirit. For an hour ho remained in the apartment of death, and then returned to the hall, wbere he found the still weeping friend of the deceased.

But it would be injustice to Mrs. gElsjftsth Glendinniug's ho.spitalitj if we siippose her to have been weeping during this long iuterval, or rather, if we suppose her so entirely absorbed tiy the tribute of sorrow which she paid frankly and plentifully to her'deceased friend, as to be incapable of attending to the I'ites of hospitality due to the holy visitor, who was confessor ^t once and sub-prior, mighty in all religious and secular con­siderations, so far as the vassals of the monastery w'ere interested.

64 WAVERLEY NOVELS

Her-barlev-.bread had been toasted, her choicest cask of home-brewed ale had been broached, her best butter had been placed on the hall table, along with her most siivoury ham and her choicest cheese, ere she abandoned hei-selt to the extremity of sorrow; and it was not till she had aiTanged her little repast neatly on the boanl that she sat down in the chimney-comer, threw her checked apron over her head, and gave way to the current of tears and sobs. In this there was no grimace or affectation. The good dame held the houom-s of her howse to

; be as essential a duty, especially when a monk was her visitant, as any other pressing call upon her conscience; nor until these were suitably attended to did she find hei-self at liberty to indulge her sorrow for her departed friend.

When slie was conscious of the sub-prior's presence, she rose with the same attention to his reception; but he declined all the

' offei-s of hospitality with which she endeavoured to teujpt him. Not her butter, as yellow as gold, and the best, she assured him, that was made in the patrimony of St. Mary; not the barley-scones, which ' the departed &vint, God sain her ! used to say were

- so good'; not the ale, nor any other cates wliich poor Elspeth's i stores afforded, could prevail on the sub-prior to break his fast.

' This day,' he said, ' I must not taste food tmtil the sun go Jown^-happy if, in so doing, I can expiate my own negligence; happier still, if my sufferings of this trifling nature, undertaken in p\u-e faith and singleness of heart, may benefit the soul of the deceased. Yet, dame,' he added, ' I may not so far for<»et the living in my cares for the dead as to leave behind mo that book, which is to the ignorant what to our fii-st parents the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil unhappily proved—excel­lent indeed in itself, but fatal because used by those to whom it is proliibited.'

'O, blythely, reverend father,' said the widow of Simon Gleudinning, ' will I give you the book, if so be I can wile it from the bairns; and indeed, poor things, as the case stands with them even now, you might take the heart out of their bodies, and they hevev find it out, they are sae begrutteu.'

' Give them this missal instetul; good dame,' said the father drawing from his pocket one which was curiously illuminated with paintings, 'and I will come myself, or send one at a fitting time, and teach them the meaning of these pictures.'

' The bonny images !' said Dame Glcndinning, forgetting for an instant her grief in her admiration ; ' and wcel I wot,' added she, ' it is anoilie^ sort of a book than the poor Lady of Avonel's-

THK MONAftTl''.RY 05

and blessed might we have been this day if your reverence had found the way up the glen instead of Father Philip, though the sacristan is a powerfxil man too, and speaks as if he would gar the house fly abroad, save that the walls are gey thick. Simon's forbears—may he and they be blessed !—took cai-e of that.'

The monk oixlered his mule, and was about to take his leave ; and the good dame was still delaying him with questions about the funeral, when a horseman, armed and accoutred, rode into the little courtyard which smTOunded the keep.

C H A P T E R IX

For since they rode among onr doors With splent on sixiuld and rusty spnrs, niere grows no fruit into our furs ;

Thus said John TJp-on-land. Bannatyne MS.'

THE Scottish laws, which were as wisely and judiciousl' made as they were carelessly and incflectually executed, had in vain endeavoured to resti-aiu the damage done to agriculture by the chiefs and landed proprietors retiiining in their service what were called jack-men, from the 'jack,' or doublet quilted with iron, which they wore as defensive armour. Tlieso military retainers conducted themselves with" great insolence towaixis the industrious part of the community, lived in a great measure by plunder, and were ready to execute any commands of their master, however unlawful. In adopting this mode of life, men resigned the quiet hopes and regular labours of industry for an unsettled, precarious, and dangerous trade, which yet had such charms for those once accustomed to it that they became incapable of following any other. Hence the complaint of John Upland, a fictitious character, represent­ing a countryman, into whoso mouth the poets of the day p\it then" general satires upon men and manners :

'f hoy ride about in such a rage Uy forest, firth, and field,

With buckler, bow, and brand. Lo ! Svhera they ride out throiigh the rye! The Derifmot save the company,

Quoth John Up-on-land.

Christie of the Chnthill, the horseman who now arrived at the little Tower Snetenaearg, was one of the hopeful company of whom the poet complains, as was indicated by his ' splent on spauld' (iron-plates on his shoulder), his rusted spurs, and his long lauce'. "An iron skull-cap, none of the brightest, bore

TlIK MONASTKKY 97

The astonisimient of Halbert began once more to give way to his resolution, and ho gained voice enough to say, though with a faltering accent, ' In the name of Cod, what art thou? ' The augwcr was in nioliKly of a different tone and measure:

' Wluit I am I must not show, What I am tliou couldst not know. Something betwixt licavoii and he!!, Sometliing that neitlier stood nor Ml, Sometliing that tlirougli t)iy wit or will May worlv thco good, may work thee ill. Neither substance quite, nor shadow, Haunting lonely moor and meadow, Dancing uy tlie liaunted spring, Hiding on the whirlwind's wing ; Aping in fantastic fashion Hvery change of human pjission. While o'er om- frozen minds tliey p;is.-f, Like shadows from tlio mirror'd glaxs. ^Vayward, licklo is onr-mood, Hovering betwixt bad iind good. Happier than brief-dated man, Living twenty times liis span ; Far less happy, for wo have Help nor hope beyond the grave ! Jlan awakes to joy or sorrow ; Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. This is all that I can show, Tliis is all tliat thou mayst know.'

riiQ White Lady paused, and a])pcared to await an answer; t, as Halbert hesitated how to frame Ids speech, the vision .•med gradually to fade, and become more and more incor-real. Justly guessing thit to be a symptom of her dis-jcarance, Halbert compelled himself to Siiy, ' Lady, when I ' you in the glen, and when you bnnight back the black

, lok of Mary of Avcnel, thou didst say I should one day learn read it.' The White [.lady replied—

; ' Ay! and I taught thee tlie word and die .spell, To waken nio hero by the Fii..t)s' Well. Hilt thou liast loved the heron and hawk, More tlian to .seek my haunted walk ; And thou ha.st loved the lance and the .sword, More than gootl t«xt and holy word ; And thou hast loved the deer to track, More than the lines and the letters black ; And thou ait a ranger of moss and of wood. And scoinest the iiurtwa of geutle blootl.'

98 WAVEllLEY NOVELS

' I will do 80 no longer, fair maiden,' said Halbert. ' I desire to leani, and thou didst promise mc that, when I did so desire, thou wouldst be my helper; I am no longer afi-aid of thy pre-seucc and I am no longer regardless of instruction.' As he uttered these words, the figure of the White Maiden grew ffradually as distinct as it had been at first; aud what had well-nio-h faded into an ill-defined aud colourless shadow again assumed au appearance at least of corporeal consistency, although the hues were less vivid, and the outline of the figure less dis­tinct and defined—so at least it seemed to Halbei-t—than those, of an ordinary inhabitant of the earth. 'Wilt thou grant my request,' he said, 'fair lady, and give to my keepmg the holy book which Mary of Avcnel has so often wept fori

The White Lady replied—

' Thy craven fear my trutli accused, Thiue idlehood my trust abused. He that draws to harbour late, Must sleep \vitliout, or burst the gate. Tliero is a star for thee which burn'd, Its influence wanes, its course is turu'd ; Valour and constancy alone Can bring thee back the clianco that's ilowii.'

' IE I have been a loiterer, lady,' answered youug Glendi' ^ iiin-^ ' thou shalt now find me willing to press forwai-d wi double speed. Other thoughts have filled my mind, ot^^^

• thoughts have engaged my heart, within a brief period—'.j^^. by Heaven, other occupations shall henceforward fill up ^^ time I bave lived in this day the space of years: I cai . hither a b o y - I will return a man—a man such as may a^^ verse not only with his own k:nd but with whatever i,. permits to be visible to him. I will learn the contents of tl^^^ mysterious volume ; I will learn why the Lady of Avcnel lo-it why the priests feared, and won d have stt,len, i t ; wl • thou didst tvdcc recover it from their hands. What mystery wrapt in i t? Speak, I conjure thee !' The lady assumed f air poculiarlv sad and solemn, as, drooping her head and fc iug her arms on her bosom, she rep l i cd-

' Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries ! . Ibu.picst they of human race, To wlioni God has granted grace • 'y To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, ' ;nt To lift the latch, and force the way ; a,,nl And better had they ne'er been born,_ ^^^^ •".Vho read to doubt, or read to scoru.

THJil MONASTERY 99

'Give me the volimic, lady,' said young Gleiidinning. 'They call me idle—they call me dull ; in this pursuit my industry shall not fail, nor, with God's blessing, shall my under­standing. Giva me the volume.'

The apparition again replied—

' Many a fathom dark and deep I have laid the book to sleep ; Ethereal fires around it glowing, Ethereal music over flowing,

The sacred pledge of Heav'u All things revere, Each in his spliere.

Save man, for whom 'twas giv'n. Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy Things ne'er seen by mortal eye.'

Halbcrt Glendimiiiig boldly reached his hand to the White Lady.

' Fearest thoii to go with me ?' she said, as his hand trembled at the soft and cold touch of her own—

' Fearest thou to go with mo ? Still it is free to theo

A peasant to dwell; Tliou mayst drive the dull steer, Aud chase the king's deer, But never more come near *

This haunted well.'

' If what thou sayest be true,' said the undaunted boy, 'my destinies are higher than thine own. There shall be neither well nor wood which I dare not visit. No fear of aught, natural or superiiatui-al, shall bar my path through my native valley.'

He had scarce uttered the words, when they both desceuded-through the earth with a rapidity which took away Halbcrt's breath and overj' other sensation, saving that of being hurried on with the vitmost velocity. At length they stopped with a shock so sudden that the mortal jouriieyer through this uu--knowu space must have been thrown dowu with violence had he not been upheld by his supernatural companion. I I t was more than a niiiiuto ere, looking around him, ho

beheld a grotto, or natural cavern, composed of the most splendid spara and ciystsils, which returned in a thousand prismatic hues the light of a brilliant flame that glowed on an altar of idabaster. This altar, with its fire, formed the central point of the grotto, which was of a round form, and very high

100 WAATiRLKY NOVKLS

in the roof, resembling iu some respects the dome of a ciithcdral. Corresix)uding to the four points of the compass, there went off four long galleries, or arcades, constnicted of the same brilliant materials with the dome itself, and the termination of which was lost in darkness.

No human imagination can conceive, or words sufKce to describe, the glorious radiance which, shot fiercely foi-th by the flame, was returned from so many huudi'ed thousand points of refieotiou, afforded by the sparry Pinal's and their numerous angular crystals. The fire itself did not remain steady and unmo%'ed, but rose and fell, sometimes ascending in a brilliant pyramid of condensed flame half-way up the lofty expanse, and again fading into a softer and more rosy hue, and hovering, as it were, on the surface of the altar, to collect its strength for another powerful exertion. There was no -sasible fuel by which it was fed, nor did it emit either smoke or vapour of any kind.

What was of all the most remarkable, the black volume so often mentioned lay not only uncousumed, but untouched in the slightest degree, amid this intensity of fire, which, while it seemed to be of force sufficient to melt adamant, had no effect whatever on the sacred book tlms subjected to its utmost influence.

The White Lady, having paused long enough to let young Glendiuuing take a complete survey of what was around him, now said, in her usual chant—

' Here liefi the volume thou boldly hast sought; Touch it and take it,—'txrill dearly bo bought!'

Familiarised iu some degree with marvels, and desperately desirous of showing the corn-age he had boasted, Halbert plunged his hand without hesitation into the flame, tnistuig to the rapidity of the motion to snatch out the volume before the fire coidd greatly aftect it. But he was much disappointed. The flame uistantly caught upon his sleeve, and though he withdrew his hand immediately, yet his arm was so dreadfully/ scorched that he had wcllnigh screamed with pain. He sup­pressed the natural expression of anguish, however, and only intimated the agony which ho felt by a contortion and ' a . muttered groan. The AVhite Lady passed her cold hand over his . arm, and ere she had finished the following metrical chant his , pain had entirely gone, and no mark of the scorching was ^ visible:—

THE MONASTERY 101

' Rash thy deed, Moi'tal vrcid

To immortal flames applying ; - Rasher trust

Has thing of dust, On his own weak worth relying.

Strip thee of such fences vain, Strip, ami prove thy luck again.'

Obedient to what he understood to be the meaning of his conductress, Halbert bared his arm to the shoulder, throwing down the remains of his sleeve, which no sooner touched the floor on which he stood than it collected itself together, shrivelled itself up, and was without any visible fire reduced to light tinder, which a sudden breath of wind dispereed into empty space. The White Lady, observing the surprise of the youth, immediately repeated—

'Mortal warp and mortal woof Cannot brook this charmed roof: All that mortal art hath wrought, In our cell returns to nought. The molten gold returns to clay, The polish'd diamond melts away ; AU is alter'd, all is flown, Nought stands fast hut truth alone. Not for that thy quest give o'er ; Courage ! prove thy chance once more.'

Emboldened by her -words, Halbert Glendinning made a second effort, and, plunging his bare arm into the flame, took out the sacred volume without feeling either heat or inconvenience of any kind. Astonished, and almost terrified, at his ovm success, he beheld the flame collect .^tself and shoot up into one long and final stream, which seemed as if it would ascend to the very

. roof of the cavern, and then, sinking as suddenly, became totally extinguishecf. The deepest darkness ensued; but Hiil-bort had no time to consider his situation, for the White Lady had already caught his hand, and they ascended to upper air with the same velocity with which they had sunk into the earth.

stood by the fountain in the Corrie-nan-Shian when they a from the uowels of the eartli; but, on csvsting a be-

..aered glance around him, the youth was surprised to obsci-vp that the shadows had fallen far to the east, and that the d ' y was weilnigh spent. He gazed on his conductress for cxr" .a-tiou ; but her figxire began to fade before his eyes : lier .iiceks grew paler, her features less distinct, her form became slmdowy, and blended itself with the mist which was nsctnding the hollow

102 WAATRRLEY NOVKLS

ravine. What had late the symmeti-y of form, and the delicate yet clear hues of feminine beauty, now resembled the flitting and pale ghost of some maiden who has died for love, as it is seen, indistinctly and by moonlight, by her perjured lover.

' Stay, spir i t! ' said the youth, emboldened by his success in the subterranean dome, ' thy kindness must not leave me, as one encumbered -svith a weapon he knows not how to wield. Thou must teach me the art to read and to understand this volume; else, what avails it me that 1 possess it 1'

But the figure of the White Lady still waned before his eye,' until it became an outline as pale and indistinct as that of the moon, when the winter morning is far advanced; and ere she bad ended the followng chant, she was entirely invisible :—

'Alas! alas ! Kot ours the grace These holy characters to trace:

Idle forms of painted air, Not to \is is given to share

The boon bostow'd on Adam's race ! With patience bide, Heaven will pro\'ide

The fitting time, the fitting gxiide.'

The form was already gone, and now the voice itself had melted away iu melancholy cadence, softening, as if the beino-who spoke had been slowly wafted from the spot where she had commenced her melody.

I t was at this moment that Halbert felt the extremity of the terror which he had hitherto so manftilly suppressed. The very necessity of e.vertion had given him spirit to make it, and the presence of the mysterious being, while it was a subject of fear in itself, had nevertheless given him the sense of protection being near to him. I t was when he covrld reflect with composure on what had passed, that a cold tremor shot across his limbs his hair bristled, and he was afraid to look around, lest he should find at his elbow sometliing more frightful than the firat vision. A breeze arising suddenly realised the l'C,auti;"j.g.|Jjf , l wild idea of the most imaginative of our modern bards ^j^, g^^;

It fann'd his cheek, it raised his liair, " ' v ,( Like a meadow gale in spring ;

It mingled strangely with liis fears. Yet it felt like a welcoming.

The youth stood silent and astonished for a few minutes. • Coleriilgi-.

Tim MONASTERY 103

I t seemed to him that the extraordinaiy being he had seen, half liis ten-or, half his protectress, was still hovering on the gale which swept past him, and that she might again make herself sensible to his organs of sight. ' Speak !' he said, wildly tossing his arms—' speak yet again : be once more pi-esent, lovely vision ! .Thrice have I now seen thee, yet the idea of thy invisible presence around or beside me makes my heart beat faster than if the earth yawned and gave np a demon.' But neither sound nor appearance indicated the presence of the White Lady, and notliing preternatural beyond what he had .already witnessed was again audible or visible. Halbert, in the meanwhile, by the very exertion of again inviting the presence of this mysterious being, had recovered his natural audacity. He looked around once more, and resumed his solit\ry path down the valley into whose recesses he had penetrated.

Nothing could be more strongly contrasted than the storm of passion with which lie had bounded over stock and crag, in order to plunge himself into the C'ome-nan-Shian, and the sobered mood in which he now returned homeward, industriously seeking out the most practicable path, not from a wish to avoid danger, but that he might not by personal toil disti-act his atten­tion, deeply fixed on the extraordinary scene Avliich he had

j*vitnessed. In the former case he had sought by hazard and bodily exertion to indulge at once the fiery excitation of passion and to banish the caaise of tlie excitement from his recollection; while now lie studiously avoided all intenniption to his contem­plative walk, lest the difficulty of the way should interfere with or disturb his own deep reflections. Thus slowly pacing forth his course, with the air of a p'lgi-im rather than of a deer-hunter, Halbert about the close of the evening regained his paternal tower.

C H A P T E R XIII

Tlic inillur was of manly make, . To meet him was na mows ;

There durst na ten come hhu to take, Sao noited ho their pows.

Chrisl s Kirk on Che Orccn. *

IT was after sunset, as we have akeady stated, wlien Halliert Glendinniug returned to the abode of his father. The hour of dinner was at noon, and that of supper about an hour after sunset at this period of the year. The former had passed with­out Halbert's appeai-ing; but this was no ijucommon circum­stance, for tile chase, or any otlier jMstime which occurred, made Halbert a frequent ncglectcr of hours; and liis mother, though angry and disappointed wlien she saw him not at table, was so much accustomed to his occasional absence, and knew, so little how to teach him more regularity, that a testy obsei-vation was almost all the censure with which such omissions were visited.

On the present occasion, however, the wrath of good Dame Klspoth soared higher than usual. I t was not merely on account of the special tup's-head n,ud trotters, the haggis and the side of mutton, with which her table was set forth, but also

Jjecause of the anival of no less a person than Hob Miller, as he was universally termed, though the man's name was Happer.

The object of the miller's visit to the Tower of Glendearg was, like the purpose of those embassies which potentates send to each other's courts, jjartly ostensible, partly politic. In out­ward show, Hob came to visit his friends of .the halidome, and share the festivity common among country folk after the barn­yard has been filled, and to renew old intimacies by new coii-viviality. But in very truth lie also came to have an eye npo" the contents of each stack, and to obbiiu such informatii respecting the extent of the crop reaped and gathered in by eai fenar as might prevent the possiliility of abstracted multui-eig

" See SloU" to Cliaii. xiii. Nute T.

-- ( THE MONASTERY 67

for distinction a sprig of the liolly, which was Avenel's badge. A long two-edged straight swoi-d, having a handle made of polished oak, huug down by his side. The meagre condition of his horse, and the wild and emaciated look of the rider, showed their occupation could not be accounted an easy or a thriving one. He saluted Dame Glendinning with little coiu'tesy, and the monk with less; for the growing disrespect to the religious orders had not failed to extend itself among a class of men of such disorderly habits, although it may be supposed they were tolerably indifferent alike to the new or the ancient doctrines.

'So, our lady is dead. Dame Glendinning?' said tlie jack-man. ' My master has sent you even now a fat bullock for her mar t ; it n,iay serve for her funeral. I have left him in the upper clench, as he is somewhat kenspeckle, and is marked both with cat and birn; the sooner the skin is oft) and he is in sault-fat, the less like you are to have trouble—you under­stand me ? Let me have a peck of com for my horse, and beef and beer for mj'sclf, for I must go on to the monastorv though I think this monk here might do mine errand.'

' Thine en-and, rude man! ' siiid the sub-prior, knitting his brows

' For God's sake !' cried poor Dame Glendinning, temfied at the idea of a quarrel between them. ' 0 Christie! it is the sub-prior—0 reverend sir, it is Christie of Ee Clinthill, the laii-d's 'chief jack-inan; ye know thanOTF' l iavings can be expected from tRe like~o' them.'

' Are you a retamer of the Laird of Avenel ?' said the monk, addressing himself to the !iorseman, ' and do you speak thus rudely to a brother of St. Marj''s, to ^vhom thy master is so much beholden ?'

'He means to be yet more beholden to yoiu- house, sir monk,' answered the fellow; ' for, hearing his sister-in-law, the widow of Walter of Avenel, was on her death-bed, ho sent me to say to the father abbot and the brethren, that he will hold tlie funeral-feast at their convent, and invites himself thereto, with a score of horse, and some frien^ds, and to abide there for three days and three nights, having ,hoi-se-meat and men's-meat at the charge of the community ; of which his intention he sends due notice, that fitting preparation may be timeously made.'

'Friend,' said the sub-prf-.r, 'believe not that I will do to the father abbot the indignity of delivering such an emind.

68 WAVEHLKY NOVELS

ThmVst thou the goods oi the church ^vere bestoxsed upon her by holy princes and pious nobles, now dead and gpno, to 00 consumed in revelry by every profligate layman who numbers in his train more foUowei-s than he can support by honest means, or by his o\vn incomings ? Tell thy master, from the sulj-prior of St. Marys, that the Primate hath iss\ied his com­mands to us that we submit no longer to this compulsory exaction of liospittility on slight or false pretences. Our lauds and goods were given to relieve pilgi-ims and pious persons, not to feast bands of rude soldiers.'

' This to me !' said the angry spairraan—' this to me and to my master! Look to youi-self then, sir priest, and try if ave iind credo will keep bullocks from wandering and hay-stacks from burning.' .

'Dost thou menace the Holy Church's patrnnony witli wa.stc and firo-mismg,' said the sub-prior, 'and that in the face of the 8\m 1 I call on all who hear me to bear witness to tlie words this ruffian has .spoken. Eeniomber how the Lord James drowned such as you by scores in the black pool at Icddart. To him and to the Primate will I complain.' The soldier shifted the position of his lance, and brought it down to a level with the monk's body.

Dame Glendinning began to shnek for assistance. l ibb 'L'acket! i lartin ! where be ye all ? Christie, for the love of (Jod, consider he is a man of Holy Kirk !'

' X nrn_ir:j_!."r llifi fT""'".'^"'';^ thn sub-prior : 'if 1 am slam i„ defenahig the rights and m-ivileges of my community, the Pnmate wiil lalo^ how to take vengeance.'

' Let him look to himself,' said Christie, but at the same time depositing his lance against the wall of the tower; ' if the Fife men spoke true who came hither with the governor in the last raid, Norman Leslie has him at feud, and is like to efc him h'lrd We know Norman a true bloodhound, who will

never quit the slot. But I bad no design to offend the holy f . i ther 'he addcd„thinking pcriiaps ho had gone a little too far; IT ' a rn.lo man, bred to lance ajKl_Btirru|V.and^not used . fr-r-r-:r:-^\;-\^;^r.pftvnp.6 men andpnes t s ; and_I_am willing ; - ~ | i g i n 0 5 ? g i v l s i E ^ ^ ^ i g btessiSTiriJiam-Saicl .aught

" ' f o r God's sake, your reverence,' said the widow of Glen-dear- apart to tlie sub-prior, 'bestow on him yom- orgiveness;

ow shall wo poor folk sleep in security in the dark mghts, the convent is at feud with such men as he isl

THE MONASTERY 69

'You are right, dame,' said the sub-prior, 'your safety shoidd, and must, be in the first instance consulted. Soldier, I forgive thee, and may God bless thee, and send thee honesty!'

Christie of the Clinthill made an imwilling inclination with his head, and muttered apart, 'That is as much as to say, "God send thee starvation." But now to my master's demand, sir priest 1 What answer am I to return ?'

' That the body of the widow of Walter of Avcncl,' answered the father, ' shall be interred as becomes her rank, and in the tomb of her valiant husband. For your master's proffered visit of three days, with such a company and retinue, I have no authority to reply to i t ; you must intimate your chiefs purpose to the reverend loixi abbot.'

'That will cost me a farther ride,' said the man, ' bu t it is all in the day's work. How now, my lad,' said ho to Halbert, who was handling the long lance which he had laid aside; ' how do you like such a plaj'thmg 1 Will you go with me, and be a moss-trooper 1'

' The siiints in their mercy forbid !' said tlie poor mother ; and then, afraid of having displeased Christie by the vivacity of her exclamation, she followed it up by explaining that since Simon's death she could not look on a spear or a bow, or any implement of destruction, without trembling.

' Pshaw !' answered Chris'tie, ' thou shouldst take another Imsband, dame, and drive such follies out of tlai.thQughts; what sayst thou to such a iArappVng lad as i'( Why, this old tower of thine is feuciblc enough, and there is no want of cleuchs, and crags, and bogs, and thickets, if one was set bard; a man might bide hero, and keep his half-score of lads, and as mauj' geldings, and live on what he could lav his hand on, and be kind to thee, old wench.'

'Alas! blaster Chi'istie,' said the matron, ' tha t you shoidd tiilk to a lone woman in such a fashion, and death in the house besides!'

'Lone woman! why, that is the 'v;ry reason thou shouldst take a mate. Thy old friend is dead, why, good—choose thou another of somewhat tougher frame, and that will not die of the pip like a young chicken. Better still Come, dame, let me have something to eat, and wo will talk more of this.'

Dame l^Ilspeth, though she well knew the diameter of the man, whom in fact she both disliked and feared, could not help simpering at the personal address which he thouglit proper to make to her. She whispered to tlie sub-prior, ' Ony thing just

7.0 WAVERXEY NOVELS

to keep iim quiet,' and went into the tower to set before the soldier the food he desired, trusting, betwixt good cheer and the power of her own charms, to keep Christie of the Chntliill BO well amused that the altercation betwixt him and tiie holy father should not be I'enewed.

The sub-prior was equall' nnwUling to hazard any UIL-necessary ruptui'c between the community and such a person us Julian of Avenel. He was sensible that moderation, as well as firmness, was neccssjuy to support the tottering cause of the Church of Rome; and that, contrary to former times, the quarrels betwixt the clergy and laity had, in the present, usually terminated to the advantage of the latter. He re­solved, therefore, to avoid further strife by withdrawing, but failed not, in the first place, to possess himself of the volume which the sacristan carried off the evening before, and which liad been returned to the glen in such a maiwellous manner.

Edward, the younger of Dame Elspeth's boys, made great olijcctions to the book being removed, in which Mary would l)robably have joined, but that she was now in her little sleep­ing-chamber \\-ith Tibb, who was exerting her simple skill to console the young liuly for her mother's death. But tlie younger Gleudinning stood up in defence of her property, and, with a positivcness wliich had hitherto made no part of his character, declared, that now the kind lady was dead, tlio book was ilary's, and no one but Mary should have it.

' But i£ it is not a fit book for Maiy to read, my dear boy,' said the father, gentlj', 'you would not wish it to remain with her?"

' The lady read it,' answered the yomig champion of property, ' and so it could not be wrong; it shall not be taken awaj-. I wonder where Halbert is ? listening to the bravading tales of gay Christie, I reckon ! He is always wishing for fighting, and now he is out of the way!'

' AVliy, I'klward, you would not fight with mc, who am both a priest and an old man 1

' If you were as good a priest as the Pope,' said the boy, ' and as old as the hills to boot, you shall not carry away ifary's book without her leave. I will do battle for it.'

'Bu t see you, my love,' said the monk, amused with the resolute friendship manifested by the boy, ' I do not take i t ; I onh' borrow i t ; and I leave in its place my own gay missal, as a pledge I will bring it back again.'

Edward opened the missal with eager curiosity, and glanced

THR ^rONASTERY 71

at the pictures with which it was illiistmted. 'St . George and the dragon—Halbert will like tha t ; and St. Michael brandish­ing his swoixi over the head of the Wicked One—and that will do for Halbert too. And see the St. John leading his lamb in tho wilderness, with his little ci-oss made of reeds, and his scrip and staff—that shall oe my favourite; and where shall wc find one for poor ifary ?—here is a beautiful woman weeping and lamenting hereelf.'

' That is St. Maiy JIagdalen repenting of her sins, my dear boy,' said tho father.

'That will not suit our 'Slia-y; for she commits no faults, and is never angvy with us but when we do something wrong.'

' Then,' said the father, ' 1 will show you a Mary who will protect her and you and all good children. Sec how fairly she is represented, with her gown covered with golden stt\i-s.'

The boy was lost in wonder at the portrait of the Virgin which the sub-prior tinned up to him.

'This,' he said, ' is really like our sweet Mary; and I think I will let you take away the black book, that has no such goodly shows in it, and leave this for Jhiry instead. But 3'ou must promise to bring back the book, good father; for now 1 think upon it, Maiy may like that best which was her mother's.'

' I wDl certainly return,' said the monk, evading his answei-, ' and perhaps I may teach y6u to write and read Kv\ch beautiful letters as. you sec there written, and to paint them blue, gi'een, and yellow, and to blazon them with gold.'

' Ay, and to make such figures as these blessed samts, and especially these two Marys ?' said the boy.

' With their blessing,' said the sub-prior, ' 1 can teach you that art too, so far as 1 am myself capable of showing and you of learning it.'

'T'hen,' said Edward, 'will I paint Mary's picture; and remember you are to bring back the black book, that you must promise mc.'

Tlie sub-prior, an.xious to get rid of the boy's pertinacity, and to set forwaixl ou his return to tho convent, without having any farther interview with Christie the galloper,- answered by giving the promise Edward required, mounted his mule, and set forth on his return homewai-d. '

The November day was well spent ere the sub-prior resumed his jouniey; for tho difhculty of the road, and tho various

cdolays which ho had met with at tho tower, had detained him longer than ho proposed. A chill easterly whid was sighing

72 WAVKRLKY NOVELS

among the withered leaves, and stripping thcni fi-om the hold they had yet retained on the parent trees.

' Even so,' said the monk, ' our prospects in this vale of time grow more disconsolate as the stream of j'ears passes on. Little have I gained by my journey, saving the certainty that lieresy is busy among us with more tlian his usual activity, and that the spirit of insulting religious ordera and plundering the church's property, so general in the eastern districts of Scotland, has now come nearer home.'

The tread of a liorse which came up behind Iiim interrupted his reverie, and he soon saw he was mounted by the same wild rider whom he had left at the tower.

' Good even, my son, and lenedicite,' said the sub-prior as lie passed. But the rude soldier scarce acknowledged the greet­ing by bending his head; and dasliing the spurs into liis horse, went on at a pace which soon left the monk and his mule far behind. 'And there,' thought the sub-prior, 'goes another plague of the times—a fellow whose birth designed him to cultivate the earth, but who is perverted, by the xmhallowed and xinchristian divisions of the country, into a daring, disso­lute robber. The barons of Scotland are now timied masterful thieves and ruffians, oppressing the poor by violence, and wasting the church, by extorting free quarters from abbeys and priories, without cither shame or reason. I fear me I shall be too late to counsel the abbot to make a stand against these daring somere *—I must make haste.' He struck his mule with his riding-wand accordingly; but, instead of mending her pace, the animal suddenly started from the path, and the rider's utmost eiTorts could not fore her forward.

' Art thou, too, infected with tlie spirit of the times ?' said the sub-prior; ' thou wort wont to be ready and serviceable, and art now as restive as any wild jack-man or stubborn heretic of them all.'

"While he was contending with the startled animal, a voice, like that of a female, chanted in his ear, or at least very close to it—

' Good evening, .sir priest, ami so late as j-ou ride, •With your mu!o so fair, and your mantle so wide ; , But riile you througli valley, or ride you o'er hill, Tlicro is one tliat lias wari'aiit to wait on you still.

Back, back, ^ The volume black!

I have a wanant to carrj' it back.'

"' ' .Sue To Soruc. Note 5.

THE MONASTERY / 73

The sub-prior looked around, but neither bush nor brake was near which could conceal an ambushed songstress. ' Jlay Our Lady have mercy on me !' ho said; ' I trust mj' senses have not forsake., me; yet how my thoughts should arrange them­selves into rhymes which I despise, and music wliich I care not for, or why there should be the sound of a female voice in eara to wliioh its melody has been so long indifierent, baffles my comprehension, and almost realises the vision of Philip the sacristJin. Come, good mule, betake thee to the path, and let ns hence while our judgment serves us.'

But the mule stood as if it had been rooted to the spot, -backed from the point to which it was pressed by its rider, and by her ears laid close into her neck, and her eyes almost start­ing from their sockets, testified that she was under great terror.

^VhiIe the sub-prior, by alternate threats and soothing, en­deavoured to reclaim the wayward animal to her duty, tlie wild musical voice was again heard close beside him:

' Wliat lio ! sub-prior, and came you but here To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier ? Sain you, and save you, bo wary and wise, Ride back with llio book, or you'll pay for your prize.

Back, back. There's death in the track !

In the name of my master, I bid thee bear back.'

' In the name of Jiv Master,' siud the astonished monk, ' that name before which all things created tremble, I conjure thee to say what thou art that hauntest mo thus •?'

The same voice replied—

' Tliat which i.s neither ill nor well, That which belongs not to Heaven nor to'hell, A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 'Twi.Kt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ;

A form that nieu spy M'ith the h.ilf-shut eye,

In the beams of the setting sun, am I.'

' This is more than simple fantasy,' said the sub-prior, rous­ing himself; though, notwithstanding the natural hardihood of his temper, the sensible presence of a supernatural being so near him failed not to make his blood run cold and his liair

• bristle. ' I charge thee,' ho said aloud, ' be thine erraud what it will, to depart aud trouble me no more! False spirit, thon canst not appal any save those who do the work negligently.'

The voice immediately answered—

74 WAVERLEY XOVKLS

' Vainly, sir prior, wouldst tliou bar mo my riglit ! Like the star wlien it shoots, I can dart through tlio night; I can danco on the toiTont and ride on the air, And travel tlxo world witli tlio boimy nightmare.

Again, again, At the crook of tlie glen,

Wlicre bickers tlio bui-nio, I'll meet thee again.'

'I'lie road was now apparently left open; for the mule col­lected herself, and changed from her posture of terror to one which promised advance, although a profuse perspiration and general trembling of the joints indicated the laodily terror she had undergone.

' I used to doubt the existence of Cabalists and Ro.'jicrucians,' thought tlie sub-prior, 'but , by my lioly ordci', I know no longer what to say ! My pulse beats temperately, my liand is cool, I am fasting from everything but sin, and possessed of my ordinary faculties. Either some fiend is permitted to bewilder me, or the tales of Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and othera who treat of occult philosophy are not without founda­tion. At the crook of the glen ? I cotdd have desired to avoid a second meeting, but I am on the service of the cliurch, and the gates of hell sliall not prevail against me.', .

He moved forward accordingly, but with precaution, and not without fear; for he neither krie^y, the manner in wliich, or the place where, his journey might bo nest interi-npted by his in­visible attendant. He descended the glen without interruption for about a mile fai-ther, when, just at tlie spot where the brook api)roached the steep hill, with a winding so abrupt as to leave scarcely room for a horse to pass, tlic mule was again visited witli the same s3'mptoms of terror whicii had before interrupted her course. Better acquainted than before with the cause of her restiveness, the priest employed no effort to make her proceed, but addressed himself to the object, whicli he doubted not was the same that had formerly interrupted him, in the words of solemn exorcism prescribed by tlic Church of Rome on such occasions.

In reply to his demand, the voice again sung :

' Men of goo<l are bold as sackless, Men of nido are wild and rocldes.s.

Lie tliou still In the nook of the hill, #

For those be before thee tlmt wish thee ill.'

While the sub-piior listened, with his head tunicd in tlic

THE MONASTERY 75

- direction from which the sounds seemed to come, he felt as if sometliing rushed against him ; and ere he could discover the cause, he was pushed from his saddle with gentle but irresistible force. Before ho reached the ground his senses were gone, and he lay long in a state of insensibility; for the simsct had not ceased to gild the top'of the distant hill when he fell, aud when he again became conscious of existence the pale moon was gleam­ing on the landscape. He awakened in a state of teiTor, from which, for a few minutes, he found it difficult to shake himself free. At length he sate up on the grass, and became sensible, by repeated exertion, that the only personal injurj' which he had sustained was the numbness arising from extreme cold. The motion of something near liim made the blood again run.to his heart, and by a sudden effort he started, up, and, looking around, saw to liis relief that the noise was occasioned by the footsteps of his own mule. The peaceable animal had remained quietly beside her master duriut;- his trance, browsing on the gi-ass which grew plentifully in that sequestered nook.

\Vith some exertion he collected himself, remotuited the animal, and, meditating upon his wild adventiire, descended the glen till its junction with the broader valley through which the Tweed winds. The drawbridge was readily dropped at his iirat summons; and so miich had he won upon the heart of the cluu-lish warden, that Peter appeared himself with a limt^ni to show the sub-prior his waj' over the perilous pass.

' By my sooth, su-,' he said, holding the light up to Father Eustace's face, ' you look sorely travelled and deadly pale; but a little matter serves to weary out you men of the cell. I now who speak to you—I have '-idden, before I was perched up here on this pillar betwixt wind and water, it may be thirtj ' Scots miles before I broke my fast, and have had the red of a bramble rose in my nhcck all the while. But will you taste some food, or a cup of distilled waters 1'

' I may not,' sjiid Father Eustace, ' being under a vow; but I thank you for your khidness, and pray you to give what I uiay not accept to the nest poor pilgrim who comes hither pale and fainting, for so it shall be the better both with him hero and with you hereafter.'

' By my faith, and I will do so,' said Peter Bridge-Ward, ^evcn for thy sake. I t is strange now, how this sub-prior gets round one's heart more than the rest of these cowled gcntrj', that think of nothing but quaffing and stuffing ! Wife, I say—wife, we will give a cup of distilled watei-s aud a crust of bread unto

76 WAVERLEY NOVELS .

the next pilgrim that comes over; and ye may keep for the purpose the grunds of the last greybeard, and the ill-baked bannock which the bairns couldna cat.'

While Peter issued these charitable, and at the same time prudent, injunctions, the sub-prioi-, whose mild interference had awaked the bridge-ward to such an act of unwonted genei'-osity, was pacing onward to the monastery. In the way, he had to commune with and subdue his own rebelUous heart, an enemy, he was sensible, more formidarblc than any which the external powers of Satan could place in his way.

Father Eustace had indeed strong temptation to suppress the cxti-aordinary incident which had befallen him, which lie was the more reluctant to confess, because he had passed so severe a judgment upon Father Philip, who, as he was now not Unwilling to'allow, had, on his return from Glendearg, encountered obstacles somewhat similar to his own. Of this the sub-prior was the more convinced when, feeluig in his bosom for the book which he had brought oiT from the Tower of Glendearg, he found it was amissing, which he could only account for bj"- supposing it had been stolen from him during his trance.

' If I confess this strange visitation,' thought the sub-prior, ' I become the ridicule of all my brethren—I whom the Pi-imate sent hither to be a watch, as it were, and a check upon their follies. I give the abbot an advantage over me which I shall never again recover, and Heaven only knows how he may abuse it, in his foolish simplicity, to the dishonour and loss of Holy Kirk. But then, if I make not true confession of mj shame, with what face can I again presume to admonish or restrain others 1 Avow, proud heart,' contin^ied he, addressing himself, ' that the weal of Holy Church interests thee less in this matter than thine own humiliation. Yes, Heaven has punished thee even in that point in which thou didst deem thyself most strong, in thy spiritual pride and thy carnal wisdom. Thou hast laughed at and derided the inexperience of thy brethren ; stoop thyself in turn to their derision ; tell what they may not believe; affirni that which they will ascribe to idle fear, or perhaps to idle falsehood; sustain the disgrace of a silly visionary or a wilful deceiver. Be it so; I will do my duty, and make ample confession to my superior. If the dischai-ge. of this duty destroys my usefulness in this house, God and Our Lady will send mo where I can better serve them.'

There was no little merit in the resolution thus piously and generously formed by Father Eustace. To men of any rank

THE MONASTERY ' 77

the esteem of their order is naturally most dear; but in the monastic establishment, cut oft] as the brethren are, from other objects of ambition, as well as from all exterior friendship asd relationship, the place which they hold in the opinion of each other is all in all.

But the consciousness how much he should rejoice the abbot and most of the other monks of St. Mary's, who were impatient of the unauthorised yet- irresistible control which he was wont to exercise in the aifairs of the convent, by a confession which would put him in a hidicrous, or perhaps even in a criminal, point of view could not weigh with Father Eustace in com­parison with the task which his belief enjoined.

As, strong in his feelings of duty, he approached the exterior gate of the monasteiy, he was surprised to see torches gleaming, and men assembled around it, some on horseback, some on foot, while several of the monks, distinguished through the night by their white scapularies, were making themselves busy among the crowd. The sub-prior was received with a unanimous shout of joy, which at once made him sensible that he had himself been the object of their anxiety.

' There he is !—there he is ! God be thanked—there he is, hale and feir! ' exclaimed the vassals; wliile the monks ex­claimed, ' Te Deum laudamiik; the blood of Thy sei-vants is pre­cious in Thy s ight! '

' What is the matter, children ?—what is the matter, my brethren 1' said Father Eustace, dismounting at the gate.

' Nay, brother, if thou know'st not, we will not tell thee till thou art in the refectory,' nnswered the monks. ' Suffice it that the lord abbot had ordered these, our zealous and faithful vassals, instantly to set forth to giiard thee from imminent peril. Ye may ungirth your horses, children, and dismiss; and to-moiTow each who was at this rendezvous may send to the convent kitolien for a quarter of a yard of roast-beef * and a black-jack full of double ale.' , '

The vassals dispersed with'joyful acclamation, and the monks, with equal jubilee, conducted the sub-prior into the refectory.

• See Note 0.

C H A P T E R X

Hero wc stand . . . . . Wouiidlcss and well, may Heaven'.s lijgli name bo bless'd for't! As er-sfc, ere treason coucli'd a lanco agaiii.st us.

DuoivEU.

No sooner Nvas the sub-prior Inu-ried into the refectory by his rejoicing companions, than the first person on whom he fi.\cd his oyc proved to be Christie of tlie ClinthiU. He was seated in the chimuey-comer, fettered and guarded, his features drawn into that air of sulky and turbid resolution with which those hardened in guilt are accustomed to view the approach of punishment. But as the sub-prior drew near to him hia face assumed a more wild and startled expression, while he exclaimed —' The devil—the devil himself brings the dead back upon the l ivmg! '

' Nay,' said a monk to him, ' say i-ather, that Our Lady foils the attempts of the wicked on hor faithful servants : our dear brother lives and moves.'

' Lives and moves!' said the ruffian, rising and shuffling towaixis the sub-prior as well as his chains would permit; ' nay, then I will never trust ashen shaft and steel point more. I t is even so,' he added, as he gazed on the sub-prior with astonish­ment ; ' neither wem nor wound—not as much as a rent in his frock!'

'And whence should my wound have come?' said Father Eustace.

' From the good lance that never failed mo before,' replied Christie of the ClinthiU.

' Heaven absolve thee for thy pui-pose !' said the sub-prior; ' wouldst thou have slain a servant of the altar 1'

' To choose !' answered Christie. ' The Fifemen .say, an the whole pack of ye were slain, there were more lost at Flodden.'

' Villain ! art thou heretic as well us mui-derer ?'

. THE MONASTERY . 79

'Not I, by St. Giles,' replied the rider; ' I listened blythel-enough to tlie Laird of Monance, wlien he told me ye were all cheats and knaves; but when he woidd have had me go hear one Wiseheart, a gospeller, as they call him, ho might as well liave persuaded the wild colt that had flung one rider to kneel • down and help another into the saddle.'

' There is some goodness about liim yet,' said the .sjicristan to the abbot, who at that moment entered. 'He refused to dear a heretic preacher.'

' Tlie better for him in the next world,' answered the abbot. ' Prepare for death, my sou ; we deliver thee over to the secular arm of our bailie, for execution on the gallow-hill by peep of light.' •

' Amen !' said tlxo ruffian; ' 'tis the end I must have come by sooner or later; and what care I whether I feed the crows at St. Mary's or at Carlisle?'

' Let mo implore your reverend patience for an instjuit,' said the sub-prior; 'xmtil I shall inquire '

' What ! ' exclaimed the abbot, observing him for the first time. ' Our dear brother restored to us when his life was imhopcd for !—nay, kneel not to a sinner like me—stand up— thou hast my blessing. When this villain came to the gate, accused by his own evil conscience, and ciying out he had murdered thee, I thought that the pillar of our main aisle had fallen; no more shall a life so precious be exposed to such risks as occiu- in this Boi-der country; no longer shall one beloved and rescued of Heaven hold so low a station in the church as that of a poor sub-prior: I wiU write by express to the Primate for thy speedy removal and advancement.'

'Nay, but let me understand,' said the sub-prior; 'did this soldier say that he had slain me ?'

' That he had transfixed you,' answered the abbot, ' in full career -nith his lauce; but it seems he had taken an indiifereut aim. But no sooner didst thou fall to, the ground mortally gorec, as ho deemed, with his weapon, than om-blessed patroness appeared to him, as he averred— '

' I averred no such thing,' said the prisoner; ' 1 said a woman in white inteiTupted me, as I was about to examine the priest's passock, for thoy are usually well lined; she had a bulrush in her hand, with one touch of which she sti-uck me from my hoi-se, as 1 might strike down a child of four ycai-s old witli an iron mace; and then, like a singing fiend tis she was, she sung to mo,

80 WA^'^RLTSY NOVELS

"Thank tlie holly-bush Tliat nods on thy brow ; .

Or with this slender rush I had strangled tliee now."

, I gathered myself up with fear and difficulty, thr^w myself on my horse, and came hither like a fool to get myself hanged for a rogue.'

' Thou seest, honoured brother,' said the abbot to the sub-prior, ' in what favour thou art with our blessed patroness, that she herself becomes the guardian of thy paths. Not since the days of oiu- blessed foimder hath she shown such grace to any one. All unworthy were we to hold spiritual superiority over theo, and we pray thee to prepare for thy speedy removal to Aberbrothwick.' .

'Alas! my lord and father,' said the sub-prior, '.your words pierce my very soul. Under the seal of confession will I pre-

. sently tell thee why I conceive myself i-ather the baffled sport of a spirit of another sort than the protected favourite of the heavenly powera. But first let me ask tliis unhappy man a question or two.'

' Do as 3'e list,' replied the abbot; ' but you shall not con­vince mc that it is fitting you remain in this inferior office in the convent of St. Mary.'

' I would ask of this poor man,' said Father Eustace, ' for what purpose he nourished the thought of putting to death one who never did him evil ?'

' Ay ! but thou didst menace me with evO,' said tlie niffian 'ancf no one but a fool is menaced twice. Dost thou not remember what you said touching 'the Primate and Lord James, and the black pool of Jedwood? Didst thou think me fool enough to wait till thou hadst betrayed mc to the sack and the fork 1 • There were small wisdom in that me-thinks—>-as little as in coming hither to tell ray own mis­deeds: I think the devil was in me when I took this road. I might have remembered the proverb, "Never friar foreot feud."' ^

'And it was solely for that—for that only hasty word of mine, uttered in a moment of impatience, and forgotten ere.it was well spoken t' said Father Eustace.

' A y ! .for that, and—for the love of thy gold crucifix,' said Christie of the Olinthill.

' Gracious Heaven ! and could the yellow metal—the glitter­ing earth—so far overcome every sense of what is thereby

Corirrijit 1_!IJ bji J , i- t . lU<t<Ji

OUitlSTIE OP THE OUNTHILL TAUNTINi 0 THE BAILIE.

THE MONASTERY 83

yet, who knows but some better ore may lie under so rude an exterior?'

' " Save a thief from the gallows,"' said the sacristan—' you know the I'est of the proverb; and admitting, as may iJcaveu grant, that our lives and limbs are safe from this outrageous knave, who shall cusure our meal and our malt, our herds and our flocks V

'^larry, that will I, my brethren,' said an aged monk. ' Ah, brethren, you little know what may be made of a repentant robber. In Abbot Ingch-am's days—ay, and I remember them as it were yesterday—the freebooters were the best welcome men that came to St. Mary's. Ay, they paid tithe of every drove that they brought over from the South; and because they were something lightly come by, I have known them make the tithe a seventh—that is, if their confessor know his business. Ay, when we saw from the tower a score of fat bullocks or a drove of sheep coming down the valley, with two or three stout men-at-arms behind them, with their glittering steel caps, and their black-jacks, and their long lances, the good Loixl Abbot lugclram was wont to say—ho was a merry man—" There come the tithes of the spoilers of the Egyptians !" Ay, and I 'have seen the famous John the Annstrang—a fair man he was and a goodly, the more pity that hemp was ever hgckled for him— I have seen him come into the abbey chxn-ch with nine tassels of gold in his bonnet, and every tassel made of nine English nobles, and he would go from chapel to chapel, and from image to image, and from altar to altar, on his knees—and leave here a tassel, and there a noble, till there was as little gold oil his bonnet as on my hood : you will fiu'd no such Border thieves now! '

- ' No, truly, Brother Nicolas,' answered the abbot; ' they are move apt to take any gold the church lias left than to bequcijth or bestow any; and for cattle, beshrew mc [" I think they care whether beeves have fed oij the meadows of Lanercost Abbey or of St. Clary's !'

'Thei-e is no good tiling loft in them,' .suid Father Nicolas; ' they are clean naught. Ah, the thieves that I have seen !— such proper men! and as pitiful as proper, and as pious as pitiful!'

' I t skills not talking of it, Brother Nicolas,' said the abbot; ' and I will now dismiss you, my brethren, holding your meet­ing ui>on this oui' inquisition couceniing the danger of our reverend sub-piior instead of the attendance on the lauds this

84 WAA'^ERLKY XOAT^LS

evening. Yet lot the bells be duly rung for the edification of the laymen witliout, and also that the novices may give duo reverence. And now, henedicite, brethren! The cellarer will bestow ou each a grace-cup and a morsel as ye pass the buttciy, for ye have been turmoiled and anxious, and dangerous it is to fall asleep in such case with empty stomach.'

' Gratias cufimxis qxuim inaxlmas, domine reverendisdme ! ' i-eplied the brethren, departing in their due order.

But the sub-prior remained behind, and falling on his knees before the abbot, as he was about to withdraw, craved him to hear under the seal of confession the adventures of the day. The reverend loixl abbot yawned, and would have alleged fatigue; but to Father Eustace, of all men, he was ashamed to show indifference in his religious duties. The confession there­fore proceeded, in which Father Eustace told all the extraordinary circumstances which had befallen him during the journey. And being questioned by the abbot, whether he was not conscious of any secret sin, through which he might have been .subjected for .a time to the delusions of evil spirits, the sub-prior admitted with frank avowal that ho thought he might have deserved such penance for having judged with unfratemal rigour of the report of Father Philip, the sacristan.

' Heaven,' said the penitent, ' may have been willing to con-.vince me, not onl' that He can at pleasure open a comnnmication betwixt us and behigs of a different, and, as we word it, super­natural class, but also to punish our pride of siiperior •snsdom, or superior courage, or superior learning.'

I t is well said that virtue is its own rewaixl; and I question if duty was over more completely recompensed than by the audience which the reverend abbot "so unwillingly yielded to the confession of the sub-prior. To find the object of his fear, shall we say, or of his envy, or of both, accusing himself of the very eiTor with which he had so tacitly charged him, was at once a coiToboration of the abbot's judgment, a soothing of his pride, and an allaying of his fears. The sense of triumph, how­ever, rather increased than diminished his natural good-humour; and so far was Abbot Boniface from being disposed to tyi-annise over his sub-prior in consequence of this discovery, that in his exhortation he hovered somewhat ludicrously betwixt the natural expression of his own gratified vanity and his timid reluctance to hurt the feelings of Father Eustace.

' My brother,' said he, ex cathednt, ' it cannot have escaped your judicious observation that we have often declined oiu- own

TKE MONASTERY 85

judgment in favour of j'Our opinion, even about those matters which most nearly concerned the community. Nevertheless, grieved would we be' could you think that wo did this either because we deemed our own opinion less pregnant, or our wit more shallow, than that of our other bretlu-eu. For it was done exclusively to give our yomigcr brethi-en, such as your much-esteemed self, my dearest brother, that courage which is necessary to a free deliverance of your opinion; we ofttimes setting apart our prop6r judgment, that our inferiors, and especially our dear brother the sub-prior, may bo comforted and encouraged in proposing valiantly his own thoughts. Which our deference and humility may, iu some sort, have produced in your mind, most reverend brother, that self-opiniou of parts and knowledge which hath led unfortunately to your over-estimating your owni faculties, and thereby subjecting yourself, as is but too visible, to the japes and mockeries of evil spirits. For it is assured that Heaven alwaj's holdeth us in the least esteem when we deem of ourselves most highly: and also, on the other hand, it may be that we have somewhat departed from what became our high seat iu this abbey, in suilering oui-selves to. be too much guided, and even, as it were, controlled, by the voice of our inferior. 'Wliereforo,' continued the lord abbot, ' in both of us such faults shall and must bo amended—you hereafter presuming less uijbn your gifts and cai-nal wisdom, and I taking heed not so easily to relinquish mine own opinion for that of one lower in place and in office. Nevertheless, we would not that we should thereby lose the high advantage which we have derived, and may yet derive, from your wise counsel, which hath beeuJiO often recommeuded to us by our niost reverend Primate. Wherefore, ou affairs of high moment, we will call you to our presence in private, and listen to j n-opmion, which, if it shall agree with our own, we will deliver to the chapter as emanating directly from ourselves ; thus sparing you, dearest brother, that seeming' victory which is so apt to engender spiritiial pride, and avoiding our^sclves the tempta­tion of falling itito that modest facility of opinion whereby our office is lessoned and our person—were that of consequence— rendered less important in the eyes of the community over which we preside.'

Notwithstanding the high notions which, as a rigid Catholic, Father Eustace entertained of the sacrament of confession, as his church calls it, there was some danger that a sense of the ridicidous might have stolen on liini, when he heard his superior.

86 WAVERLICY iS'OVET.S

with such simple cunning, lay out a little plan for availing himself of the sub-prior's wisdom and experience, while he should take the whole credit to himself. Yet his conscience immediately told him that he was right.

' I should have thought more,' he reflected, ' of the spiritual superior and less of the individual. I should have spread my mantle over the frailties of my spiritual father, and done what \ might to support his character,, and, of com-sc, to extend his ^ utility among the brethren, as well as'with others. The abbot cannot be humbled but what the community must be humbled in his person. Her boast is, tha t over all her children, especially over those called to places of distinction, she can difl'use those gifts which are necessary to render them illustrious.'

Actuated by these sentiments, Father Eustace" frankly assented to the charge which his superior, even in that moment of authority, had rather intimated than made, and "signified his liumble acquiescence in any mode of communicating his counsel which might be most agreeable to the lord abbot, and miglit best remove from himself all temptation to glory in his o •u wisdom. He then pruyed the reverend father to assign him such penance as might best suit his offence, intimating, at the same time, tliat he had already fasted the whole daj'.

'And it is that I complain of,'„an8wered the abbot, instead of civino- him credit for his abstinence—'it is these very penances, fasts, and vigils of which we complain, as tending only to generate air and fumes of vanitj', which, ascending from the stomach into the head, do but puff us up with vainglory and self-opinion. I t is meet and beseeming that novices should undergo fasts and vigils; for som* part of every community must fast, and young stomachs may best endui'c it. Besides, in them it abates wicked thoughts, and the desire of worldly delights. But, reverend brother, for those to fast who are dead and mortified to the world, as I and thou, is work of super­erogation, and is but the matter of spiritual pride. Wliei-efore, I enjoin thee, mojt reverend brother, go to the buttciy, and drink two cups at least of good wine, eating withal a comfortable morael, such as may best suit thy taste and stomach. And in i-espect that thine opinion of thy own wisdom hath at times made thee less confonnable to, and companioual)Ie with, tlie ^veaker and less learned brethren, 1 enjoin thee, during the saiti repast, to choose for t h y companion our reverend brother Nicolais, and, without interruption or impatience, to listen for a stricken hour to his narration concerning those things which bcfcH m

THE MONASTERY R7. •

tlie times of om- venerable predecessor, Abbot lugelram, on whose soul may Heaven have mercy! And for such lioh-exercises as may further advantage your soul, and expiate the faults whereof you have contritely and humbly avowed youi-sclf guilty, we will ponder upon that matter, and announce our will unto you the next morning.'

I t was remarkable that, after this memorable evening, the feelings of the worthy abbot towards his adviser were much more kindly and friendly than when he deemed the sub-piior the impeccable and infallible pereon in whose gannent of virtue and wisdom no flaw was to be discerned. I t seemed as if "this avowal of his own imperfections had recommended Father J'Aistaco to the friendship of the superior, although at the same time this increase of benevolence was attended with some circumstances which, to a man of the sub-prior's natural eleva­tion of mind and temper, were more grievous tliau even under­going the legends of the dull and verbose Father Nicolas. ' For instance, the abbot seldom mentioned him to the other monks without designing him 'om- beloved Brother Eustace, poor man !' and now and then he used to warn the younger brethren against the snares of vainglory and spiiitual pride, which Satan sets for the more rigidly righteous, with such looks and demonstrations as did all but expressly designate the sub-prior as one who had fallen at one time imdor such delusions. Upon these occasions it required all the votive obedience of a monk, all the philo­sophical discipline of the schools, and all the patience of a Christian, to enable Father Eustace to endure the pompous and patronising parade of his honest but somewhat thick-headed superior. He began hirfJself to be desirous of leaving the monastery, or at least he manifestly declined to interfere with its affairs in that marked and authoritative manner which he had at firet practised.

C H A P T E R XI

You call this education, do you not ? Why, 'tis the forced march of a hei-d of bullocks Before a shouting drover. The glad van Jlove on at ease, and pause a while to snatch A passing morsel from tlio dewy greensward ; M'hile all the blows, the oaths, the indignation. Fall on the croupe of tho ill-fated laggard That cripples in the rear.

Old Play.

Two or three yeai-s glided on, dui-ing which the storm of tlic approaching alteration in church govemmeut became eaclj day louder and more v.perilous. Owing to the circumstances which we have intunated m the end of the last chapter, the Sub-Prior Eustace appeared to have altered considerably his habits of life. He afforded, on all extraoi-diuary occasions, to tlie abbot, whether privately or iu the assembled chapter; the sup­port of his wisdom and experience; but in his oidiuaiy habits he seemed now to live more for himself, and less for the com­munity, thau had been his foi-mer practice.

He often absented himself forwh?)le days from the convent-and as the adventure of Gleiidearg dwelt deeply on his memory' he was repeatedly induced to visit that lonely tower, and to take an interest in the orphans who had their shelter under its roof Besides, he felt a deep anxiety to know wliether the volume which he had lo.st, when so sti-angely preserved from the lance of tho murderer, had a,i 'ain found its way back to the 'J'ower of Glen dearg. ' I t was strange,' he thought, ' that a spirit,' for such he could not liolp judging tho being whoso voice he had heard ' should on the one side seek the advancement of heresy, and on' the other interpose to save the life of a zealous Catholic priest '

But from no inquiiy which he made of the various inhabiti-ants of the Tower of Glendeai-g could he learn that the copy of the translated Scriptures for which he made such diligent inquiry had again been seen by any of them.

THE MONASTERY 89

In the meanwhile, the good father's occasional visits were of no small consequence to Edward Glcndiiming and to Mary Avenel. The former displayed a power of apprehending and retaining whatever was taught him which filled Father Eustace with admiration. He was at once acute and industrious, alert and accurate-^one oT those rai-e combinations of talent and industry which are seldom imited.

I t was the earnest desire of Father Eustace that the excel­lent qualities thus early" displayed by Edward should be dedi­cated to the service of the church, to which he thought the youth's own consent might bo easily obtained, as he was of a calm, contemplative, retired habit, and seemed to consider Ivnowledge as the principal object, and its enlargement as the greatest pleiisui-e, in life. As to the mother, the sub-prior had little doubt that, trained as she was to view the monks of St. Mary's with such profound reverence, sJie would be but too happy in an opportuuitj' of eni-olluig one of her sons in its honoured community. I3ut the good father proved to be mis-tiiken in both these particulai-s.

When ho spoke to Elspeth Glendinning of that which a mother best loves to hear, the proficiency and abilities of her son, she listened with a delighted car. But when Father Jiustace hinted at the duty of dedicating to the service of the church talents which seemed fitted to defend and adorn it, the dame endeavoured always to shift the subject; and when pressed fai-ther, enlarged on her own incapacity, as a lone woman, to manage the feu, on the advantixge which her ueighboui-s of the towu.ship werc often taking of her unpro­tected state, and on the wish she had that If^dward might fill his father's place, remain in the tower, and close her eyes.

On such occasions the sub-prior would answer that, even in a worldly point of view, the welfare of the family would be best consulted by one of the sous entering into the comminiity of St. Mary's, as it was not to be supposed that he would fail to aflfoi-d his family the important protection which he could then easily extend towards them. What could be a more pleasing prospect than to see him high in honour ? or what more sweet than to have the last duties rendered to her by a son revered for his holiness of life and exemplary maiuiei-a 1 Besides, he endeavom-ed to impress upon the dame that her eldest son, Halbert, whose bold temper and headstrong indulgence of a wandering humour rendered him incapable of learning, was, for that reason, as well as that he was her eldest-born, fittest

90 WAVERLEY NOVELS

to bustlo through the aftau-s of the world and manage the little fief.

Elspeth durst not directly dissent from what was proposed, for fear of giving displeasiu-e, and yet she always had some­thing to say against it. 'Halbert, ' she said, 'was not like any of the neighbour boys : he was taller by the head, and stronger by the half, than any boy of his years within the halidome. But he was fit for no peacefxil work that could be devised.. If he liked a book ill, he liked a plough or a pattle woreo. He had scoured his father's old broadsword, suspended it by a bolt round his waist, and seldom stkred without it. He was a sweet boy and a gentle if spoken fair, but cross him and he was a born devil. In a word,' she said, biii'sting into tears, ' deprive me of Edward, good father, and ye bereave iay house of pi"op and pillar; for my heart tells me that Halbei-t will take to his father's gates, and die his father's death.'

When the converaation came to this ciisis, the good-humoiu'ed monk was always content to drop the discussion for the time, trusting some opportunity would occur of removing her prejudices, for such he thought them, against Edward's proposed destination.

When; leaving the mother, the sub-prior addressed himself to the son, animating his zeal for knowledge, and pointing out how amply it might be gi-atified should he agree to take holy orders, he foimd the same repugnance which Dame Elspeth had exhibited. Edward pleaded a want of mxfficiont vocation to so serious a profession, his reluctance to leave his mothci-, and other objections, which the sub-prior treated as evasive.

' I plainly perceive,' he said ons day, in answer to them, ' that tlie devil has his factors as well as Heaven, and that they are equallj', or, alas 1 the foi-mer are -perhaps more active, iii bespeaking for their master the first of the mai-ket. I tnist young man, that neither idleness, nor licentious pleasm-e nor the love of worldly gain and worldly grandeur, the chief baits with which the gi-eat Fisher of souls conceals his hook, are the causes of your declining the career to which I would incite you. But above all, I trust—above all, I hope—that the vanity of superior knowledge, a sin with which those who have made pro­ficiency in learning are most frequently beset, has not led you into the awful hazard of listening to the dangerous doctrines which are now afloat concerning religion. Better for you that you were as grossly ignorant as the beasts which perisli than that the pride of knowledge should induce you to lend an ear

Ur -lY 105

94

ii,«Tr Korl Vvpfin so

WAV15BI.EY NOA^PXS

Pleasingly engaged, under^the^excuse^of a.

94 WAVERT.RY NOVKLS •

they had heen- so pleasingly engaged, under "the excuse of a-, headache; nor could Edwatxl prevail upon her to resume it again that morning.

Meanwhile Halbert, his head unbonnetedi his features swelled with jealous anger, and the tear still in, his eye, sped up the wild and upper extremity of the little valley of Gleudcarg with the speed of a roebuck, choosing, as if iu desperate defiance of the difficulties of the way, the wildest and most dangerous paths, and voluntarily exposing himself a hundred times to dangers wliich he might have escaped by turning a littlo_ aside

, from them. It seemed as if he wished his coixrse to be as straight as that of the anwv to its mark.

Ho arrived at length iu a narrow and secluded cleuch, or deep i-aviue, which ran down into the valley, and contributed a sciuity rivulet to the supply of -the brook with which Gleu-dearg is watered. Up this he sped with the same precipitate haste which had marked his departure from the tower; nor did he pause and look around imtil he had reached the fountain. from which the rivulet had its rise.

Hei-e Halbert stopt short, and cast a gloomy, and almost [ a friglitencd, glance around him. A huge rock, rose iu front, from a cleft of which grew a wild holl3'-tree, whose dark green branches rustled over the spring which arose beneath. The banks on either hand rose so higii, and approached eacli other so closely, that it was only when the suu was at its meridia* height, and during the summer solstice, that its rays could reach the bottom of the chasm in which he stood. But it was now summer, and the hour was noon, so that the luiwonted reflection of tlie sun was dancing in the pellucid fountflin.

' It is the season and the hour,' said Halbert to liimsolf; 'and now I—I might soon become wiser than Edwaitl with all his pains! Mary should see whether he-alone is fit to be consulted, and to sit by her side, and hang over her as she reads, and point out every word and every letter. And she loves me better thaa him—I am sure she does, for slic comes of noble blood, and scorns sloth and cowardice. And do I my­self not stand here slothful and cowardly as any priest of them all ?' Wliy should I fear to call upon this form—tliis shape 1 Already have I endured the vision, and .vhy uot again 1 Wliat can it do to me, who am a man of lith and limb, and have by my side my father's sword ? Does nij' heart beat, do my hairs bristle, at the thought of calling up a paiuted shadow, and how slionld I fucc a band of Southrons iu flesh and blood? By

THE MONASTERY 93

. Halbert., because you do not get your lesson so fast aa Edward can ; and so am I, for I am as stupid as you. But come, and Edward shall sit betwixt us and teach us.'

' He shall not teach vve,' said Halbert, in the same angry ' mood ; ' I never can teach him to do anything that is honourable / and manly, and he shall not teach me any of his monkish tricks. I I hate the monks, with their drawling nasal tone like so many ; frogs, and their long black petticoats like so many women, and i their reverences, and their lordships, and their lazy vassals, that ' do nothing bu t paddle in the mire with plough and harrow, from

Yule to Michaehnas. I will call none lord but him who wears a sword to make his title good; and I will call none man but him tha t can bear himself manlike and masterful.'

' For Heaven's sake, peace, brother ! ' said Edward. ' If such words were taken up, and i-eported out of the house, tlioy would be our mother's ruin.'

' Keport them yom-self, then, and they will be your making, and nobody's marring save mine own. Say that Halbert Glcn-dinning will never be vassal to an old man with a cowl and shaven cix)wn, while there are twenty barons who wear casque and plinno tha t lack bold followers. Let them gi-aut you these wretclied acres, and much meal may they bear you to make your brochan!' He left the room hastily, bu t instantly returned, and continued to speak with the same tone of quick and initated feeling. ' And you need not think so much, neither of you, and especially you, Edward, need not think so much of your parchment hook there, and your cunning in reading it. By my faith, I will soon leam to read as well as you ; and—for I know a better teacher than your grim old monk, and a better book than his printed breviary —and since you like scholar-craft so well, Mary Avcnel, you shall see whether Edward or I have most of it.' He left the apartment, and caine not again.

' What can be the matter with him 3' said ^laiy, following Halbert with her eyes from the window, as with hasty and unequal steps ho ran up the wild glen. 'Where can your brother be going, Edward? what hook?—wliat teacher does ho talk of?'

' I t avails not guessing,' said Edward. ' Halbert is angry, he knows not why, and speaks of he knows not what; let us go again to our lessons, and he will come liome when he lias tired himself with scrambling among the crags as usual.'

But Mary's anxiety on account of Halbert seemed more deeply rooted. She decUned prosecuting the task in which

THE ^^o^^ASTERY jiiosV

• 1 , • ..J" All tlie world knows tha t ' t he cultivators of each/barony

or regality, temporal or spiritual, in Scotland, urcnobligcd to • bring their corn to be grinded at the mill of the teijitory, for which they pay a heavy cliarge, called the Mntown nuiltuies.' I could speak to the thirlage of invecta et illaia too, but let that pass, M' have said euougii to intimate that I talk not witliout book. Those of the ' sucken,' or enthralled gi-ound, wei-o liable ill penalties if, deviating from this thirlage (or thraldom), they carried their gi-aiii to another mill. Kow such another mill, erected on the lands of a lay baron, lay within a tempting and convenient distance of Glendearg; and the miller was so obliging, and his cViai-ges so moderate, that it required Hob . Miller's utmost vigilance to prevent evasions of his right of monopoly:

The most eftectual means he could devise was this show of good fellowship and neighbourly friendship; under colour of which he made his annual cniise through the baronj-, num­bered every conistack, and computed its contents by the boll, so that ho could give a shrewd hint afterwards whether or not the grist aime to the right mill.

Dame Elspcth, like her compeei-s, was obliged to take these domiciliary visits in the sense of politeness; but in her ca.se they had not occurred since her husband's death, probably beciiuse the Tower of Glendcarg was distant, and there was but a trifling quantity of arable or infield land attached to it. This year there had been, upon some speculation of Old Martin'.s, several bolls sown in the outfield, which, the sea.son being fine, had ripened remarkably well. Perhaps this circumstance occa­sioned the hone.st miller's Kieluding Glendearg, on this occa­sion, in his annual round.

J^ame Gloiidinniiig received with pleasure a visit which she used formerl' only to endure with patience; and she had changed her view of the matter chiefly, if not entirely, because -Hob had brought with him his daughter Mysie, of whose features she could give so slight an account,, but whose dress she had described go accnmtely, to the sub-pnor.

Hitherto this girl had been an object of very trifling con­sideration in the eyes of the good widow ; but the sub-prior's

. particular and somewhat my.stcrious inquiries had set her brains to work on the subject of Mysie of the .Mill; and she had here asked a broad (|ue.stion, and there she had thrown out an innuendo, and there again she had gradually led on to a conversation on the subject of poor .Mysre. l^nd from all

106 WA^TJRLEY NOVELS

inquiries and investigations, she had collected that Mysie was a dark-eyed, laughter-loving wench, with cherry-cheeks, and a skm as wliite as her father's finest bolted flour, out of which was made the abbot's own wastel-bread. For her temper, she sung and laughed from morning to n ight ; and for her fortune, a matei-ial article, besides that which the miller might liavo "amassed by means of his proverbial golden thumb, Mysio was to inherit a good handsome lamp of land, with a prospect of the mill and mill-acres descending to her husband on an easy lease, if a fair word were spoken in season to the abbot, and to the prior, and to the sub-prior, and to the sacristan, and so forth.

By turning and again turning these advantages over in her own mind, Elspeth at length came to be of opinion that the only way to save her son Halbert from a life of ' spur, spear, and snaffle,' as they called that of the Border rideifs, from the dint of a cloth-yard shaft, or the loop of an incli-cord, was, tha t he should m a n y and settle, and that Mysie Hap27er should be his destined bride.

As if to her wish. Hob Miller arrived on his strong-built mare, bearing on a pillion behind him the lovely Mysic, with cheeks like a peony-rose (if Dame Glendinnipg had ever seen one), spirits all afloat with rustic coquetiy, and a profusion of hair as black as ebony. The beau-ideal which Dame Glpn-dinuing had been bodying forth in her imagination became unexpectedly realised in the buxom form of Mysic Happcr, whom, in the course of half an hour, she settled upon as the maiden who was to fix the restless and untutored Halbert, True, Jlysie, as the dame soon saw, was likely to love dancing round a Maj'-pole as well as manajiug a domestic conceni, and Halbert was likely to break more heads than he \TOuld grind stacks of corn. But then a miller should always be of manly make, and has been described so since the days of Chaucer and James 1. Indeed, to be able to outdo and bully the whole sucken (once mor.e we use this barbarous phrase) in all

i athletic exercises was one way to render easy the collection of dues which men would have disputed with a less, formidable champion. Then, as to the deficiencies of the millers wife, the dame was of opinion that thoj' might be supplied by the activity of the miller's mother. ' I will keep house for the young folk myself, for the tower is gi-own very lonely,' thought Dame Glendinning, 'and to live near the kirk will be mair comfortable in my auld age ; and then Kdward may agree with his brother about the feu, more especially as he i.s a favourite

THE MONASTERY 107

with the sub-pi'ior, and then he may. live in the anld tower like lus/'">rthy father before him ; and wha kens but Mary Aveuel, high-blooded as she is, may e'en draw in her stool to the chimney-nook, and sit down here for good and a' 1 It's tnie

* she has no tocher, but the like of her for beauty and sense neer crossed my een, and I have kenn'd every wench in the lialidome of St. Mary's—ay, and their mothers that bore them; iiy, she is a sweet and a lovely creature as ever tied snood over brown hair ; ay, and then, though her imcle keeps her out of her ain for the present time, yet it is to be thought the grey-goose shaft will find a hole in his coat of pi-oof, as, God help \is! it has done in many a better man's. And, moreover, if they should stand on their pedigree and gentle race, I'Mward might say to them, that is, to her gentle kith and kin, " Wliilk o' ye

' was lier best friend when she came down the glen to Glendearg in a misty evening, ou a beast mair like a cuddle than aught else ?" And if they tax him with chnrl's blood, Edward might Sivy that, forbye the old jjroverb, how

Gentle deed . Jlakes gentle HeiJ;

3'et, moreover, there comes no churl's blood from Glendiuning or Brydone; for, says Edward '

The hoarse voice of the miller at this moment recalled the dame from hor reverie, and compelled her to remember that, if she meant to realise her airy castle, she must begin by laying the foundation in civility to her guest and his danglitcr, whom she was at that moment most strangely neglecting, though her whole plan turned on cor.ailiatiug their favour and good opinion, and that, in fact, while arranging matters for so inti­mate a i.mion with her companj', she was suftering them to sit 'iHUOticed, and in their riding-gear, as if about to resume their joiirney. ' And so I saj', dame,' concluded the miller, for she had not marked the beginning of his speech, 'an ye be so busied with your housewifeskep, or aught else, wliy, Mysie and I will trot our way down the glen again to Johnnie Broxmouth's, who pressed us right kindly to bide with him.'

N" Starting at once from her dream of marriages and inter-arriages, mills, mill-lands, and baronies. Dame Klspeth felt

lor a moment like the milkmaid in the fable, when she overset the pitcher on the contents of which so many golden di'eams wei-e founded. But the foundation of Danio Glendinning's liopes was only tottering, not overthrown, and she hastened to

108 WAVF.RLKY NOVELS

restore its equilibrium. Inst-ead of attempting to account for her absence of mind and want of attention to her guests, which she might liave found something difficult, she assumed the offensive, like an able genei-al when he finds it necessary, by a bold attack, to disguise his weakucss.

A loud exclamation she made, and a passionate complaint she set up against the unkiudness of her old friend, ' who could for an instant doubt the heartiness of her welcome to him and to his hopeful daughter ; and then to think of his going liack to John Broxmouth's, when the auld tower stood wliere it did, and had room in it for a friend or two in the worst of times ; and he too a neighbour that his umquhile gossip Simon, blessed be his cast! used to think the best friend he had in the liali-dome.' And on she went, urging her complaint with so much seriousness that she had wellnigh imposed on hereelf as well as upon Hob Miller, who had no mind to take anything hi dudgeon, and, as it suited lus plans to pass the niglit at Glen-dearg, would have been equally contented to do so even had his reception been less vehemently hospitable.

To all Elspcth's expostulations on the unkiudness of his pro­posal to leave her dwelling, he answered cqni])oscdly, ' Nay, dame, what could I tell ? ye might have had other grist to grind, for ye looked as if j 'e scarce saw us ; oi-what know 11 vo might bear in mind the words ^lartiu and I had about the last barley ye sawed, for I ken dry multures will sometimes stick in the throat. A man seeks but his awn, and yet folk shall hold him'^fo both miller and miller's man, that is, miller and knave,* all t lu 'ountry over.'

'Alas, that you vill say so, iicighbour Hob,' said Dame Elspeth, 'or that Martin should have had any woi-ds with you about the mill-dues ! I will chide him roimdly for it, I promise j'ou, on the faith of a true widow. You know full well that a lone woman is soro put upon by her servants.' , ' jSTay, dame,' said the miller, unbuckling the broad belt

which made fast, his cloak, and served, at the same time, to suspend by his side a swinging Andrew Fcri-ara, 'bear no grudge at Martin, for I bear none. I take it on me as a thing of mine office to maintain my right of multure, lock, arid goupen.t And. reason good, for, as the old song says,

I live liy my mill, God bless her, Slie's paieiit, chilJ, and wife.

Ht-e Xote S. t See The So^uels. Note 9.

THE MONASTERY 109

The poor old slut, I am beholden to her for mv livin.', and bound to stand by her, as I my to my miU-kuaves, in right and m wrong. And so should every honest fellow stand by his bread-wunier. Aud so, Mysie, yc may dott" vour cloak since our ue.ghbonr is so kindly glad to see us ; why, I think, we arc as b J the to see her : not-o.ie in the halidome pays their multures mo e duly sequels, arriage aud carriage, and null-services, used tiuu wont.

o n o n Z ^ T ' S ' ' ' ' " , f P ' " ' °^ ^^""S'^ '"^*^'--«' ^ •I'i' h adorned at o CO the naked walls of the tower and served for what vo vulgarly call eloak-pms.

In the meantime Dame Elspeth assisted to disembarrass the damsel whom she destined for her future daughter-in-law of

_ hei hood, mantle, aud the rest of her riding-gean giving her to appear as beseemed the buxom daughter o f S L ^ealtl y m lie,-gay and good y, m a white kirtle, the seams of which were

tnn? i /"" " " ^ ' ° " ' ' g^''"'^^ '^''l l^lsP'-'tl' cast upon the good-humoured face, which was now more fully shown to he ' ^ n S ^ ^ l ° ^ ^ n f '7 ^ '^''''''y °f - v e n - l J l a S ^ d r ; S t u . ma d of the mill Inid restrained by a snood of rn-een --ilk e m W c r e d w,th silver, conespondini to t h e t r i . l f . l g r V h e ; eies bh„i i ' " ' " " ^ ' " ? ' " '^^'-''^ ^™« exceedingly comely - the w C s, . ' lT'^'^'• ""'^ J^g^"«l'ly good-lunnoured, the mouth J e t t l i r l ' ^ ^'f•'"''" ^°'"'"'^''' t''°"S^» somewhat fidl, the teeth woe pearly white, and the chin had a very seducing diniplc

•mi firm . ? , 5 ? • '^"f'i-""? *°*'' '^•'"^•' '"•' ' =»<-'° «='« ^»" ^"^l round, ve rs Pnln ' •"•; • \ ' " ' « ' ' * ' ^" '=°°^° ' °' '-«« ""^1 masculine so,nc L M v S ' ' • ' ' ^ ' ^ ' , ' ' tlie common fault of Scottish beauty; but lnxion« Ki"-'^?"*''.^;'''*^" ^''^ ' " 1 tl»° ^^-^n'o of an Hebe: The hel, X S - ^ ' ' ^ ' ^ ; ; ' - ^ ^^"- •^'"ternal partiality, could not i 3 . f j o . ^ r " '"," ^'•"'-^" that a better man than Halbert md ii^n T '""^ ^'"'^ "•"••«'-"- Sl»e lo'^ked a little giddy, s . ^ l S r rH"? ' " ' "* - - ' ' ^ ' ^ " ; «till it was time he shoifld be u ' , , . n T 11 . P"'"*^ * ''° 'l""^" ' ' ' y^ r e tu rned-aud hero was an excellent opportunit-.

i H ™ " " r t - ' ' " " " J ' ^ ; " ' ' ^ ' ' ' " ' ° E'^Peth now exhausted itself u commendafons of her fair guest from the snood, as they s.iy, to the snigle-soled shoe. Mysie listened and blushed with plutsure for the first five minutes ; but ere ten had elapsed nf"; - F K "..**' ' ' ' "7 *'"" ° '^ '^'ly's complmaentsmther as subjects oi mirth than of vanity, aud was much more disposed to laugh

.A

110 SVAVEKLlCy KOVELS

at than to be flattered with them, for nature had mingled the good-humour with which she had endowed the damsel with no small portion of shrewdness. Even Hob himself began to tire of hearing his daughter's praises, and broke in with, ' Ay, ay, she is a clever quean enough ; and, were she five years older, she shall lay a loaded sack on an aver v.-ith e'er a lass in the halidome. But I have been looking for your two sons, dame. Men say dowurbj'C that Halbert's turned a wild springald, and that we may have word of him from* Westmoreland one moon­light night or another.'

' God forbid, my good iieiglibour—God, in His mercy, forbid !' said Dame Glcndinuing, earnestly ; for it was touching the vcr\' key-note of her apprehensions to hint any probability that l lalbert might become one of the marauders so common in the age and country. But, fearful of having betrayed too much alarm on the subject, she inuncdiatcly added, 'Tha t though, since the last rout at Pinkie Clench, she had been all of a tremble when a gini or a spear was named, or wiien men spoko of fighting, yet, tlianks to God and Our Lady, her sous were like to live and die honest and' ])eaceful tenants to the abbey, as their fatlicr miglit have done, but for that awfid liosting whicli he went forth to, with mouy a biuvo man that never returned.'

' Ye need not tell mo of it, dame,' said the miller, ' suice I was tliero myself, and made two pair of legs—and these wer^ not mine, but my mare's—worth one pair of hands. I judged liow it woidd be, when I saw oin- host break ranks, with rush-in" on throu;4h that broken ploughed field, and so, as they had made a priclter of me, I e'en prick'-d ofl' with myself while the play was good.'

' Av, ay, neighbour,' said the dame, 'ye were aye a wise and a wary man. If my Simon had had your wit, lie might have been hero to spetik aboiit it this day ; but he was aye cracking of his gootl blood and his high kindred, and less would not serve him tlian to bide tlic bang to the last, with the earls, and kni'dits, and s<|uires, that liad no wives to greet for them, or else had wives that cared not how soon they were widows; but that is not for the like of us. But' touching my son Halbert, tliere is no fear of him ; for if it should be his misfortune to bo in the like case, he has the best pair of heels in the halidome, and could rini almost as fast as your mare Jiersclf.' "^^

' I s this ]K', neighbour?' cjuoth the miller. ' No ' replied the mother; ' that is my youngest son, Edward,

THE MO^^VSTERy 111

who cau read and write like the lord abbot hiuLself, if i t were not a sill to say so.'

'Ay,' said tho miller; 'and is that the young clerk tlie sub-prior thinks so much of 1 They say he will come far ben, tha t :^:^..',J kens but he may come to be sub-prior himself 1 As broken a ship has comQ to land.'

'To bo a prior, neighbour miller,' said Edward, ' a man must fii-st be a priest, and for that I judge I have little vocation.'

' He will take to the plcugh-pcttle, neighbour,' said the good dame; 'and so will Halbert too, 1 trust. 1 wish you saw Halbert. Edwaixl, where is your brother 1'

'Himting, I think,' replied Edward; ' a t least he left us this morning to join the Laiixl of ColmsUe and his hounds. I have heard them baying in the glen all d.ay.'

'And if I had heard that numic,' said the miller, ' i t would have done my heart good, ay, and maybe taken me two or throe miles out of my road. When I was the miller of More-battle's knave, I have followed the hounds from Eckfoixl to the foot of Hounani Law—followed theni on foot. Dame (Ilendiiming, ay, and led the chase when tho Laird of Cessford and his gay ridoi-s were all thvowu out by tho mosses and gills. I brought the stiig on my back to llounam Cross, when tho dogs had pulled him down. I think I see the old grey knight, as he sate so upright on his strong war-hoi-se, all white with foam ; and "Miller," said he to me, " a n thou wilt turn thy back on the mill, and wend with mc, I will make u man of thee." But 1 chose rather to abide by clap and happer, and the better luck was mine; for tho proud I'ercy caused hang five of tho laird's henohmen a t Aluwidc for burning a ricklo of houses some gate beyond Fowberry, and it might have been my luck as well as another man's.'

'Ah, ucighboiir, neighbour,' said Dame Olcndinning, ' you were aye wise and wary; but if you like hunting, I must say Ilalbert's the lad to please you. l ie hath all those fair holiday terms of hawk and hound as ready in Ids moifth as Tom with tho tod's-tail, that is, the lord abbot's ranger.'

'Ranges he not homeward at dinner-time, dame ' de­manded, the miller; 'for we call noon tho dinner-honr at Kcnnaquhair 1'

The widow was forced to admit that, even at this importiiut lioriod of the day, Halbert was frequently absejjt; a t which tho miller shook his head, intimating, at the sumo tunc, some

112 WAVERLEY NOVELS

allusion to M>o proverb of MaeFarlane's gccsc,* wliicli 'liked tlicir play better than their meat.'

That the delay of dinner might not increase the miller's disposition to prejudge Halbcrt, Dame trlendinning called hastily on Mary Aveuel to take the task of entertaining Mysie Happer, while she herself rushed to the kitchen, .and, entering a t once into the proTince of Tibb Taeket, rummaged among trenchers and dishes, snatched pots from the lire, and placed pans and gridirons on it, accompanying her own feats of personal activity with such a continued list of injunctions to Tibb that Tibb a t length lost patience, and said, ' Here was as muckle wark about meating an auld mUler as if they had been to banquet the blood of Bruce.' But this, as it was supposed to be spoken aside, Dame (jlendinning did not think it convenient to hear.

' Seo Nolo 10.

C H A P T E R XIV

Kay, lot me liave the friends who eat my victnab As various as my dishes. The least's naught Wliere one huge plate predominates. John Plaintext, He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; The worthy alderman, a hutter'd dunii>ling ; You pair of whisker'd comets, rufls and rees ; Their friend the dandy, a gi-een goose in sippets. And so the board is spread at once and fill'd On the same principle—variety.

Xcw riay.

' A N D what brave lass is this'?' said Hob Miller, as Mary Avenel entered the apartment to supply the absence of Dame Elspeth Gleudiuuiug.

' The young I^ady of Aveucl, father,' said the ]Maid of the Mill, dropping as low a courtesy as her rustic nmnnei-s enabled her to make. The miller, her father, doflbd his boimet and made his reverence, not altogetlier so low perhaps as if the yomig ludy had appeared in the pride of rank and riches, yet so as to give high birth the due homage which the Scotch for a length of time scrupulously rendered to it.

Indeed, from having hadoher motlier's example before her for so many years, and from a native sense of propriety, and even of dignity, Mary Avcuel liad acquired a demeanour which marked her title to consideration, and eflbctw.vlly checked any attempt at familiarity on the part of those who might be her associates in her present situation, but could not be well termed her equals. She was by natvu-c mild, pensive, and contemplative, gentle in .disposition, and most ])lacablo when •iccidentally ofteuded ; but still she was of a retired and reserved habit, and shtmnod to mix in ordinary .sports, even when the rare occurrence of a fair or wake gave her an opportunity' of mingling with companions of her own age. If at such scenes she was seen for an instant, she appeared to behold tlieni with the composed indifference of one to whom their gaiety was a

X 8

114 W A V E R L E Y NO\M-X5

matter of no interest, and who seemed only desii-ous to glide away from the scene as soon as she possibly could. Something also had transpired concerning her being born on All-lTallow Eve, and the powers with which tliat circumstance was Hup-posed to invest her over the invisible world. And from all these particulars combined, the young men and women of the halidome used to distinguish Afary among themselves by the name of the Spirit of Avenel, as if the fair but fragile form, the beautiful but rather colourless cheek, the dark blue eye, and the shady hair, had belonged ratlier to the immaterial tliau the substantial world. The gencnil tradition of the AVliite Lady, who was supposed to wait on the fortunes of the family of Avoncl, gave a sort of zest to this piece of rural wit. I t gave great oftence, however, to the two sons of Simon Gleudinning; and when the expression was in their presence applied to the young lady, Edward was wont to check tlio petulance of tliosc who used it by strength of argument, and llalbcrt by strength of arm. In sucii cases Halbert had this advantage, that, althougli lie could render no aid to liis brotlier's argument, yet, when circumstances re(|uired it, he was sure to have that of I'xlward, who never indeed himself commenced a fray, but, on the other hand, did not testify any reluctance to enter into combat in Halbert's behalf, or in his rescue.

But the zealous attachment of the two yoviths, being them­selves, from tlio retired situation in wliich they dwelt, compara­tive stnuigcrs in the halidome, did not serve iu any degree to alter the feelings of the inhabitants towards the young lady, who seemed to liave dropped amongst them from another sphere of life. Still, however, she was regarded with respect, if not with fondness; and the attention of the sub-prior to tlie faniilj', not to mention the formidable name of Julian Avenel, which every new incident of those tumultuo\is times tended to render more famous, attached to his niece a certain importance. Thus some a.spircd to lior acquaintance out of jji-ide, while the more timid of the fcuars were anxious to inculcate upon their children the necessity of beii<g respectful to the noble orphan. So that Mary Avenel, littlo loved because little known, was regarded with a mystei-iou.s awe, partly derivetl from fear of her uncle's moss­troopers, and partly from her own retired and distiuit habits, enhanced by the superstitious opinions of the time and countr'

I t was not without some portion of this awe that Mysio f herself left alone in company with a young person so distant i. ' rank and so different in bearing, from herself; for her worthy

THK MONASTERY 115

father had fciken the fii-st opportunity to step out \mobserved, in order to mark how tlic baru-yai-d was filled, and what pro­spect it aftbixled of grist to the mill. In youth, however, there is a sort of freemasonry, which, without much conversution, teaches youn^ persons to estimate each other's character, and places them at ease on the shortest acquaint^iuce. I t is only when taught deceit by the commerce of the world that we learn to shroud our character from observation, and to disguise our real sentiments from those with whom we are placed iu com­munion.

Accoixlingly, the two young women were soon engaged in such objects of interest as best bcamie their ago. They visited Mary Avenel's pigeons, which she uui-sed with the tendeniess of a mother;. they turned over her slender stores of finery, which yet contained some articles that excited the respect of her com­panion, though Jlysie was too good-hiimoiu'cd to nourish envy. A goldcu rosary, and some female ornaments marking superior rank, had been rescued in tiic moment of their utmost adversity, more by Tibb Tackct's ))resencc of mind than by the care of their owner, who was at that sad period too much sinik in grief to pay any attention to such circumstances. They struck Mysic with a deep impression of veneration; for, excepting what the lord abbot and the convent might possess, she did not believe there was so much real gold iu the world as was exhibited in these few trinkets, and Mary, however sage and serious, was not above being pleased with the admiration of her rustic com­panion.

Nothing, indeed, could exhibit a stronger contrast than the appearance of the two girls— the good-humoured, laughtei^loving countenauce of the Maid of the Mill, who stood gazing with uuropressed astonishment on whatever was iu her inexjierieuced ej'c i-iire and costly, and with a Immble, and at the same time cheerful, acquiescence in her inferiority, asking all the little ([ueries about the use and value of the ornaments, while Mary Avcnel, with her quiet, composed dignity and placidity of manner, producal them one after another for the ar..usement of her comjjanion.

As they became gradually more familiar, Mysic of the Mill was just venturing to ask why Mary Avenel never appeared at the May-pole, and to express her wonder when the yoimg lady said she disliked dancing, when a trampling of horses at the gate of the tower interrupted their conversation. .

Mysie flew to the shot-window in the full ardour of un-

H6 WAVKRLEY XOVELS

restrained female eiu'iosity. ' St. Mary ! sweet lady, hei'c come two well-moimted gallants; will you step tliis way to look at them ?'

'No, ' said Mary Avencl, 'you shall tell me who they are.' 'Well, if yon like it better,' said Mysic; ' b u t how shall I

know them ? Stay, I do know one of them, and so do you, lady; he is a blythe man, somewhat light of hand they say, but the gallants of these days think no great harm of that. He is your uncle's henchman, that they call Christie of the Cliuthill; and ho has not his old green jerkin and the rusty black-jack over it, but a scarlet cloak, laid down with silver luce three inches broad,-and a breastplate you might sec to dress yoiu-hair in, as well as in that keeking-glass in the ivoiy frame that you showed me even now. Come, dear lady—come to the shot-window and see him.'

' I f it be the man you mean, Mj-gie,' replied the orphan of Avencl, ' I shall sec him soon enough, considering either the plea.sure or comfort the siglit will give me.'

'Xay, but if you will not come to see gay Christie,' replied tiie Maid of the Mill, her face flushed with eager curiosity, ' come and toll me who the gallant is that is with him, the handsomest, the very lovcisomcHt young man I ever Siiw with sight.'

' I t is my foster-brother, Halbert Glcndinning,' said Marj-, with apparent indilVoreuco ; for she had been accustomed to call the sons of Klspeth her foster-brethren, and to live with them as if they had been her brothers ui earnest.

' Naj', by Our Lady, that it is not,' said Mysic ; ' 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 liair 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 it, 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, 1 would never wear weapon but the rapier ! it is so slender and becoming, instead of havin;j; a cart-load of iron at my back, like my father's broadsword, witli its great rusty basket-hilt. Do you not delight in. the rapier and poniard, lady?'

'The best sword,' answered Mary, 'if 1 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 1' said Mysie.

THE MONASTERY 117

' Indeed, I cannot even attempt i t ; but, to j\idge by his companion, it is no matter how litile lie is known,' replied Mary.

'My bonison on his bonny face,' said Jfysie, 'if he is not l^oing to alight here ! Now, 1 am as much ])lcased as if my father had given mo the silver ear-rings he has promised me so often ; nay, you liad as well "fcoi'ne to the window, for you must ijee him by and by, whether you will or not.'

I do not know how much sooner Mary Avenel niigbt have sought the point of observation, if she had not been scared from it 1)y the unrestrained curiosity expressed by lier buxom-friend ; but at length the same feeling ))revailed over her sense of dignity, and satisfied with having disjilayed all the indiffer­ence that was necessary iu point of decorum, she no longer thought herself bound to restrain her curiosity.

I' roiu the out-shot or projecting window she could perceive that Cliristic of the Cliiithill 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 appeanmcc of his horse and fnnii-turo, 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 maimer: 'What, ho! so ho! the house! Churl peasants, will no one answer when I cjill 1 Ho ! Martin—Tibb—Daino Olendiimiug ! —a murrain on -ou, must wc stand keeping our horees in tlie cold here, and they .steaming with heat, when we have liddcn so shaiply ?'

At length he was obeyed, and Old Martin made his appear­ance. ' " Ha!"'sidd Chiistie, ' " a r t thou there, old truepenny?" Here, stable me these steeds, and see them well bedded, and strctcli thine old limbs by nibbing them down ; and see tlion (juit not the sfeible till there is not a turned hair on either of them.'

Martin took the horses to the stable as commanded, but suppressed hot his indignation a moment after lie could vent it with safety. ' Would not any one think,' he said to Jasper, an old ploughman, who, in coming to his assist^mce, had heard Christie's imperious injunctions, ' that this loon, this Christie of the Cliiithill, was laii-d or loi-d at least of him 1 No sucli thing, man ! I remember him a little dirty turnspit boy in the house of Avenel, that everybody iu a frosty morning like this wanned

^^^ WAVERLEY NOVELS

his fingers by kicking or cuffino-1 and nnw u. • a.Kl sweai-s, " d - n b t m " and "!-enon„P. ? » ' ' ^. gentleman, men could not so much as keep t E own w ! ' ? ^ '^ *'"^ gent le selves, without the like of h i C S n ° ^ '"^f'^"•^«^ *« them-company, and by the same roa ^ T f ' ^" " ' ^'^^'i' ^-"'v ever I had to n^y dinner to g ' b a c U l T t e . V r ' V ' ^ ' " ' " ^ -horse lunLself, since lie is as able as l \ ^ i ' " ' " *° ""''t ' ' '«

' Hoiit tout, man ' ' auswpvori T.. ' , , better to fleech a fool i C ^ ^ J ^ ^ ^ l^-P ^ - , m sough ;

Martm acknowledged the truth nf f comforted therewith, betoo him eff to d t ^ ' ^ ' : ' ? ' "" ' ' ' '""'^•• horse .vith great assiduity, rem'u in° f "^ *''" strangers handle a handsome na^ , an 1 n ' d^'. ' ' f f ^ l''* ' * "*'* to charge of Jasper. Nor^.a^ m n °-T' .*^'' °"'^^- ' ' the literally compHed with t n t h V W " " f ' ° ' ^'""'"•ands were ablutions, to join tlie par y in . , 5 ? ' ^ '' P'-°P<''' after fitting of waiting upon t h e n / ^ ' ^ "er f , V ' ' ","* " ^ t''*^ P^'To.se expect, but that lie .'li 'ht , ^ ; ! "^f'^ ''^'-^^f ^^^ght >osmy company. ""^ ^"' '^ J»s s'lare of dinner in their

f!^^^^^^:;.s^i^^%sr':'i '" '=-p--n to his master, come to spend throo ri, fA ', "®"^^ °^ '"« and of the tower. The good dame S i l l " ' ^ ' '' ^ ''* '' " " l e din i„ titled to such an h o n o u r a n d ° ^ u l d f a f n T " " ' r \ ^'"^ ^ ''- ^ - -of every sort of convenience to eTtp,-/fi '''" ^^"'^^'^^ '^"^ ^™»t But, indeed, the visitor, " hen he c t t 1 ^ ^ " ' ' * ° ' ' *^''^' ^"'^"ty. avails, eyed the huge bhvck chinmey slri, , 7 ' 1 T""^ *' ° ^ '•' broken furniture of the anarl w ' ' " ' "V ' f , *''° nieagreand meat of the mistress of ^ ^ S ' ^ J £ ^ ^ " ^ - ^ - a s . s -to intrude upon Dame Glendinni, g S l f j f ? ^ < t.inco from all appearances, prove other»^se t l a an nc™? '' - '"'''''' her and a penance to himself. mcouvemence to

But the reluctant lioste.ss and her Lniest h-.rl f. i • , mexorable man, who silenced all exnost k t ;^ •!? ' ' ° ''''^I' " " his master's pleasure. And, m o r e o v e r ' t f I"*'' ' ''^"^'^ ''^^ the Baron of Avenel's will must and ^ ^ , ' °"* '""^ ' ' ' , ' though within ten miles around him, yet here 1. ^ T ' " ' ' "" ' " " letter from your petticoated baron th^ f T"' ^ ' '^•^' ' '« ' enjoins you, as you regard his p S i S i ?'"t^'-"^'^'y°"d°'' ''^''^ good knight such decent a c e o n S t l o n 1 ^ ° " ' ^ ° ' ' ' '" " "^ ' suffering him to live as privately as h e s l T ^ i r / " ^'°'^'- P^^^er, ; you. Sir Piercie Shafton,' continued Ch,-i^" ' ' ' " ' ' " • • ^ ° ' ' ^"^ ' for youi.e.f whether secrecy and S e t J t S ' : n X ^

THE MONASTERY 1 9

even now than soft beds and liigh cheer. And do not judge of the dame's goods by the semblance of her cottage; tor yo\i will see by the dinner she is about to spread for us that the vassal of the ku-k is seldom found with her basket bare.' To Marv Avenel Christie presented the stmuger, aft^r the best fashion he could, as to the niece of his master the baron.

AVhile he thus laboured to reconcile Sir Piercie bhafton to his fate, the widow, having consulted her sou Edward on the real import of the lord abbot's injunction, and havuig found that Christie had given a ti-ue exposition, saw nothnig 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 veiy in­different one.

In fact, the dinner, Avliich 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 api)earance which her good cheer made when placed on the table, forgot both her plans and the vexations which inteniipted them, iu the hospit­able duty of pressing her assembled visitors 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 Shaftou condescended to speak to no one but to Ma^y Avenel, and on her he conferred exactly the same familiar and compassionate, though somew-hat 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. I he 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 deafuess or blindness, or any other iufirmity of the organs. But though the embroidery of his conversation w as different, the groundwork was the ^^^'^' and the high-flown and oniate compUments with winch tlic gallant knight of the sixteenth century interlarded his con­versation were as much the offsprmg of egotism «.nd self-conceit as the jargon of the coxcombs of our own days.

120 WAVERT.EY NOVELS

The English knight was, however, something daunted at finding that Mary Avenel listened witli an air of indirteronce, and answered with wonderful brevity, to all the tine things which ought, as he conceived, to have dazzled her with theii-l)rilliancy, and puzzled her by their obscurity. Bnt if he was disappointed in making the desired, or ratiier the oxperted impression upon lier whom he addressed. Sir Piercie Shafton's discourse was marvelloiis in the ears of Mysic, the miller's daughter, and not the less so that she did not comprehend the meaning of a single word which he uttoi-ed. indeed, tlic gallant knight's language was far too courtly to be undei4tood by persons of much gi-eater acuteness than Mysic's.

I t was about this period that the 'only"rare poet of liis time, the witty, comical, facetiously quick, and quicklj facetious John Lyiy —ho that sate at AjioUo's table, and to wliom Phoobus gave a wreath of his own bays without snatching'*—he, in short, who wrote that singularly^ coxcomical work, called Eujihmn and hh Eiuikind, was in the very zenith of his absiu-dity and reputation. The quaint, forced, and unnatural style which ho introduced by his Anatomy of W!t had a fasiiion as i-a])id us it was momentary : all the court ladies were his scholars, and to parler Eupkidmie was as nocessai-y a qualification to a courtly gallant as those of luidci-standing how to use his rapier or to dance a nipa.sure.

I t was no wonder that the Maid of the Mill was soon as effectually blinded by the intricacies of this enidite and courtly stylo of conversation as she had ever been bv the dust of her father's own meal-sacks. But there she sate" with her mouth and eyes as open as the milkdoor and the two windows showing teeth as white as lior father's bolted llonr, and endea­vouring to secure a word or two for her own fiitnre use out of the pcjirls of rhetoric which Sir Piercie Shafton scattered aromid 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 case and volubility of which lie had no conception, vnn over all the commonplace topics of high-flown gallantry. I t is true, the good sense and natural taste of young Glendinning soon informed him that the gallant cavalier was speaking nonsense. But, alas 1 where is the man of modest merit and real talent who has not suffered from being outshone in couvei-sation, and outstripped in the mce of

* Sco Joliii I-yly. Xote 11.

THE MONASTKRY 121,

life, by men of less reserve, and of qualities move showy, though less substantial 1 And well constituted must the mind be that can yield up the prize without envy to competitors more \vorthy than himself.

Edward tilendinning had no such philosophy. AVhile he despised the jargon of the gay cavalier, he envied the facility with which he could run on, as well as the courtly gi-ace~ of his tone and ex])resKion, and the perfect ease and elegance with which he ofl'ercd all the little acts of politeness to which the duties of the table gave opportunity. And if I am to speak truth, I ni\i.st own that he envied those qualities the more as thej ' were all exercised iu 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 ])lacc himself in her good graces, as the only pci-son in the I'ooin to whom ho thought it wortli while to reconuncnd himself. His title, rank, and very hand­some figure, together with some sjiarks of wit and .spirit which flashed across the clotid of nonsense which he \ittered, rendered him, as the woixls of the old song say, ' a lad for a lady's view­ing ' ; so that poor Edwaixl, witli all his real wortli and acquired knowledge, in his home-spini <loublet, bUie cap, and deerskin trowsera, looked like a clown beside the coin-tier, and, feeling the full inferiority, nourished no good-will to hiui bj ' whom he was eclipsed.

Christie, on the other hand, so soon as he had satisfied to the full a commodious api)etite, by means of which persons of his profession could, like the wolf and eagle, gorge themselves with as nuich fo<xl at one meal as might serve them for several days, began also to feel hin-'jself more iu the background 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 that impudent familiarity which such persons mistake for gi-aceful ease, he broke in \q30n 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 req^iited' the intruder either with total neglect or such laconic replies as intimated a .sovereign contcmjit for the rude spearman who affected to converse with him upon terms of equality.

The miller held his peace; for, as bis usuaV conversation turned chiefly on his clapper and tolklish, he had no mind to

^22 WAVERLKY NOVRT.S

brag of his wealth in presence of Christio nf H,^ nr .1 •., . , intrude bis discourse on the Knglish c n ^ i i e , ' ' ' " Cl"'tlnlV,ted at

A little specimen of the convei^itio. , ,'n,, . 1 •"'*"'• place, were it but to show yon, r S w h 7 f i '''., •'" °"* '" 'S^ l>ave lost by living when J^jA^utJ^^Z^^l^^''^'^^ ^''^'""•

'Cred . tme , fairest lady; said the k Z h r H f . • ""•'? cunning of our English courtiers of the W ;„. T T ' • ' ' " ^'•''''^' as they have infinitely refined un„n t l ' , ' / '^' ' ' ' '" ' ^'"'•""'s con,^e of our fathors/whici as " v L v !" '^"V"'''"'''-'^^ '"^-•'^ niouthsof country roisterct^'in a M v l , ' ' T"" ,be«««n'«l the gallants in a ga l lLd , s J ' K ^ S ^ ^ V ^ : ' T ^ ^ ' y possible that those «-ho may succeed us in t L r 7 '''^''^ '" '•

rather blinds than e .d i "hEL us ' °^ '°"'''^'-'^^^' * ' '^"»* '^

luipamllclcd vo lume- tha t m,h / " "^ "f Jf^^'t-that all-to-bc-treasuiy of quah tT ive S n ^ ^ r ' ' " ' " of hunmn w i t - t h a t and ^^^tJ^y-.^:^Z^^ is worthy to be known—which indoctri>,P« thT 1 • *'"*' the dull in intellectuality, t h f h avy in " ^ ^ ^ ^ gentility the vulgar in nubility, and!allo/them .', Z ^ ; ^ •

:s;:r-;: nrL'=rr;- ^^^^^^ ' By St. Mary,' said Christie of the Cliuthill ' if vn,„. ,„ 1 •

bad told me that you had left such stores of w e a h ^ ^ v n f , ? of at Pnidhoe Castle, Long Dickie and I wo.dd h ' v S .1 f off with us if man and horse could have can- ed t t n ! f .*' '"" ^ told us of no treasure I wot of, save the S H " I 0 ^ s " o r t . ' l . r : ; up 3'our raustachio.s.' ' e o i u i u n n u i g 1

I'he knight treated this intruder's T-n;«fni,„ c . • , 'I Clu-istie had n^Kiea that all t h e s e ' ^ ^ t ; : ^ ^ ^ ^ ! ^ ^ ^ rich and splendid, were lavished upon a smill quarto volume-- m with a stare, and then urnmg again to Mary Avenel, the only .m person who.n -le thought worthy to address, he proceeded n o his strain of high-flown oratory. 'Even thus,' said he 'do

- - ^ - - ^ 3 ^ - ^ ' -

i.-'i>if-^j.t l e w l y J i ( . i / a A

s i l t PIKtlCn: SHAI-TON AT GLKNUEARG.

THK MONASTERY • 123

hogs contemn the splendoin- of Oriental pearls; even thns are the .delicacies of a choice repast in vain oft'ered to the long-' eared grazer of the common, who timieth from them to devoui' 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, moi-ally and metapliysicjilly 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 honoiu- my father's house with your presence, to spare us such vile comparisons.'

' Peace, good villagio,' said the knight, gracefully waving his hand—' J jirithee jwaco, kind rustic; and yon, my guide, whom 1 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 cars she drank in what she did not altogether comproiiend, even as a jialfrey listeneth to a lute, whoroof, how­soever, he knoweth not the gamut.'

' Marvellous fine wonls,' at length said Dame Olendinning, who began to be tired of sitting so long silent—' marvellous fine woixls, neighbour Happer, are thcj"^ not ?'

' Brave words—very brave wonls—very exceeding p y words,' answered the miller; 'nevertheless, to speak my ir" . a lippy of bran were worth a biishel o' them.'

' I think so too, mider his worship's favour,' answerc'' * nristie of the ClinthiU. . ' I well remember that at the race ; ..lorham,-• as we called it, near Berwick, I took a young Southern fellow out of saddle with iny 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, tho\igh that is a rule that does not aye hold good. So 1 was speaking to lum of iiuisom, and out he comes with a handful of such tei-ms as his honour there hath gleaned up, and craved me for mercy, as I was a true son of Mai-s, and sHch-like.'

' And obtained no mercy at thy hand, I dare be sworn,' said the kiiight, who deigned not to "speak Jiuphuism excepting to the fair sex. •

'By my troggs,' replied Christie, ' I would have thrust my lance down his throat, but just then they flung oj)cn that accni-scd postern gate, and forth pricked "olJ Hunsdon, and Henry Carey, and as msiny fellows at their heels as turned the chase northward agaiu. So I e'en pricked Bayard with the

124 WAVERLEY NOVELS

spur, and went off with the rest; for a man should ride when he may not wrestle, as they say in Tynedalc.'

' Trust me,' said the knight, again t\mnng to Mary Avencl, ' if I do not pity you, lady, who, heing 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 a toad, or like a jjrecions garland on the brow of an ass. But soft, what gallant have we liere, whose garb savoureth more of the rustic than doth his demeanour, and whose looks seem more lofty than his habit even as 1'

' I pray you, sir knight,' said Mary, ' to spare your courtlv similitudes for refined ears, and give me leave to name inito you my foster-brother, Ilalbert Olcndinning.'

'The son of tiie good dame of the cottage, as I opine,' answered the English knight; 'for by some such name did mv guide discriminate the mistress of this mansion, wliich yon, inadam, 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 Ilapper, glad to get in a woitl, 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, " Sconi not the bush that bields you " : you arc a guest in my father's hoii.se to shelter you from danger, if 1 am rightly infoi-mod by the domestics. Scoff not its homeliness or that of its inmates ; ye might long have abidden at the co\u't of England ere we had sought your favoiu- or cumbered you with our society. Since yoiu- fate has sent you hither amongst us, be contented with such fare and such converse as we can afford you, and scorn ns not for our kindness; for the Scots wear short jxitience and long dagger:!.'

All eyes were turned on Ilalbert while he was thus speakin", and there was a general feeling that his countenance had a n o.vpression of intelligence, and his per.son an air of dignity, wliich 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 gi-ace and dignity of look and beai-ing whi.-h he had not before, or whether the being oonvei •sant in high matters, and called to a destiny beyond that of other men, had a natural cfiect in giving becoxning'con-

THE MONASTERY 125

fuloiice to his language and ni;iniicr, we [irctcnd not to do-•tenninc. 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 liighcr rank.

The knight took the rebuke with good-humour. ' Hy mine honour,' he said, ' tliou hast reason on thy side, good juvenal; nevertheless, I .spoke not as in ridicule of the roof which relieves me, but ratlier in your own praise, to whom, if this roof be native, thou mayest nevertheless rise from its lowliness; even as the lark, wiiich maketh its humble nest in the furrow, ascendeth towai-ds the sun, as well as tlie eagle which buildetli her eyrie in the clitl'.'

Tins high-flown discoui-sc was internipted by Dame Glen-dinuing, who, with all the busy auxicty of a mother, was loiiding 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 haimts of them that are not of our flesh and bone, as befell Mungo ilun-ay when he .slept on the greenswaixl -ring of the Auld Kirkliill at siniset, and wakened at daybreak in the wild hills of Breadalbane. And sec that, when you are looking for deer, the red sUig does jiot gaul you as he did Diccon Thorbuni, who never overcast the woimd that lie took from a buck's horn. And see, when yon 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 broadswoixl and lance both : there are enow of rank riders in this land, that neither fear God nor regard man.'

Hero her eye, ' in a fine frenzy rolling,' fell full upon that of Christie of tlic Clinthill, and at once her fears for having given oft'euco interrupted the cuiTcnt 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 grey, keen, fierce, yet wily, formed to express at once cunnhig and malice—which made the dame instantly conjecture she had said too much, while she saw in imagination her twelve gootlly cows go lowing down the glen in a moonlight night, with half a score of Boixier spearmen at their heels.

Her voice, therefore, sunk froai the elevated toue of maternal

•126

WAVERLKY NOVFTS authoritv into a wl •

. proceeded to sav < f''".P'"'"'b'- 'Apologetic sorf t Border r iders l l . T w! T ':''' ' ^^o^uS^'') ^ '^ ' he tl'-ifc Itho.Hdt SDPV, If''''* t''ere has of i " ""S ' t.s of the

f'"r conipa,:y which r ° . n " " ' ' ''*" '••'to, l,ei . T " ' '-ot'tci-? fo'Uet thi/e,ca o '!m ' °" ' ' ' ""counter ^nmv^. 'f ""•"'* "f the

f^'^t night, ho took pot " ' , " '"^'' ^«' " t the : °n " '° ' "' I'y .through the houH^lik; a'r '""^"""^ 'f ^o , ^ ^ i " * / Till advice tliafc was niiutn,] t , • '"''.''• '''''••-'"'Icl at tlfn/ " ^ ' "'«l

' "'hat uii.dat ho tl n •^"'^ '""'«elf. ,s,,„ f°^^ "« P-ave and de ju- caii tjij';,^'"* " *. but it'': ;st'i.?'^ -^'' ihe party the., .scpan.ted tl, "'°""

ment^d exertion i ; i / "" ,'"'*'"-''-^'Vp ar t , '"^'"'""'^ '" ceahnei.t in th^ Z r " '" '^ '» «o''«tn c E ""P' '- «ct in beneath w h i i L r t o l ! d / '''r""''"-'* ^Z mi i . S ' " °', '""-«cripture« which h S be , , 0 ^ ' ' ^ '^'^^^'^'>^7ofLt'^ possession of n.en and spinU '"^"'»«'>' '" J 4 d f t / S . In the meanwhile, Sir PierCo ^, , in the ci<air .in which ho had / '^'"" «"*« stil, as . stn

THE MONASTERY 127

and resting upon the licels, his eyes cast uji to the ceiling as if lie had meant to count every mesh of every cobweb with which the arched roof was canopied, wearing a t 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 apjjeared not. Sir Picrcie stai-ed aroimd twice or thrice as if he missetl something; but he iisked not for them, and only evinced his sense of a proper audience being wanting by his abstraction and absence of mind, seldom speak­ing until lie 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 clioso 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 heraclf once more in the C()m))aiiy of a jack-man, li.stcned to his talcs, like Desdcmona to Otlicllo's, with undisguised delight. Tyfeantime, the two young Olondinnings were each wrapped up in his own reflections, and only interrupted in them by the signal to move bcdwaitl.

C H A P T E R XV

He stiikes no coin 'tis true, but coins new phrases, And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded eouuters AYhioh wise men scorn, and fools accept in payment.

Old I'luij.

IN the momhig Chi-istie of the Clinthill was nowhere to bo seen. As this worthy personage did seldom pique himself on sounding a trumpet before his movements, no one was surprised at his moonlight dcpartme, though some alarm was excited lest he had not made it empty-handed. So, in the language of the national ballad.

Some rail to cupboard, and some to kist, But nouglit was gone that could be mist.

All was in order, the key of the stable left above the door, and that of the iron grate iu the inside of the lock. In shoi-t, the retreat had been made with scrapulous attention to the security of the garrison, and so far Christie left them nothing to com­plain of.

The safety of the premises was ascei-tained by Halbert, who, > instead of catching up a guu or li cross-bow, and sallying out for the day as had been his frequent custom, now, with a "ravity 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 ho foii;id the Euphuist in the same elegant posture of ' abstruse ciilculation 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 nmch flattered with his guest's persevering in it to the last, Halbert resolved at once to break the ice, being' determined to kuow what circumstances had brought to the

THE MONASTERY 129

Tower of Glendiuhing [Gleudearg] 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 tlie absence of your mind Iiath.I presume, prevented you from yielding attention, or from malting return. This exchange of courtesy is a t your pleasure to give or withhold; but, as What I have farther to say concerns your comfort and your motions in an especial manner, I will entreat you t a give me some signs of attention, that I may be sure I am not wasting my words on a monumental imao-e.'

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 chaugo his postui-e, draw in his legs, raise hia eyes, fix them on young Gleudinning, 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 ! wo do hear.'

' Sir knight,' said the 3'outh, ' it is the custom of this hali-dome, or patrimony, of St. Mary's to trouble with inquiries no guests who receive our hospitality, providing they t a n y in our house only for a single revolution of the sun. We know that both criminals and debtors come hither for sauctuary and we scorn to extort fi-om the pilgi-im, whom chance may make our guest, an avo\yal of the cause of his pilgrimage and penance. But when one so high above our rank as yourself sir knio-ht 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 hi^'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 cmban-assment, for you ask mc of things concerning which I am not as yet altogetlier deter­mined what answer I may find it convenient to make. Let it suffice thee, kind Juvenal, that thou hast tlie 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 cither of us would desire.'

' I must have a more precise answer than this, sir knight,' said the young Glendirming.

'Friend,' said the knight, 'be not outrageous. It may suit your northern manner thus to press harshly upon' the secrets of

X 9

130 WAVERLEY NOATHLS

thy bet ters ; but believe me that, even as the lute, stnick by an unskilful hand, doth produce discords, so ' At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and Mary Avcnel presented herself. ' But who can talk of discords,' said the knight, assum­ing his complimentary vein and humoiu-, 'when the soul of harmony descends upon us in the presence of sui-pas.sing beauty 1 For even as foxes, wolves, and other animals void of sense and reason do fly from the presence of the resplendent siui 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 oiu- angry jjassions, illuminate our eiToi-s 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 w;orld, 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. T o r Heaven's sake, what is the meaning of this 1'

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 ho was in jest or earnest.

Forming, however, the internal resolution to bring Sir riercic Shafton to a reckoning at a more fit place and season, ho resolved to prosecute the mattfer no farther at present; and "' tlio entrance of his mother with the damsel of the mill, and the return of the honest miller from the stack-yard, where he had boon numbering and calculating the probable amount of the season's grist, rendered further discussion impossible for the

moment. , . . , , , ., , In the cours T 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 moans deduct from the crop, still the residue whi6h mu.st revert to Dame Glendiuning could not bo less than considerable. I wot not if ., • ig(j the"honest miller to nourish any plans similar to those n^nnted bv Elspeth ; but it is certain that he accepted with

ateful alacrity an invitation which the dame gave to his

THE ^tONASTERY 131

daughter to remain a week or two as her guest at Glcn-dearg. ' '

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 eveiy 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, encoumged by those con­ciliating marks of approbation from the sex for whose sake he cultivated, his oratorical talents, made speedy intimation of his pui-pose to be more communicative than he had-shown himself in his conversation with Ilalbert Glendinning, and go.ve them to undei-stand 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. Tlio miller went to prepare for his departtu'c; his daughter to arrange mattei's for her une-spected stiiy; Edwaixl was simimoned to consultation by Martin con­cerning some agricultural matter, in which Halbert could not be brought to mterest himself; the dame left the room \ipon her household concerns; and Maiy 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 quan-el.

The maiden no sooner observed this circumstance than she instantly returned from the door of the apartment, and, seat­ing hei-self 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 Jiis society, or obedient fo those laws of gallantry which pcnnittcd him not to leave a lady in silence and solitude, he instantly placed himself near to her side a"!id 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

132 WAVERLBY NOVELS

candid soul, with whom I may explain my mutual sentiments. And let me pray you in particular, lovely lady, that, accoi-ding to the univciTsal custom uow predominant in om* court, the garden of superior wits, you will exchange with me some epithet whereby you may mark my devotion to your service. Bo henceforward named, for example, jpy Protection, and let mo be your Affability.'*

'Our northern and countrj- manners, sir knight, do not permit us to exchange epithets with those to whom wc 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 valoiu- and beauty, wherever they meet, and imder whatever circumstances. Elizabeth of England herself calls Philip Sidney her Courage, and he in return calls that princess his Inspira­tion. Wherefore, my fair Protection, for by such epithet it sliall bo mine to denominate you '

' Not without the young lady's consent, sir,' inten-upted 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 sta,nd on some footing of equality; and I nuist, in all discretion, remind you tliat the necessity which makes us inhabitants of the same cabin doth not place us otherwise on a level with each other.'

' By St. Mar^',' 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 i t ; and so far, tlierefore, is our rank equalised \Vhilo this roof covera us both.'

'Thou art altogether deceived,' answered Sir Piercie; 'and that thou niayst fully adapt thyself to our relative condition, know that I account not myself thy guest, but that of thy master the Lord Abbot of St. Mail's, whd, for reasons best known' to himself and me, chooseth to administer his hospit­ality to me biirough tlio means of thee, his servant and vassal,

• See Usage of KpithoU. Nolo 12.

THE JtlONASTERT 133

wlio art, therefore, in good truth, as passive an instrument of my accommodation as this ill-made and ragged joint-stool on which I sit, or as the wooden trencher from which I eat my coarse commons. '\Micrefore,' he added, turning to Mary, 'fairest mistress, or rather, as I said before, most lovely Protection '

Alary Avenel was about to reply to liim, when the stem, fierce, and resentful expression of voice and countenance with wliich"Halbert exclaimed, 'Not from the King of Scotland, did he live, would I brook such terms !' induced her to throw lier-self between him and the stranger, exclaiming, ' For God's sake, Halbert, beware what you do !'

' Fear not, fairest Protection,' replied Sir Piercie, \yith the utmost serenity, ' that I can be provoked by this rustical and mistaught juvcnal to do aught misbecoming yoiu- presence or mine oij-n dignity; for as soon shall the gimner's linstock give fire iinto the icicle, as the spark of passion inflame my blood, tempered as it is to serenitj' by the respect due to the presence of my gracious Protection.'

'You may well call lier your protection, sir knight,' said Halbert; 'by St. Andrew, it is the only sensible word I have hoard you speak! But wc may meet where her protection shall no longer affoi-d you shelter.'

' Fairest Protection,' continued the courtier, not even honom*-ing witli a look, far less with a direct reply, the threat of the incensed Halbert, ' doubt not that thy faithful Aftability will be more conmioved by the speech of this rudcsby 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, liftcth him nearer \into the majestic luminary.'

To what lengths so misiivoury a simile miglit have driven Halbert's indignation is left uncertain; for at that moment liklward rushed into the apartment with the intelligence that two most important ofiicei-s of the convent, the kitchener and refectioncr, wore just arrived with a sumpter mule, loaded with l)rovisions, announcing that the loi-d abbot, tile sub-prior, and the sacristan were on their way thither. A circumstance so very extraordinary had never been recorded in the aimals of St. jMarj '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 voluntaiy journey to so

134 WAVERI.EY NOVELS

wild and dreary a spot, the very Kamtschatka of the lialidome, 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 pixiud 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 rae,' said Ilalbert, ' 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 %'

' I t is too true, b\- Heaven !' said Halbert, striking his fore­head. Then, stampuig his foot against the floor to express the full energy of the passion to which he dai-ed no longer give vent, he txumed round and left the apartment.

JIary Avenel looked at the sti-anger knight, while she was endeavoui-ing to frame a request that he would not repoi-t 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 Aftability is less than capable of seeing or hearing, far less of reciting or reiterating, aught of an imseeraly nature which may have chanced while 1 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 coiutier is polished to resist them. As the frozen lake receives not the influence of tlie

• breeze, even so - The voice of Dame Glendinuiug, in shrill summons, here

demanded ?»Iary Avenel's attendance, wlio instantly obeyed, not a little glad io esciipe from the compliments and similes of this courtlike gallant. Nor was it apparently less a relief,oir his pa r t ; for no sooner was she jjast the threshold of the room than lie exchanged the look of fonual aud elaborate politeness which had accompanied each word he had uttered hitherto for an expression of the utmost lassitude and en/mi; and after

THK irOXASTl'mY 135

, indulging in one or two portentous j'awus, broke fortli iiito 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 nide peasant^boy, iuid dependent on the faith of a merceuaiy ruffian, but I caimot even have time to muse over my own mishap, but must come aloft, frisk, fidget, and make specolies to please this pale hectic phantom, because she has gentle blood m her veins! By mine honour, setting prejudice aside, the mill-wench is theiUiore attractive of the two. But jKiiienm, Piercie Shafton; t pji must not lose thy well-earned claim to bo

. accounted :y opvout servant of the fair sex, a witty-brained, prompt, a>e of ccomplished courtier. Rather thank Heaven, Piercie Slauege \which hath sent thee a subject, wherein, with-

V "V out deriernatcly 'P^ *' y vank—since the honours of the Avenel ^"^ '•'family pi-..fife, to c.'^'**P"'*—t^^o" mayst find a whetstone for %>• ^ tliy witty coiPhool Pts, a strop whereon to shai-pen thine acute b, - ingine, a butt.j-iety o'J*' to shoot the aiTOws of thy gallantry. ; iJ For even as a iivacity'^^'is, the more it is rubbed the brighter

*Q and the sharper . j ^ \,; prove, so But what need 1 waste my stock of simi.c;;,.1es 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. Jlercy, a'gad, I were finely holped up if the vesture lias mis­carried among the thievish Boi-derci-s!'

Stung by this reflection, he ran hastily downstairs, and Ciiused his horse to bo saddled, that he might, as soon as possible, ascertaui this important point, by meeting the loi-d abbot and his retinue as they came \ip the glen. He had not ridden a mile before he met them advancing with the slowness and decorum which became pei-sons of their dignity and pro­fession. The knight failed not to greet the lord abbot with all the fonnal compliments with which men - f rank at that ]ieriod exchanged com-tesies. Ho had the good fortune to find that his mails were numbered among the train of baggngo which attended upon the party; and, satisfied in that particular, ho turned his horse's head and accompanied the abbot to the Tower of Glcudearg.

Great, in the meanwhile, had been the turmoil of the good Uame ELspeth and her coadjutors to prepare for the fitting

134 WAVERLKY NOVELS

wild and dreary a spot, the vei-y Kamtschatka of the halidomc, was a thing never dreamt of; and the news excited the greatest surprise in all the members of the family, saving Halbeii; alone.

This fiery youth was too full of the insult he had received to think of auytliing as imconnected 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 straiiger is sent hither to domineer over us under our father's roof, as if wo were slaves and not freemen. I will tell the proud priest to his beai-d '

' Alas! alas! my brother,' said Edward, ' think what these words may cost thee !'

'And what will, or what can, they cost me,' said Ilalbert, ' 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 Edwai-d; ' think, if she is deprived of her home, expelled from her property, how can you amend what your rashness jnay ruin 1'

' I t 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 sti-anger knight, while she was endeavouring to frame a request that he would not report the intemperate violence of her foster-brother, to the prejvidice of his family in the mind of the abbot. But Sir Piercie, the very pmk of coiutesy, conjectured her meaning from her embarrass­ment, and waited not to be entreated.

'Credit me, fairest I'rotectiou,' said he, 'yoiu-Afliibility is less than capable of seeing or hearing, far less of reciting (jr reiterating, aught of an unseemly nature which may have chimced while 1 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 iDame Gleudinuiug, in shrill summons, here

demanded Mary Avenel's attendance, who instantly obeyed, not a little glad (o escape from the compluuents and similes of this courtlike gallant. Nor was it apjiarently less a relief ,oir his pa r t ; for no sooner was she past the threshold of the room than he exchanged the look of formal and elaborate ])oliteness which had accompanied each word he had uttered liitlierto for an expression of the utmost lassitude and ennui; and after

THK MONASTERY 137

tlie lord abbot as he crossed her humble thresliold. Edwai-d stood by his motlior, and felt the same palpitation, which his philosophy was at a loss to account for. He was yet to leani how long it is ore oiu- reason is onabled to triumph over the force of external circumstances, and how mnch oxir feelings are affected by novelty, and blunted by \ise 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, mufBed 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 pei-mitted 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 co\n-scr, forcing him to piaffe, to caracole, to passage, and to do all the other

ifeats of the school, to the great annoyance of the loi-d abbot, jthe wonted sobriety of whose palfrey became at length discom-Wsed by the \nvacity of its companion, while the dignitai-y Ucept crying out in bodily alarm, ' I do pray you, sir—sir ilmight—good now, Sir Piercie—;— Be quiet, Benedict, there is p. good steed—soh, poor fellow !' and uttering all the other pre-jcatoiy and soothing exclamations by which a timid horseman (usually bespeaks tlie favour of a frisky companion, or of his , own unquiet nag, and concluding the bead-roll with a sincere

Deogratias so soon as he alighted in the court3-ard of the Tower of Glendcarg. I The inhabitants inianimcusly knelt down to kiss the hand jof the lord abbot, a ceremony which even the monks were I 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 jmucli patience. He kept wiping his brow witli a snow-white Ihaudlcerchief with one hand, while another was abandoned to the homage of his vassals; and then signing tfie cross with his Iputstretclicd arm, and exclaiming, 'Bless ye—bless ye, my fcluldi-eu!' he hastened into the house, and" mui-mured not a 'ittle at the darlcness and steepness of the nigged winding itair, whereby he at. length scaled the speuce destined for liis entertainment, and, overcome with fatigue, threw himself, I do iiot say into an easy chair, but into the easiest the apartment iiflbrded.

C H A P T E R XVI

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet Of meats and drinks, liis temperate exercise. Choice music, frequent batli, his horary shifts Of shirts and waistcoats, means to inimortaliso

* Mortality itself, and makes the esseijce _,, Of ills whole happiness the trim of court.

Magnetic Lady.

WuEN the lord abbot had suddenly and superciliously vanished from the eyes of his expectant vassils, the sub-prior made amends for the negligence of his principal by the kind and aftectionate gi-eeting which he gave to all the uicmbei'S of the family, but especially to Dame Elspeth, her foster-divughtev, and her son Edward. ' Where,' he even condescended to ' inquire, ' is that iiaughty Nimrod, Halberf! He lmt\> not yet, I trnst, tiunied, like his great prototype, his hunting-spear against man 1'

' 0 no, an it please yom- reverence,' said Dame Glendinning ; ' Halbert is up the gleu to get some venison, or sm-ely ho would not have been absent when such a day of honour dawned upon me and mine.'

' 0, to get savoury meat, such U8 our soul lovcth,' 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 0, reverend sir,' said the good widow, detaining him 'if it might be your pleasure to take part with us if there is anything wrong^; and if there is anything wanted, to siiv tha t ' it is just conuug, or to make some excuses your learniu" best knows how. Every bit o vassixil and silver work luive wo bcc^ spoded of smce Pmkie Clench, when I lost poor Simon GlenJ dinning, that was the warst of a'.'

'Never mind-never fear,' said the sub-prior, gently cxtrioat-uig his garment from the anxious grasp of Dame Elspeth, ' the refectioncr luvs with hnu the abbot's plate and drinkin-cuDs • and I pray you to believe that whatever is short in your

T H E MONASTERY 139

entertainment will be deemed amply made up in your good­will.'

So saying, he escaped from her and went into the spence, where such preparations as haste permitted were making for the noon collatiou of the abbot and the English knight. Here he found the lord abbot, for whom a cushion, composed of all the ])laids in the house, had been unable to render Simon's huge elbow-chair a soft or comfortable place of rest.

' Beiiedicite !' said Abbot Boniface, ' now marry fie ujjon these hard benches with all my heart; they arc as uneasy as the scabella of our novices. St. Jude be witli us, sir knight, how-have you contrived to pass over the night in this dungeon? An yoiu- bed was no softer than your seat, you might as well have slept on the stone couch of St. Pacomius. After trotting a full ten miles, a man needs a softer seat than lias fallen to my hard lot.'

With sympathising 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 liaving discharged an aixluous dutj ' . ' You ermnt 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 soldiei-s of St. Maiy, among whom I may be termed captain, tliat it is not our wont to flinch from the heat of the service, or to withdraw from the good fight. No, by St. Mary ! —no sooner did I Iciirn that you were here, and dared not for cei-tain reasons come to the monastery, where with a.s 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, " le t them saddle Benedict—let them saddle my black palfrey, and bid the sub-prior and some half-score of attendants be in readiness to-morrow after matins; we would ride to Glendearg." Brother Timothy stared, thinking' I imagine, that his cars had scarce done him^justice; but 1 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 collatiou." So that you will con-sidei-, good Sir Piercie, our mutual incommodities, and forgive wliatevcr you may find amiss.'

'By my faith,' said Sir Piercie Shafton, ' there is nothing to forgive. If you spiritual wan-iora have to submit to the grievous

140 . WAVEKLKY NOVELS

incommodities which your lordshii) narrates, it would ill become mc, a sinful and secular man, to complain of a bed as hard as a board, of broth which relished as if made of bui-nt wool, of flesh which, in its sable and singed shape, seemed to put me on a level with Richai*d Cceiir-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 sjiints, sir,' s;ud the abbot, somewhat touched in point of his character for hospitality, of which he was in t ru th 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 ci-ave leave to observe that, if Sir Piercie Shafton's afifaii-s had permitted him to honoiu' m t h his company our poor house of St. ^^lary's, he might hi»ve 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 cither some delay or (lookuig around him) a limited audience.'

The lord abbot immediately issued his mandate to the rcfectioncr: ' I l io thee to the kitchen, BroCher Ililarius, and tlicro make inquir- of ovu* brother the kitchener witliin 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 Ililarius parted with an eager alertness to execute the will of his superior, and returned with the assurance that punctually at one after noon would the collation be ready.

' Before that time,' said the accurate i-efectioner, ' the wafers flams, and pastry-meat will scarce have had the just de-Tce of fire which learned pottingers prescribe as fittest for thc^bodv • and if it shoulC. be past one o'clock, were it but ten minutes! our brother the kitchener opines that the haunch of venison would sufler, m spite of the skill of the little tuni-broche whom he has rcconmiended to yoiu- holiness by his praises '

' How !' said the abbot, ' a haunch of venison ! From whence comes that dainty? 1 remember not thou didst intimate its presence in iwy lianipcr of vivcrs.'

'So please yoiu- lioliiiess and lordship,' said the refectioner.

THE MONASTERY 141

'ho is a son of the woman of the house who hath 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 lleah, as happens too often with us. I t is a hart of grease; your holiness has seldom seen such a haunch.' . .

'Silence, Brother Hilarius,' said the abbot, wiping his mouth: ' i t is not beseeming our order to talk of food so earnestly, especiaUy as wo must oft have our animal powers exhausted by fasting, and bo accessible, as being ever mere mortals, to those signs of longing (he agam 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 ajrater ad sMecMrmK/»w in the kitchen and.buttciy.

'Alas! reverend father and my good lord, replied the rofectioncr, ' I did inquire after the youth, and I leani ho is one who prefers the casque to the cowl, and the sword of the flesh- to the weapons of the spirit.'

'And if it bo 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 hira unwarily on the haunch. Ah! 'tis a foul fault, the abusmg by evil-killing, evil-dressing, evil appetite, or otherwise, the good creatiires indulged to us for our use AMierefore, secure us the sel•^nce of this youth. Brother Hi anus, m the way that may best suit him. And now. Sir Biercie Shafton, since the

. fates have assigned us a space of welln.gh 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 hos^tmml

'Reverend father and my very good loid,'^aid Sir liercie Shaftou, ' i t is well known to your wisdom that there are stone walls which have ears, and that secrecy is to be looked to iii miittera which concern a man's head.'

The abbot signed to his attendants, excepthig the sub-prior, to leave the room, and then said, ' Your valour. Sir riercic, may freely unburden youi-self before our faithful friend nnd counaellor Father Eustace, the benefits of whoso advice we may too soon

142 WAVERLEY NOVELS

lose, inasmuch as his merits will speedily recommend him- to an higher station, in which, wo trust, he may find the blessing of a friend and adviser as valuable as himself, since I may say of him, as our clansti-al rhjTno goeth,*

Dixit Abbas' ad prions, Tu OS liomo boni moris, Quia semper sanioris

Milii 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 vacivnt amon"-st us. Howbeit, Father Eustace is fully possessed of my con­fidence, and worthy of yours, and well may it be said of him Intrnvit in secretis nostris.'

Sir Piercie Shafton bowed to the reverend brethren, and heaving a sigh, as if he would have burst his steel cuii-a'ss, ho thus conmienced his speecli:

' Certes, reverend sirs, I may well heave such a suspinition, w-ho have, as it were, exchanged heaven for purgatory, leaving the lightsome sphere of the royal court of England for a remote nook m this inaccessible desert; qnittmg the tiltyard, where I was ever ready among my compeers to splinter a laucc, eitlier for the love of honour or for the honour of love, in oi-der to couch my knightly spear against base and pilfeiing besognios and marauders; exchanging the lighted halls, wherein I used nimbly o pace the swift coranto, or to move witli a loftier grace m the stately galhard, for this rugged and decayed dungeon of rusty-coloured stone; quitting the gay tlicatr6 for the solitaiv chminey-nook of a Scottish dog-honsc; bartering the soundTof the soul-ravisnng lute and the love-awakening viol-de-gambVi for the discordant squeak of a northern bagpipe ; above all ex changing the smiles of those beauties who form a galaxv aro'uml the throne of ICnglund for the cold courtesv of ^n Y n f u damsel and the bewildered stare of a n S L " ! V° might I say, of the exchange of the c o n t i ^ ' S ' J L ' t knights and gay courtiers of mine own n,-rlo,. i Sauant whose concei^ a^e bright and v i v i c r a r , i e " . gl t ^ t To f S i r S : . ' " ' « ' ^ ' - ^ — ^ ^ ^ * it wore d i s i u r t S t ^ ^

Tiie abbot listened to this lisf «f i • i.

• Tho rest of thin doggerel rhyme may bo fonn,i , • „ £ • . . , . , BrUish Monaehim. ' ™ "ond in Fosbrooke's learned work on

THE MONASTERY 143

meaning; and wlien 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 exoixliuni so extraordiuary. The Bub-prior accordingly stepped in to the relief of his ])rincipal.

' We deeply sjTiipathise with you, sir knight, in the sevei-al mortifications and hardships to which fate has subjected you, particularly in tliat which has tlu'own 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, looketli upward to measure the height from which lie hath been precipitated.'

' Yoii, but,' said Father Eustace, 'methinks it were wiser in liim 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 at taint ; whereas I may be in sonio sort said to have broken my staff across.* Pai-don me, grave sir, that I spe;ik the language of the tiltyard, which is doubt­less strange to your reverend care. Ah! brave resort of the noble, the fair, and the gay ! Ah ! throne of love, and citadel of honoiu-! Ah ! celestial beaxities, by whose bright eyes it is graced ! Never more shall Picrcio Shafton advance, as the centre of your radiant glances, couch liis lance, and spur his hoi-se at the sound of the spirit-stirring tmmpets, nobly called the voice of war; never more shall he baffle his adversary's encounter boldly, break his spear dexterously, and, ambling aroimd the lovely circle, receive the rewaixJs with which beauty honours chivalry!'

Hero he paused, wrung his hands, looked upwards, and seemed lost hi contemplation of his own fallen fortimes.

'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 dis-* See Attaint. Xote 13.

144 WAVERLEY NOVELS

tinguish the jai-gon of aftcctation 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, lie again gravely reminded him that the lord abbot had taken a journey, unwonted to his age and habits, solely to leani in wliat ho could sci-ve Sir Piercie Shafton ; that it was altocethor 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. ' Oh, goddess of courtesy !' said the knight, ' can I have so

far forgotten thy behests as to make this good prelate's case 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 Piercio of Northumber­land whoso fame is so widely blown through all parts of the world where English woi-th hath been known. Now, this present Earl of Northumberland, of whom I propose to give you the brief history '

' I t is altogether unnecessary,' said the abbot; 'wo know him to bo 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 tin-one of England^ And it is specially as his kinsman, and a« knowing that ye partake with him in such devout and faithful belief and adherence to our holv Motlior Church, that we say to you. Sir Piercio Shafton, tlmt ye be heartily welcome to us, and that, an we wist how, we wouS labom- to do you good service in your extremity '

' For such kind ofler I rest your most I„„„'i i i i . . . , Sir Piorcip- 'nnr n«.rl T nf if- °^^ humble debtor,' s ad hu i-ic cic, noi need I at this moment say more than that my right hououmble cous n of XorH, .„«r i j i " , vised witli me and some others ^ ^ " " ' ^ b ^ r l a n d , having ce-of the age, how and by w 2 m o a t f ? ' " " ^ F-eked spirits according to the Catholic C h ^ ^ n ^ h t i'" ^ '"'•.ship of God into this distracted k ingdo^o EnV^,.^ ''^'•"'' '"''•°d»<=«l by the assistance of ^^'^^i^n^£''^^^i:^Z.'Z:::il

THE MONASTERY 145

steed—it pleased him so dcc[)ly to cntiiist me iii those coni-muuioatious that my pei-sonal safety becomes, as it were, entwuied or compliaited therewith. Nathcless, as we have had sudden reason to believe, this Princess Elizabeth, who main-taineth around her a sort of counsellors skilful in tracking whatever schemes may be pursued for bringing her title into cliallenge, or for erecting again the discipline of the Catholic Chiu-cli, has obtained certain knowledge of tlie trains whicli we had laid before wo could give fire unto them. Wherefore, my right honourable cousin of Northumberland, thinking it best belike that one man should take both blnme 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 shomi 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 oureelvcs from the vulgar.'

'So that possibly,' said the sub-prior, 'your private allairs rendered a foreign journey less inconunodious to you than it might have been to the noble earl, your right worthy cousin?'

'You are right, reverend sir,' answered the comtier; 'nm acu—you have touched the point with a needle. Isly 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 tlio miscarriage of your public enterprise, with the derangement of your own private aftaii-s,' said the Bub-prior, ' have induced you to seek Scotland as a place of refuge ?'

'Jiej)i acu, onco again,' said Sir I'iercie; 'and not without good cause, since my neck, if I remained, might have been brought within the circumstances of an haltef; 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 bv Bouaniico of Milan, and travelled northward with all speed judgmg that I might do well to visit my right honomable cousin of Northumberland at one of his numerouo castles. But as I posted towards Alnwick, even with the speed of a star

X to

146 WAVERLEY NOVELS

whicli, darting from its native sphere, shoots wildly downwards, I was met at Northallerton by one Henry Vaughan, a seiwant of my right honoui-able kinsman, who showed me that as then I might not with safety come to his presence, seeing that, in obedience to oi-ders from his court, he was obliged to issue out letters for my incarceration.'

' This,' said the abbot, ' seems but hard measure on tlie part of your honourable kinsman.'

' I t might be so judged, my lord,' replied Sir Piercie : ' never­theless, I will stand to the death for the honour of my right honourable cousm of Northumberland. Also, Henry Vaughan gave me, from my said cousin, a good horse, and a purse of gold, w i t . ? ' H f ° ? ' P i k e r s as they are called, for my guides, who conducted me, by such roads and bye-paths as have never been seen since the days of Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristrem into o r l e " S o T M ^ f ^ ' f ^; 'f *° * ^ 1 °" ^ °^ - ceraiii baron, whom T fo i ^^r '^^^' °^ ''''^'' '"^"^^ J'^l''^" Avenel, with af fol - ' ' ' " P " " " ' ' ' ^^^ Pl' ' e ^"d party could

f o r ' ^ f i S n ' f f " HV' ^^°* ' • '^^ '^ ^"^^^ ^e°n "gl^t wretched;

' You L t i L T ' i / ' ' ^ ^ " ' °^'°^-^b'>"dant provision at home.'

worse, a score to clear at he deltee^^^^^^^^^ - « Avenel caUed us to no reckonin^J^ y r h e dkl . ^ ^ ^^"' ^''^T admire the fashion of my pon a ? d Z l e « f , l ? i''^^'"''''^Santly

exquisitely hatched, and ' lnyed the weaJoTbS. i i" ' ;^ '^f'^'^' piece of exceeding rare device and h e a S - t h a t r n S f T ' ' " / I not for very shame's sake but pray hiraccenhnco of fl ' ° " ' . ^ which he gave me not the troiible of i ^ p e S f t w i c o lL'"°'t' had stuck it into his greasy buff-belt wheit nf J - l ' ^^°'''' ' '^ sir, it showed more like a^^butche^ ' kn^fe ' t h l a"^!' ''"'''^? dagger.' ^^^ ^ gentleman's

' So goodly a gift might at least have r.urchasf.rl „ . , f days' hospitality,' said Father Eustace ^""^^^^^ J'ou a few

'Eeverend sir,' said Sir Piercie 'hiri T V,-J i • , , should have been complimented l i t o1 l^ ' " ' ^ ' '^^ ' ' ^ wardrobe-actually flayed, by the hosnL t l • ' "TT""' "^ "^^ Sir, he secured r^y sja,4 doublet on i " , ^ ° ' ^ ' / r ^ ^ " '* ' galligaskins; I was enforced to l l f ""^ ^ ?^"°^ ' ' " ^ flto|etheruA.igged. ThTt Border k n W . ' ' " ' ' ^'^''' ^ '''' a pluck at me too, and . s u r p t ^ ^ : - £ % : r k ^ ; Z \ S

THE MONASTERY 147-

cuirass belouging to the page of my body, whom I was fain to leave bchiud me. In good time I received a letter from my right honom-able cousin, showing me that he had written to you in my behalf, and sent to yoiu- 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 coiTespond; also two pair black silk slops, with hanging gartera of carnation sUk ; 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 further inventory of your wardrobe. The monks of St. Maiy's are no freebooting barons, and whatever part of 3'our vest­ments anived at our house have been this day faithfully brought hither, with the mails which contained them. I maj^ presume from what has been said, as we liave 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 t'

' Alas, reverend father !' replied the courtier, ' a blade when it is iu 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 di-aw obsei-vation : my-retreat can only attract the admiration of those few to whom circumstances pemiit its displaying itself.'

' I conceive now, my venerable father and lord,' said the sub-prior, ' t ha t 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 iu 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 woi-se and wilder forms of heresy, prevails now at the court of our sovereign, who dare not yield to her suffering clergv the protection she would gladly extend to them.'

'My-lord and reverend sir, 'said the knight, ' I will gladly relieve ye of my presence, while vc canvass this matter at your freedom ; and to speak truly, I am desirous to see- iu what case the chamberiaui of my noble kinsman hath found my wai-drobe, aud how he hath packed the same, and whether it has suffered

148 W.WTCRLKY ^^OVKLS

from tho journey. There arc four suits of as pure and elegant device as ever the fancy of a fair lady doated upon, every one having a treble aud appropinate change of ribbons, trinunings, and fringes, which, in case of need, may, as it were, renew each of them, aud multiply the four into twelve. There is also my sad-coloured riding-suit, and three cut-)vork shirts with falling bands ; I pvay you, pardou 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.'

' St. Mary pi-eserve our wi ts! ' said tho abbot, stunned with the kniglxt's abundance of words; ' were man's bmins ever so stuffed with silk and broadcloth, cut-work, and- I wot not what besides ! Aud what could move the Earl of Northumber­land to assvimc for his bosom counsellor, in matters of depth and danger, such a featiier-brained co.xcomb as this !'

' Had he been other than what he is, venerable father,' said . tho sub-prior, ' ho had been less fitted for the part of scape­goat, to which his right honourable cousin had probably destined him from the commencement, in case of their plot failing. I know something of this Picrcie Shaf ton. The legiti­macy of his mother's desccait from tho Piercie familv, the point on which he is most jealous, hath been called in question. If harc-bramed courage and an outrageous spirit of gallantry can make good his pi-etensions to the high lineage he claims, these qualities have never been denied him. For the rest, he is one of the raffling gallants of tho time, like Rowland Yorke, Stukely,* aud others, wlio wear out their fjrtvuies aud endanger their lives in idle braveries, in order that they may be esteemed the only choice gallants of the time ; and afterwards endeavour to rejmir their estate by engaging in the desperate plots and con­spiracies whicli wiser heads liave devised. To use one of his own conceited similitudes, such courageous fools resemble hawks whicli tho wiser conspirator keeps hooded and bluidfolded on his wrist until 'the quarry is on the wing, and who are then flowu at them.'

' St. 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.'

* Soo Kowlaud Torkc ana Stukely. Kote 11.

THE MONASTERY 149

'A worse evil might follow,' said the sub-prior. ' I n these bad days, tho patrimony of the church is bought and sold, forfeited and distrained, as if it wore 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 neitlicr bo wanting Scottish paiusites to beg the lands of the foundation, nor an army from l<:ngland to burn and harry the halidome. The men of Scotland were once Scotsmen, firm and united in their love of their coimtry, 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.' . , ' Benedkite !' replied the abbot, ' they are indeed slippery

and evil times.' ' And therefore,' said Father Eustiice, ' we must walk warily :

wo must not, for example, bring this man—this Sir Piercie Shafton, to our house of St. Mary's.'

' But how then shall we dispose of him ?' replied the abbot. ' Betliink thee that he is a suiVerer for Holy Church's sake ; that his patron, the Eari of Northumberiand, hatli been our friend, and that, lying so near us, he may work us weal or woe accord­ing as we deal with his kinsman.'

'And, accordingly,' Siiid the sub-prior, ' for these reasons, as well as for discharge of the great duty of Christian charity, 1 would protect and relieve this man. Let him not go back to Julian Aveiiel; 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 ho be persuaded, thinkest t h o u r said the abbot; ' I will leave my own tmvelling-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 sanctuaiy, where we will harbour him in secret until means can be devised of dismissing him in safety.'

'Were wo not better,' said the abbot, 'send him on to tbe court, and get rid of him at once f'

' Ay, but at the expense of our friends : this butterfly may

^50 WAVERLEY NOVELS

fold his wings, and lie under cover in the cold air of Glendearg ; b u t -were he at Holyrood, he would, did his life depend on it, expand his spangled dmpery in the eyes of tlie queen and court. Rather than fail of distinction, ho 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 mtemational peace of the two ends of the island endangered for a creature who, like a silly moth, cannot abstain from fluttering roimd 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-brcjid. There is a yonng swankie here who shoots venison well. I will give him directions to see that tlie 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; ' b u t - 1 hoar the gull clamorous for some one to truss his points.* He will be fortunate if he lights on any one here who CJin 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 !'

• SCO xot« ir.

C H A P T E R XVII

I'll seek for other aid. Sjiirits, they say, Flit rouud invisible, as thick as motes Dauoe in tlio sunbeam. If that spell Or ncoromaiioor's sigil can compel thoni, They shall hold counsel with niu.

JAMKS DUFF.

THE reader's attention must be recalled to Halbert Glendiuning, who had left the Tower of Glendearg immediately after his quarrel with its new guest, Sir Piercie Shafton. As he walked with ii rapid pace up tlio 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 tlius at every spark of provocation.'

' And why should I wish it, old man,' said Halbert, ' if I am to be the butt tliat every fool may aim a shaft of scorn against ( Wliat avails it, old man, that you yourself move, sleep, and wake, eat thy niggai-d meal, and repose on thy hard pallet? Why art thou so well pleased that the mormng sliould caU thee up to daily toil, and the ev,euing again lay thee down a wearied-out wretch' Were it not better sleep and wake no more, than to undergo this dull excharige of labour for msensibility, and . of insensibility for labour?'

' God help me,' answered Martin, ' there may be tn i th m wliat thou sayest; but walk slower, for my old Imibs cannot keep pace with vour young legs—walk slower, and I will tell you wl»y age, though unlovely, is yet enduraVle.'

'Speak on then,' said Halbert, slackenmg his pace; ' b u t remember we must seek venison to refresh the fatigues of these holy men, who will this morning have achieved a journey of ten miles ; aud if we reach not the Brocksburn head, we are scarce like to see an antler.'

' Then know, my good Halbert,' said Martin, ' whom 1 love as my own son, tliat 1 am satisfied to live till death calls me, because

^^^ WAVERLEY NOVELS

the face of this fair creation f-n,! '^^'^"'^. ^erc I of no use on 'Thou poor old r n ' ^'id H a Z i < " " , " " ' " ""'' ^™" 't. '

conceit as this of thy L S n : ' . ! ^ ''M'^ T"" '"<'^ ' ^'' 'i" where thou p l a y e s t s o V r u p a r t r " ^ " ''''' *" * ^™'-W

'My part was nearly as noor' smVl ^r -nearly as much despisedf the day t h a r i snvS ' ' "" ' "'^' l ' '' "" her child from periihing in u H l S e t e s " ' "^^ ""*^'^^« ^'"^

Xxight, Martin,' answered Halbert • <tv,„,.„ • j ,

.ioa to tl,o clostimes of L v S . „ e T M^ ,1» ' " ' f «»<' «» ' '«»V the erey hail , on «,o „1J . 7 1 . ™ ' l m * s there s use fdT i.ea|b/ p.: ':;' ^ s;'s;^jr '* ' * *° '" ^- ^ 4 or S ' i ' ^ n d ' t n T s u t ^ r i s " ! ' - ^ ' ^ ^ ^ ^ " ' - ' ' ^ f^* ^ ° - - " " ^ 5 aught changed in me of late? ' ^''^""^'^^ = '-^^'"-tin, scest tho5

'Siu-ely,' said Martin. ' I have ^lwo,.c i wild and inconsiderate n.do .n!l ^ J ' " ° ' ' ' ' ' J'°^ ^^astj-, y o l l ^ and without refl e , " ? ; / C t /ow T t . ' " , ' ^ P ^ ^ ^ ^* * ' -nig, ,\vithout losing its natural fire h n f ' '"'l^'l'^l-^' yow- bear-and Idignity which-it had S before I t ? * ' " " ^ " V ' °^ ^'^''^ falle^ asleep a carle and a w a k e t d a g e S l e m a r ' " '' ^ ° " '^^^

Thou canst judge, then, of noble b S " ' ' said TT , . "Surely,'answered Martin Mu snmTc 5 T ^ ' ^ Halbert.

t-uayelled through court, S d ^ Z ^ V ""^V ^'''' ^ ''^ve Walter Ayenel,.dthough he c l r d ^ \ , : u l ? f J ' " ' ! - y r « t e r , n m but give me room for two Hcore of X e n m^H ' V !° ^°"«'' surely eyen now, while I speak with you S -l". ^ ' " ' "»^' language is more refined than it is m v \ 7 ! . " """"^ ^^'^t my though I know not the reason the v,Jl ^ "^''' ^ ° ^ ^^at, familiar to my tongue, ha . gi";n placo ! "° ' '" '°™ ^'^'^'=^' «° speech.' *= P' <=° to a more town-bred

'And this change in thyself and mo fi accoimt for? ' said young Glendinning ' *''"'"* ^ " ° " " " " ' '

' Change !' replied Martin, ' by Our T 0.1 - • a change which I feel as a recall in rVo 1 ^'' ' ' . '^ " ° ' ^° ^^"ch and expressions which I had some thi,+^ "•euewing sentiments

f oume tmrty yeai-8 smce, ere Tibb

TITE ^MONASTERY 153

aud I set up our humble household. I t is singular that your society should have this sort of hifluence over nic, Halbert, and that I should never have ex]3erienced 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 i^roud men who now despise my clownish povertj' 1'

Ifartin paused an instant, and then answered, 'Doubtless 3'ou may, Halbert; as broken a ship has come to land. Heard ye never of Hughie Dun, who left this halidomo some thirty-five years gone by 1 A deliverly fellow was Hughio—could read and write like a priest, and could ^vield brand and buckler with the best of the ridei-s. I mind him; the hke of him was never seen in the Jialidome of St. Mary's, and so was seen of the pre-fei-ment 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 St. Andrews !'

Halbert's countenance fell. ' A servant—and to a priest! Was this all that knowledge and activity could raise him to 1'

Martin, in his turn, looked with wistful sui-prise in the face of his young friend. ' And to what could fortune lead him fartlicr?' answered he. ' The son of a kirk-feuar is not the stuff that lords and knights are made of. Courage and Schoolcraft cannot change churl's blood into gentle blood, I trow. I have heard, forbye, that Hugliic Dun left a good five hundred pvmds of Scots money to his only daughter, aud that she married the baiUc of Pittenweem.' ,.

At this moment, aud while Halbert was omban-assed with devising a suitable answer, a deer bounded across their path. In an instant the cross-bow was at the youth's shoulder, the bolt whistled, and the deer, after giving one bound upright, dropt dead on the green swai-d.

' There lies the venison oiu- dame wanted,' said Martin; 'who would have thought of an out-lying stii^; being so low down the glen at this season 1 And it is a hart of grease too, lu full season, and tliree 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, 1 would warrant you were made one of the abbot's yeomeu prickere, and ride about in a purple doublet as bold as the best.'

' Tush, man,' answered Halbert, ' I will serve the Queen or

154 WA'S'ERLEY NOVELS

no cue. Take thou care to have down the venison to the tower, snice they expect it. I will on to the moss. I have * ' ' ? i 7 , P® ^iKl-bolts at my girdle, and it may bo 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 makmg 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? Thev that ettle to the top of the ladder will at least get up some rounds They that mint at a gown of gold will a l lays g'et a si ^ of It. But come, sir addressing the stag), you shall go to Glen-dearg on my two legs somewhat more slowly tha,f you w e i risking It even now on yoiu- own fom- nimb e shanks. i C

by my faith If you be so heavy, I wUl content me with the b S t of you, and that s the haunch and the nombles, and e'en he u e

:^itro*f?he*;^uf' '''-''•- '- -' - -- - t T t .err^rhff^£-^--t^^o.^ free of his companion. <The domestic of-a proud and W v pnes t -body-squi re to the Archbishop of St^ Andrews 'ho repeated to himself; 'and this, with the p r i v i l e r of 'li' • his blood with the bailie of Pittenweem is tho.^aU ^1"° ment worth a brave man's struggH g fm' nly m o t ' ^ ' t ' " ment which, if allowed, should crownShe^hoSs p ^ s r ' / ' ^ ^ ' r and to come, of the son of a kirk-vassal i Rv TT ^ ' P^ ' ' eut, I find in me a reluctance to p L S theh^^a^ts . ^" ^'l*'^"^*^ rapine, I would rather take th e j t c l a i i d lance and i o ' ' " ™ f the Border riders. Something I will do Her; ' X J^'^^^th dishonoured, I will not live th e scorn of each w h i f c ^ ^ '^"'^ from the South, because, forsooth, he wears t i n k i w 1 "'S'^'' tawny boot. This t h i n g - t h i s p h a n t o , r L it w S t ^ ^ i ' j r ^ Will sec It once more. Since I spoke with hei- aivl tr,,, i , ,' hand, thought, and feelings have da.Jied 'on m ^ ' o t l l " T ,my former life had not even dreamed; but shall I, who feel my fathei-'s glen too naiTow for my expanding spirit brook to be bearded m i by this vam gewgaw of a°courtier, and ,> the sight too of Mary AveneU I will not stoop to it Heaven! ^

As he spoke thus, he arrived in the sequestered glen of 0 nan-Shiau, as it verged upon the hour of noon. A few moi

THE MONASTERY 155

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 Glendiuuing' did not long, however, allow himself to pause. Hardihood was the natural characteristic of his mind; and imder the expansion and modification which his feelings had lately undergone it had been augmented rather than dimin­ished. He drew his swoi-d, 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 : •

' Tluioe to the holly brake, . Thrice to the well;

I bid thee awake, White Maid of Aveilel!

SToon gleams on the lake, Noon glows on the fell;

Wake thee, 0 wake, White llaid of Aveuel!'

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 fomi, 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 r. Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing wind, And the mennaiden weeps in her ciystal grot: For diis is the day that a deed was wrought In which \ve have neither part nor share, For the ohUdren 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.'

150 WA-ST3HLT:Y No^^;LS

' Spirit,' said Halbert Glendinning, boldly, ' I t 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 terroi-s which yoiu- 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 convidsious passed over the face, as if it was about to be transformed into something hideous. The whole appearance resembled those faces which the imagination siim-mons up when it is disturbed by laudanum, but which do not remain under the visionary's conunand, and, beautiful in their first appearance, become wild and grotesque ere we can an-est them.

But when Halbort 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 metamor-

. phosis. 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 eve:'. Though I am fonn'd from the ether blue. And my blood is of the unfallen dew And thou art framed of mud and du.st '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 stirrap I would some days since have run for a whole summer's morn, contented and honoured by the notice

THE MONASTERY 157

of a single word'? Why do I now seek to mate me with piiuces, and knights, and nobles ? Am I the same who but yesterday, as it were, slumbered in contented obscurity, but who am to­day 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 c'onscio\is of remaining the same 1 Speak and tell me, is it to thy influence that the change is owing ?'

The "White Lady replied—

' A mightier wizard far than I Wields o'er the universe his power ;

Him owns the eagle in the sky, The turtle in the bower.

Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, He wields the lieart of man at will, From ill to good, from good to ill,

In cot and castle-tower.'

Speak not thus darkly,' said tlic youth, colouring so deeply that face, neck, and hands were in a sanguine glow; 'make nie sensible of thy purpose.'

The spirit answei-ed—

' Asli thy heart, whose secret cell Is fiU'd with Mary Avcnel! A.sk thy pride, why sconiful look In Mary's view it will not brook ? Ask it, why thou scck'st to rise Among the mighty and the wise, Why tliou .spurn'st thy lowly lot, Why thy pastimes are forgot, Why thou wouldst in bloody strife Mend thy Inct or lose thy life ? Ask thy lieart, and it shall tell, Sighing from its secret cell, 'Tis for Mary Aveuel.'

'Tell me, then,' said Halbert, his cheek still deeply crim­soned, ' thou who hast said t o m e that which I dared not to say myself, by what means shall I urge my passion—by what means make it known V r. j

The White Lady replied

' Do not ask me ; On doubts like these thou canst not task mo. We only see the passing show Of human passions' ebb and flow ; And view the pageant's idle glance As mortals eye the northern dance,

168 WATERLEY NOVELS

VThen thousand streamers, flashing bright, Careoi- it o'er tl>o brow of night, And gazers mark their changeful gleams, But feel no influence from their beams.'

' Yet thine own fate,' replied Halbert, ' unless men greatly err, is liiiked with that of mortals 1'

The phantom answered—

' By ties mysterious link'd, our fated race Holds strange connexion •with the sons of men. The star that rose upon the house of Avenel, When Uorman Ulric first assumed the name, That star, when culminating in its orbit, Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew, And this bright font received i t ; and a Spirit Rose from the fountain, and her date of life Hath co-existence \rith the house of Avenel, And with the star that rules it.'

' Speak yet more plainly,' answered young Glendinniug; ' of this I can understand nothing. Say, what hath forged thy weirded link of destiny with the house of Avenel'? Say, especially, what fate now overhangs that house 1'

The White Lady replied—

' Look on my girdle—on this thread of gold, 'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer, And, but there is a spell on't, would not bind, Light as they are, the folds of my thiu robo. But when 'twas donn'd, it was a massive chain. Such as might bind the champion of the Jews, Even when his looks were longest; it Imth dwindled, Hath rainish'd in its substance and its sti'ength. As sunk the greatness of ikn house of Avenel. •When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements Resign the princij'les of life they lent mc. A.sk me no more of this ! the stars forbid it.'

' Then canst thou read the stare,' answered the youth, ' and mayst toll me the fate of my passion, if thou canst not aid it 1'

The White Lady again replied—

'Dim burns the once bright star of Aveuel, Dim as the beacon when the mom is nigli, And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the light-bonso ; There is an influence sorrowful and fearful, That dogs its downward course. DisaslTous pission, Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect That lowers upon its fortunes.'

' And rivalry!' repeated Glendinning. ' I t is then as I feared!

THE MONASTERY 159

Bnt shall that English silkworm presume to beai-d me in my father's house, and in the presence of Mary Avenel 1 Give me to meet him, spirit—give me to do away the vain distinction of mnk on which he. refuses me the combat. Place us on equal terms, and gleam the stare with what aspect they will, the sword of my father shall control their influences.'

She answered as promptly as before—

' Complain not of me, child of clay, If to thy harm I yield the way. We, who soar thy sphere above. Know not anght of hate or love ; As will or OTsdom nilcs thy mood, My gifts to evil turn, or good.'

' Give me to redeem my honour,' said Halbert Glendinning —'give me to retort on my pro\id rival the insults he has thrown on me, and let the rest fare as it will. If I cannot revenge my wrong, I shall sleep quiet, and know nought of mj' disgrace.'

"The phantom failed not to reply—

' When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, I(ot this token meet his eye. The sun is westering from the dell, Thy wish is granted, fare thee well !'

As the Wliite Lady spoke or chanted these last words, she undid from her locks a silver bodkin around which they were twisted, and gave it to Halbert Glendinning; then shaking her dishevelled hair till it fell like a veil around her, the outlines of her form gradually becarr^ as diffuse as her flowing tresses, her countenance grew pale as the moon in her first quarter, her features became indistinguishable, and she melted into the air.

- Habit inures us to wonders; but the yo\xth did not find himself alone by the fountain without experiencing, though in a much less degree, the revulsion of spirits which he had felt upon the phantom's former disappearance. Adoubt strongly pressed upon his mind, whether it were safe to avail himself of the gifts of a spirit which did not even pretend to belong to the class of angels, and might, for a\ight he knew, have a much worse hneage than that which she was pleased to avow. ' I will speak of it,' he said, ' to Edward, who is clerkly leanied, and will tell me what I should do. And yet, no—Edward is scrupulous and wary. I will prove the effect of her gift on Sir

160 WAVKRLEY XOVELS

Piercie Shafton if he again braves me, and by the issue I will bo myself a sufficient judge whether there is danger in resort­ing to her counsel. Homo, then—homo, and we shall .soon learn whether that home shall longer hold me; for not again will I brook insult, with my father's sword by my side and Mary for the spectator of my disgrace.'

C H A P T E R XVIII

I give thee eigliteenpcnce a-da-, And my bow shall thou bear,

And over all the north country, I make theo the chief lydero.

And I thirtoenponco a-day, quotli tho queen, By God and by my fayo ;

Corao fetch tliy payment when thou wilt, No man shall say theo nay.

IVilliam of Cloitdcsley.

THE manners of the age did not pennit the inhabitants of Gleu-dearg to partake of the collation which was placed in the spence of that ancient tower before the lord abbot and his attend­ants and Sir Pierc'ie Shaftou. Dame Glendinning was excluded both by inferiority of rank and by sex; for (though it was a rule often neglected) the superior of St. Mary's was debarred from taking his meals in female society. To Mary Avenel the latter, and to Edward Glendinning the former, incapacity attached; but it pleased his loi-dship to require their presence in the apartment, and to say sundiy kind words to them upon • the ready and hospitable veceptiou which they had afforded him.

The smoking haunch now stood upon the table; a napkin, white as snow, was, with due reverence, tucked under the chin of the abbot bj ' the refectioner; and nought was wanting to commence the repast, save the presence of Sir Piercie Shafton, who at length appeared, glittering like the sun, in a carnation-velvet doublet, slashed and pulTod out with cIcJth of silver, his hat of the newest block, surrounded by a hatband of goldsmith's work, while around his neck ho wore a collar of gold, set with rubies and topazes so rich that it vindicated his anxiety for the safety of his baggage froni being founded upon his love of mere finery. This gorgeous collar or chain, resembling those worn by the knights of the highest orders of chivalr', fell down on his breast, and tei-miuated in a medallion.

1G2 WAVERLEY NOVELS

' Wo waited for Sir Piercie Shafton,' said the abbot, hastily assuming his place in the groat chair which the kitchener advanced to the table with ready liand.

' I pray your pai-don, reverend father and my good lord,' replied that pink of courtesy; ' I did but wait to cast my riding slough, and to transmew myself into some civil form meeter for this worshipful company.'

' I cannot but praise your gallantry, sir knight,' said the abbot, 'and your prudence also, for choosing the fitting time to appear thus adorned. Certes, had that goodly chain been visible in some part of yom- late progress, there was risk that the lawful owner might have parted company therewith.'

'This chain, said yom- reverence'!' answered Sir Piercie. ' Surely it is but a toy, a trifle, a slight thing, which shows but poorly with this doublet; marry, when I wear that of the mun-ey-coloured, double-piled Genoa velvet, puffed out with cipi-us, the gems, being relieved and set off by the darker and more grave ground of the stuff, show like stars giving a lustre through dark clouds.'

' 1 nothing doubt it,' said the abbot; ' but I pray you to sit down at the board.'

But Sir Piercie bad now got into bis element, and was not easily interrupted. ' I own,' he continued, ' that, slight as the toy is, it might perchance have had some captivatiou for Julian Sancta Maria! ' said he, inteiTupting himself; ' what was I aboxit to say, and my fair and beauteous Pro­tection, or shall I rather term her my Discretion, here • in

• presence ! Indiscreet had it been in j'our Affability, 0 most lovely Discretion, to suffer a- stray word to have broke out of the pen-fold of his mouth, that might overleap the fence of civility, and trespass on the manor of decorum.'

' Marry! ' said the abbot, somewhat impatiently, ' the greatest discretion that I can see in the matter is to eat our victuals being hot. Father Eustace, say the Benedkite, and cut up the haunch.'

The sub-prior readily obeyed the first part of the abbot's injunction, but paused upon the second. ' I t is Friday, most reverend,' lie said in Latin, desirous that the hint should escape, if possible, the eai-s of the sti-anger.

' We arc travellers,' said the abbot, in reply, ' and viatoribus liciium est. You know the canon: a traveller must eat what food his hard fate sets before him. I gi-ant you all a dispensa­tion to eat flesh this day, conditionally that you, brethren, say

THE MONASTERY 1C3

the confUeor at curfew time, that the kniglit give alms to Lis ability, and that all luid each of you fast from flesh on such day within the next month that shall seem most convenient; wherefore fall to and eat your food with cheerful countenances j and you, father refectioner, da mtxtus.'

While the abbot wqs thus stating the conditions on which his indulgence was granted, he had already half-finislied a slice of the uoblo haunch, and now washed it down with a flagon of Rhenish, modestly tempered with water.

'Well is it said,' he observed, a.s he required from the refectioner another slice, ' that virtue is its o •n reward; for though this is but humble faro, and hastily prepared, and eaten in a i»or chamber, I do not remember me of having had such an appetite since I was a simple brother in the Abbey of Dundrcnnan, and was wont to labour in the gai-den from morning until nones, when our abbot struck the cyinbalum. Then would I enter keen with hunger, parched with tliii-st—da mihi I'imim, qiioiso, ct vierum sit—and partake with appetite of whatever was set before us, according to our rule; feast or fast-daj-, caritas or jjanitentia, was the same to me. I had no stomach complaflits then, which now cnivc both the aid of wine and choice cookei-' to render my food acceptable to my palate, and easy of digestion.'

' I t maybe, holy father,' said the sub-prior, 'an occasional ride to the extremity of St. Mary's patrimony may have the same happy effect on your health as the air of the gai-dcn at Dundrcnnan.'

'Percliauce, with our patroness's blessing, such progresses may advantage us,' said tlfo abbot; ' having an especial eye that our venison is carefully killed by some woodsman that is master of his craft.'

' If the lord abbot will permit me,' said the kitchener, ' I think the best way to assure liis lordship on that important point would be to retain as a yeoman pricker, or deputy-ranger, the eldest son of this good woman. Dame Glenjjinning, who is here to wait upon us. I should know by mine oflice what belongs to killing of game, and I can safely pi-onouuce that never Siiw I, or any other coquinarim, a bolt so justly shot. I t has cloven the very heart of the buck.'

'What speak you to us of one good shot, father?' said Sir Piercie; ' I would advise you that such no more maketh a shooter than doth one swallow make a summer. I have seen this springald of whom you speak, and if his hand can send

164 WAVERLEY NOVELS

forth his shafts as boldly as his tongue doth utter pre­sumptuous speeches, I vnll own him as good an archer as Robin Hood.'

' Man-y,' said the abbot, ' and i t is fitting we know the t ruth of this matter from the dame herself; for ill-advised wei'e we to give w ay to any i-ashness, in this matter, whereby the bounties which Heaven and our patroness provide might bo unsldlfully mangled, and rendered unfit for worthy men's use. Stand forth, therefore. Dame Glendinning, and tell to us, as thy liege loi-d and spiritual superior, using plainness and truth, without either fear or favour, as being a matter wherein we are deeply interested, doth this son of thine use his bow as well as the father kitchener avers to us ?'

'So please your noble fatherhood,' answered Dame Glen­dinning, with a deep courtesy, ' I should know .somew^hat of archery to my cost, seeing my husband—God assoilzie him !— was slain in the field of Pinkie with au' arrow-shot, while he was fighting under the Kirk's banner, as became a liege vassal of the halidome. He was a valiant man, please your reverence, and an honest; and saving that ho loved a bit of venison, and shifted for liis living at a time, as Border men will sometimes do, I wot not of sin that he did. And yet, though I have paid

, for mass after mass, to the matter of a forty shilling, besides a quai-ter of wheat and four firlots of rye, I can have no assur­ance yet that he has been delivered from purgatory.'

'Dame, ' said the lord abbot, ' th is shall be looked into lieedfully; and since thy husband fell, as thou sayest, in the Kirk's quaiTcl, and under her banner, rely upon it that we will have him out of purgatory forthwith—that is, always provided ho be there. But it is not of thy husband whom we now devise to speak, but of thy son; not of a shot Scotsman, but of a shot deer. "Wlierefore I say answer me to the point, is thy son a practised archer, ay or no ?'

' Alack ! my reverend lord,' replied the widow,' and my ctoft would be better tilled if I could answer your reverence that he is not. Practised archer ! Marry, holy sir, I would he would practise something else—cross-bow and long-bow, hand-gun and hackbut, falconet and saker, he can shoot with them all. And if it would please this right honourable gentleman, our guest, , _ hold out his hat at the distance of a hundred yards, our TT-ilberfc shall send shaft, bolt, or bullet through i t - s o that •If honourable gentleman swei-ve not, but hold out s t e a d y -

; ; ;S ' f l i ? ]Hor fe i t a quarter of barley if he touch but a knot

THE MONASTERY 165

of Jiis ribands. I have seen oiu- Old Martin do as much, and so has our right reverend the sub-prior, if he be pleased to remember it.'

' I am not like to forget it, dame,' said Father Eustace; 'for I knew not which most to admire, the composure of the young marksman or the steadiness of the old mark. Yet I presume not to advise Sir Piercie Shafton to subject his valuable beaver, and yet more valuable person, to such a risk, unless it shoidd be his own special pleasure,'

'Be assured it is not,' said Sir Piercie Shafton, something hastily—' be well assured, holy father, that it is not. I dispute not the lad's qualities, for which your reverence vouches. But bows are but wood, strings are but flax, or the silkworm's excre­ment at best, archers are but men : fingers may slip, eyes may dazzle, the blindest may hit the butt, the best marker may shoot a bow's length beside. Therefore will we try no perilous experiments.'

' Be that as you will, Sir Piercie,' said the abbot; ' mean­time, we will name this j-outh bow-bearer in the forest granted to us by good King David, that the chase miglit recreate our wearied spirits, the flesh of the deer improve our poor commons, and the hides co-\'er the books of our library ; thus tending at once to the sustenance of body and soul.'

' Kneel down, woman—kneel down,' said the refectioner and the kitchener with one voice to Dame Glendinniug, ' and kiss his lordship's hand for the grace which he has granted to thy son.'

They then, as if they had been chanting the sei-vice and the responses, set off in a sort of diietto, enumerating the advantages of the situation.

' A green gown and a pair of leatheni galligaskins every Pentecost,' said the kitchener.

'Four marks by the year at Candlemas,' answered the re­fectioner.

'An hogshead of ale at Martlemas, of the double strike, and snigle ale at pleasm-e, as he shall agree with the cellarer '

' Who is a reasonable man,' said the abbot,' and will encom-age an active sei-vant of the convent.'

' A mess of broth and a dole of mutton or beef at the kitchener's on each high holiday,' resiimed the kitchener.

' The gang of two cows and a palfrey on Our Lady's meadow,' answered his brother-officer.

'An ox-hide to make buskins of yearly, because of the brambles,' echoed the kitchener.

16t3 WAVKRLEY XO\ 'ELS

' And various other perquisites, qua; nunc jyrcescrihe're louf/um,^ said the abbot, summing, witli his own lordly voice, the advan-, tages attached to the office of conventual bow-bearer.

Dame Glendinning was all this while on her knees, her head mechanically turning from the one church-officer to the other, which, as they stood one on each side of her, had much the appearance of a figiu*e moved by clock-work, and so soon as they were silent, most devoutly did she kiss the mimificent hand of the abbot. Conscious, however, of ilalbcrt's intractability in some points, she covild not help qualifying her grateful and reiterated thanks for the abbot's bountiful proffer with a hope that Halbert would see his wisdom, and accept of it.

' How,' said the abbot, bending his brows, ' accept of i t ! Woman, is thy sou iu his right wits?'

Elspeth, stunned by the tone in which this question- was asked, was altogether unable to reply to it. Indeed, any answer slie might iuive made could hardlj- have been heard, as it pleased the two office-bearers of the abbot's table again to recouunence their alternate dialogue.

' Rcfnse !' said the kitchener. ' Refuse !' answered the refectiouer, eclioing the other's won!

in a tone of still louder astonishment. ' Befuse four marks by the year !' said the one. 'Ale and beer—broth and mutton—cow's grass and pal-

•frey's !' shouted the kitchener. ' Gown and galligaskins !' responded the refectiouer. 'A moment's patience, my brethren,' answered tlie sub-prior,

' and let us not bo thus astonished before cause is afforded of our amazement. This good dame best knoweth the temper and spirit of her son; tliis much I can say, that it lieth not towards lettei-s or learning, of which 1 have in vain endeavoured to instil into him some tincture. Nevertheless, he is a youth of no common spirit, but much like those, in my weak judgment, whom God raises up among a people \Ylien He mcaneth that their deliverance .shall be wrought out with strength of hand and valour of heart. Such men we have seen marked by a waywardness, and even an obstinacy, of cliaracter wliich hatli appeared intractability and stupidity to those among whom they walked and were conversant, \mtil the very ojiportunity kath aiTived in wliich it was the will of Providence that they should be the fitting instrument of great tiling.?.' .

' Now, in good time hast thou spoken, I'athcr Eustace,' said the abbot; ' and wo will see this swankie before Ave decide upon

THE MONASTERY 167

the means of employing him. How say you. Sir Picrcie Shafton, is it not the coui-t fashion to suit the man to the office, and not the office to the man? '

' So please your reverence and lordship,' answered the North­umbrian knight, ' I do partly, that is, in some sort, subscribe to what jour wisdom hath delivered. Nevertheless, under re­verence of the sub-prior, we do not look for gallant leadere and national deliverers in tlie hovels of the mean common people.' Credit me, that if there ho some flashes of martial spirit about this young person, which I am not called upon to dispute, though I have seldom seen that presumption and an-ogance were made good upon the upshot by deed and action ; yet still these will prove insufficient to distinguish him, save in his own limited and lowly sphere, even as the glowworm, which makes a goodly show among the grass of_ the field, would bo of little avail if deposited in a beacon-grate.'

' Now, in good time,' said the sub-prior, ' and here comes the young huntsman to speak for himself'; for, being placed oppo­site to the window, he could obsei-ve Halbert as ho ascended the little mound on which the tower was situated.

' Sununon him to our presence,' said the lord abbot; and with an obedient-start the two attendant monks went off with emulous aleitness. Dame Glendinning spnmg away at the same moment, partly to gain an instant to recommend obedience to her son, partly to prevail with him to change his apparel before coming in presence of the abbot. But the kitchener and refectiouer, botli speaking at once, had already seized each an arm, and were leading Halbert in triumph mto the apart­ment, so that she could oii,ly ejaculate, ' His ^yill be done; but an he had but had on hin/his Sunday's hose !'

Limited and humble as this desire was, the fates did not -gi-ant i t ; for Halbert Glendinning was hunied into the presence of the lord abbot and his party without a WOKI of explanation, and without a moment's time bemg allowed to assume his holi­day hose, which, in the language of the tune, implied both breeches and stockings.

Yet, though thus suddenly presented amid the centre of all eyes, there was something in Halbcrt's appearance which com­manded a certain degree of respect from the company into which he was so unceremoniously iutiiided, and the greater part of whom were disposed to consider him with hauteur, if not with absolute contempt. But his appearance and reception wo must devote to another chapter.

C H A P T E R XIX

Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honpur ; There lies the pelf, in siuu to bear thee throngh Tlie dance of youth and the turmoil of manhood, Vet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; But an tliou gi'asj) to it, farewell ambition, Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, And raising thy low rank above the churls That till the earth for liread.

Old riay.

IT is necessary to dwell for some brief space on the appearance and demeanour of young GSlendinuing, ere we proceed to describe his interview with the abbot of St. Mary's, at this momentous crisis of his life.

Halbert was now about nineteen years old, tall and active rather than strong, yet of that hardy conformation of limb and sinew which promises great strength when the growth shall be complete and the system confirmed. He was perfectly well made, and, like most men who have that advantage, possessed a grace and natural case of manner and carriage which pre­vented his height from being the disthiguished part of his external appearance. I t was not until you had compared his stature with that of those amongst or near to whom he stood that you became sensible that the young Glendinnlug was upwards of six feet high. In the combination of uimsual height with pei-fect synmietry, ease, and grace of carriage, the young heir of Glendearg, notwithstanding his rustic bu-th and educa­tion, had greatly the advantage even of Sir Piercie Shaftou himself, whose stature was lower, and his limbs, though there was no particular point to object to, wore on the whole less exactly proportioned. On the other hand, Sir Piercie's very handsome countenance afforded him as decided an advantage over the Scotsman as regularity of features and brilliance of complexion could give over traits which were rather strongly marked than beautiful, and upou whose complexion the 'skyey influences,'

THE MONASTERY 160

to which he was constantly exposed, had blended the red and white into the jjiu-ely nut-brown hue, which coloured alike cheeks, neck, and forehead, and bluslied only in a darker glow upon the former. Halbert's eyes supplied a mai-ked and dis­tinguished part of his physiognomy. They were large and of u hazel* colour, and sparkled in moments of animation with such inicommon brilliancy that it seemed as if they actually emitted light. Nature had closely curled the locks of dai'k-brown hair, which relieved and set off the feattu'es, such as we have described them, displaying a bold and animated disposition, much more tlian might have been expected fi-om his situation, or from his previous manners, which hitherto had seemed bashful, homely, and awkward.

Halbert's dress was certainly not of that description which sets off to the best advantage a presence of itself prepossessing. His jerkin and hose were of coarse rustic cloth, and his cap of the same. A belt round his waist seized at ouce to sustain the broadsword wliich we have already mentioned, and to hold five or six arrows and bird-bolts, which were stuck into it on the right side, along witli a large knife hilted with buck-hom, or, as it was then called, a dudgeon-dagger. To complete his dress, we must notice his loose bAskins of deer's-hide, formed so as to draw up on the leg as high as the knee, or at pleasure to be thi-ust down lower than the calves. These were generally used at the period by such as either had their principal occupation or their chief jiieasure in silvan sports, as they served to protect the legs against the rough and tangled thickets into which the pursuit of game frequently led them. And tliese trifling particulars complete his external appeiR-auco.

I t is not so ea.sy to do justice to the manner in whicli young Glendinning's soul spoke through his eyes, when \ishercd so suddenly into the company of those whom his earliest educa­tion had taught him to treat with awe and reverence. The degree of embarrassment which his dcmeanom- evinced had uothing in it either meanly semle or utterly disconcerted. I t was no more than became a generous and iiigenuous youth of a bold spirit, but totally inexperienced, who should for the first time be called \ipon to thhik and act for himself in sucli society, and under such disadvantageous circumstances. There was not in his carriage a grain either of forwardness or of timidity which a friend could have wished away.

He kneeled and kissed the abbot's hand, then rose, and, * [Sea y. 12 above]

170 WAVKRLEY NOVELS '

retiring two paces, bowed respectfully to the circle around, smiling gently as he received an encouraging nod from the sub-prioi', to whom alone he was pei-sonally known, and blush­ing as he encountered the anxious look of Maiy Avenel, wlio beheld with painful interest the sort of ordeal to which her

, foster-brother was about to be subjected. Eecoveriug from the transient flurry of spirits into which the encounter of her glance had thrown him, he stood composedly awaiting till the abbot should express bis pleasure.

Tlie ingenuous expression of countenance, noble form, and graceful attitude of the young mau failed not to prepossess in his favour the churchmen in whose presence he stood. The abbot looked round and exchanged a gracious and approving glance with his counsellor. Father Eustace, althougli probably the appointment of a ranger, or bow-bearer, was one in which he might liave been disposed to proceed without the sub-prior's advice, were it but to show his own free agency. But the good mien of the young man now in nomination was sucli that ho ratlier hastened to exchange congratulation on meeting with

• so proper a subject of promotion tlian to indulge any other - feeling. Father Eustace enjoyed the pleasure w^hicli a well-

constituted mind derives from seeing a benefit light on a deserving object; for, as he had not seen Halbert since circum­stances had made so material a change in his manner and feeling.?, he scarce doubted that the proftered appointment would, notwithstanding his mother's luicertainty, suit the disposition of a youth who had appeared devoted to woodland sports, and <a foe alike to sedentary or settled occupation of any kind. Tiie rcfectioner and kitchener were so well pleased witli Halbert's prepossessing appearance that they scorned to think that tlic salary, emoluments, and perquisites, the dole, the grazing, the gown, and the galligaskins could scarce be better bestowed tiuin on the active and gi-acefnl figure before them.

Sir Piercio Shafton, whctlicr from being more deeply engaged in his own cogitations or tliat the sul)ject was inrwortliy of iiis notice, did not _;eem to partake of the general feeling of apj)ro-liation excited by the young man's pi-osencc. He sate with his eyes half-slnit, and Ids arms folded, appearing to bo wrapped in contemplations of a natm-e deeper than tliose arising out of the scene before him. But, notwithstanding liis seeming al)-straction and absence of mind, there was a flutter of vanity in. Sir Piercie's vei'y handsome coimtenance, an occasional change of posture from one striking attitude (or what he conceived to

THE MONASTERY 171

be such) to another, and an occasional stolen glance at the female part of the companj', to spy how far lie succeeded in riveting their attention, which gave a marked advantage, in com­parison, to the less regular and more harsli features of Hal-bcrt Glendiauing, with their composed, manly, and deliberate expression of mental fortitude. • Of the females belonging to the family of Glendcarg, the

miller's daughter alone had her mind s\ifficiently at leisiu-e to admire," from time to time, the graceful attitudes of Sir Piercic Shafton ; for both Mary Avenel and Dame Glcndinning were waiting iu anxiety and apprehension the answer whicli Halbort was to return to the abbot's propos;xl, and fearfully anticipating the consequences of his probable refusal. The conduct of his brother Edward, for a lad constitutionally shy, respectful, and even timid, was at once aftcctionate and noble. This younger son of Dame Elspcth had stood unnoticed in a comer, after the abbot, at the request of the sub-prior, had honoured him with some passing notice, and asked him a few common­place questions about his progress in Donatns, and in the PrompUuirium Parvuloi-um, without waiting for the answers. From his corner ho now glided round to his brother's side, and keepuig a litble behind him, slid his right hand into the huntsman's left, and by a gentle pressure, which Halbert instantly and ardently.returned, expressed at once his interest in his situation and his resolution to share his fate.

The group was thus arranged when, after the pause of two or three minutes, which ho employed in slowly sipping his cup of wine, iu order that he might enter on his proposal with due and dclibex-atc dignity, the abbqj, at length expressed himself t luis:

' jMy son, we, your lawful superior, and the abbot, under (lod's favour, of the community of St. Mary's, have heard of your manifold good gifts—a-hcm—especially touching wood­craft, and the huntsman-like fashion in which you strike your game, truly and as a yeoman sliould, not abusing Heaven's good benelits by spoiling the flesh, as is too often seen in care­less rangei-s—a-hem.' He made here a paus^, but observim,' that Gleudinuing only replied to his compliment by a bow, ho proceeded—' My son, we commend your modesty; nevertheless, we wdl that thou shouldst speak freely to us touching that which we have premeditated for thine advancement, meaning ^1 confer on thee the office of bow-bearer and i-angor, as well over the chases and forests wherein our house hatii privilege by the gifts of pious kings and nobles, whose souls now enjoy

172 WAVERLKY KOVEI.S

the fruits of their bounties to tlic church, as to those whiuh belong to us in exclusive right of property and perpetuity. Thy knee, my sou, that we may, with our own hand, and without loss of time, induct thee into office.'

' Kneel down,' said the kitchener on the one side; and ' Kneel down,' said the refectioncr on the other.

But Halbert Glendinuing remained standing. • -' Were it to show gratitude and good-will for your reverend

lordship's noble oftbr, 1 could not,' he said, 'kneel low enough, or remain long enough kneeling. But. I may not kneel to talic investiture of your noble gift, my lord abbot, being a man determined to seek my fortvme otherwise.'

'How is that, sir? ' siud the abbot, knitting his brows; 'do I hoar you speak ariglit? and do you, a born vassal of the halidome, at the moment wlien I am destining to you such a noble expression of my good-will, propose exchanging my sen'icc for that of any other ?'

' My lord,' said Halbert Gleudiuning, ' it grieves me to think you hold mo capable of imdervaluiug your gracious oflfer, or of exclianging your service for another. But your noble proficr dotli but basten the execution of a determination wliich I have long since formed.'

' Ay, my son,' said the abbot, ' is it indeed so ? right early have you learned to form re.solutious witliout consulting tliose on whom you naturally depend. But what may it be, this .sagacious resolution, if I may so far pray you?'

' To 3"ield up to my brother and mother,' answered Halbert, ' mine interest in the fief of Glendearg, lately possessed by my father, Simon Gleudiuning; and Iw'-iug prayed yom- lordship to be the same kind and generous master to tlicm that your pre­decessors, the venerable abbots of St. ilary's, have been to my fathers in time past—for myself, I am determined to seelc my fortuue wliero I may best find it.'

Dame Glendinniug liere ventured, emboldened by maternal anxiety, to break silence witli au exclamation of ' 6 my son !' Edward, clinging to his brother's side, liulf-spoke, half-wliispered a similar ejaculation of ' lirothcr ! brother! '

' The sub-]3rior took up the matter in a tone of grave rejire-Jicnsiou, whicli, as he conceived, tlic interest he had always taken in the family of Glendearg required at his hand.

'AVilful young man,' he said, 'what folly can urge thee to push back the hand that is stretched out to aid thee? What visionary aim hast thou before thee, that can compcn.siite for the

THE MONASTERY 173

decent and sufficient independence which thou art now rejecting with scorn 1'

' Four marks by the year, duly and truly,' said the kitchener. ' Cows grass, doublet, and galligaskins,' resjwnded the re-

fectioner. 'Peace, my brethren,' said the sub-prior; ' and may it

please j^our lordship,' venerable father, upon my petition, to allow this headsti-ong youth a day for consideration, and it shall be my part so to indoctrinate him as to convince him what is due on this occasion to your lordship, and to Iiis family, and to himself.'

' Youi- kindness, reverend father,' said the youth, ' craves my dearest thanks; it is the continuance of a long train of bene­volence towards me, for which I give you my gratitude, for I have nothing el.se to offer. I t is my mishap, not yom- fault, that j'om- intentions liave been frustrated. But my present resolution is fixed and imalterable. I cannot accept the generous otter of the lord abbot; my fate calls me elsewhere, to scenes-where I shall end it or mend it.'

' By Our Lady,' said the abbot, ' I think the yoiitli be mad indeed; or that you, Sir Piercie, judged of him most tnily, when you prophesied that he would prove imfit for the promo­tion we designed him. I t may be you know something of this wayward hunioxu- before ?'

' By the mass, not I,' answered Su- Piercie Shafton, with his usual indifference. ' I but judged of him by his birth and breeding; for seldom doth a good hawk come out of a kite's egg.'

' Thou art thyself a kite, and kestrel to boot,' replied Halbert Glendinning, without a mcmient's hesitation.

' This in our presence, and to a man of worship!' said the abbot, the blood iiishing to his face.

' Yes, my lord,' answered the youth; ' even in your presence I return to this gay man's face the causeless dishonom- which he has flung on my name. My brave father, who fell in the cause of his country, denmnds that justice at the hands of his son! ' '

' Unmannered boy !' said the abbot. 'Nay, my good lord,' said the knight, 'praying pardon for

the coarse interniption, let mo entreat you not to bo wrotli witli this rustical. Credit me, the north wind shall as soon puff" one of your rocks from its basis, as aught which I hold so slight and ii'.considerate as the churlish speech of an untaught churl shall move the spleen of Piercie Shafton.'

171 WAVEKLEY NO^'ELS

'Proud as you are, sir knight,' said Halbert, ' in your imagined superiority, be not too confident that you cannot be moved.'

' Faith, by nothing that thou canst urge,' said Sir Piercie. ' Kuowest thou then this token 1' said young Glendinning,

offering to him the silver bodkin which he had received from the White Lady.

Never was such an instant change, from the most con­temptuous serenity to the most furious state of passion, as that which Sir Piercie Shafton exhibited. I t was the dificrence between a cannon lying quiet in its embrasure and tlio same gmi when touched by tlie linstock. He started up, every limb (juivering with rage, and his features so inflamed imd agitated by pa.ssion that he more resembled a demoniac than a man under the regulation of reason. He clenched botli his fists, and, thrusting them forwaitl, oft'ered them furiously at the face of Glendinning, who was even himself startled at the frantic state of excitation which his action had occasioned. The next moment he withdrew them, struck his open palm against his own fore­head, and rushed out of the room in a state of indescribable agitation. The whole matter had been so sudden that no person present had time to interfere.

When Sir Piercie Shafton had left the apartment, there was a moment's pause of astonishment, and then a general demand that Halbert Glendinning should instantly explain by what means he had produced such a violent change in the deportment of the English cavalier.

' I did nought to him,' answered Halbert Glendinning, ' bu t what you all saw. Am I to answe-i for liis fantastic freaks of humour 1'

'Boy,' said the abbot, in his most authoritative manner, ' these subterfuges shall not avail thee. This i.s not a man to be driven fi-om his temperament without some suilicient cause. That cause was given by thee, and must have been known to thee. I command thee, as thou wilt save tliyself from woi-so measure, to explain to me by \\liat means thou hast moved our friend thus. Wo choose not that our vassals shall drive our guests mad in our very presence, and we remain ignorant of the means whereby that purpose is cfFected.'

' So may it please your reverence, I did but show him this token,' said Halbert Glendinnmg, delivering it at the same tu.\e to the abbot, who looked at it with much attention, and tlien,".

THE MONASTERY 175

shaking liis liead, gi-avely delivered it to the sub-prior, without speaking a word.

Father Eustiice looked at the mysterious token with some attention; and then addressing Halbert in a stem and severe voice, said, ' Young man, if thou wouldst not have us suspect thee of some strange double-dealing in this matter, let us in­stantly know Vfhence th'ou hadst this token, and how it possesses an influence on Sir Piercie Shafton ?'

It would have beeu extremely difficult for Halbert, thus hard pressed, to have either evaded or answered so puzzling a ques­tion. To have avowed the truth might, in those times, have occasioned his being burnt at a stake, although in oui-s his confessiou would have only gained for him the credit of a liar beyond all lutional ci-edibility. He was fortunately relieved by the return of Sir Piercie Shafton himself, whose ear caught, as he entered, the sound of the sub-pi'ior'a question.

Without waiting until Halbert Glendinaing replied, he came foi-ward, whispering to him as he passed, ' Be seci'et; thou shalt liavo the satisfaction thou hast dared to seek for.'

When he returned to his place, there were still marks of dis­composure on his brow; but, becoming apparently collected and calm, he looked aVound him, and apologised for the indecorum of which ho had bceu guilty, wliich he ascribed to sudden and severe indisposition. All were silent, and looked on each other with some surprise.

The lord abbot gave ordera for all to retire from the apart­ment, save himself. Sir Piercie Shafton, and the sub-prior. • And have an eye,' he added, ' on that bold youth, that he escape not ; for if ho hath practised by charm, or otherwise, on the health of our worshipful guest, I swear by the alb and mitre which I wear that his punishment shall be most exemplaiy.'

'My loi-d and venerable father,'Siiid Halbert, bowing respect­fully, ' fear not but that 1 will abide my doom. 1 think you will best learn from the worshipful knight himself what is the cause of his distemperature, and how slight my share in it has been.' •

' Bo assured,' said the knight, without looking up, however, while he spoke, ' I will satisfy the lord abbot.' " -

With these woi-ds the company retired, and with them j'oung Glendiimiug.

When the abbot, the sub-prior, and the English knight were left alone, Father Eustace, contrary to his custom, could not help speaking the first. ' Expound unto us, noble sir,' he said,

17G WAVERLEY NOVELS

' by what mj'sterious means the production of this simple toy could so far move your spirit, and overcome your patience, after j 'ou had shown yoxu'self proof to all the provocation offered by this self-sufficient and singular youth.'

The knight took the silver bodkin from the good father's hand, looked at it ^vith great composure, and, having examined it all over, returned it to the sub-prior, saj'ing at the same time, ' In truth, venerable father, I cannot but marvel that the wisdom implied alike in your silver hairs and in your eminent rank should, like a babbling hound—excuse the similitude—open thus loudly on a false scent. I were, indeed, more slight to be moved than the leaves of the aspon-tree, which wag at the least breath of heaven, could I bo touched by such a trifle as this, wliich in no way concerns me more than if the same quantity of silver were stiicken into so many groats. Truth is, that from my youth upward I have been subjected to siich a malady as you saw me visited with even now—a cruel and searching pain, which goeth through nei've and bone, even as a good brand in tlio hands of a bravo soldier sheers through limb and sinew ; but it passes away speedily, as you yourselves may judge.'

' Still,' said the sub-prior,' this will not account for the j 'outh ofTerlng to you this piece of silver, as a token by which you wore to understand something, and, as wo must needs con­jecture, something disagreeable.'

' Your reverence is to conjecture what you will,' said Sir Piercie; "but I c;innot pretend to lay j'our judgment on the right scent when I see it at fault. I hope I am not liable to be called upon to account for the foolish actions of a malapert boy? '

' Assuredly,' said the sub-prior,' wo !ih?.ll prosecute no inquiry which is disagreeable to our guest. Nevertheless,' said he, look­ing to his superior, ' this chance may, in some sort, alter tlio plan your loidship had formed for your worshipful guest's resi­dence for a brief term in this tower, as a place alike of secrecy and of security; both of which, m the terms which we now stand on with Englanfl, are circumstances to bo desired.'

' In ti-uth,' said tlic abbot, ' and the doubt is well thought oii, were it as well removed ; for I scarce know in the hali-dome so fitting a place of refuge, yet see I not how to recom­mend it to our worshipful guest, considering the unrestrained petulance of this headstrong youth.'

' Tush! reverend sirs, what would you make of mo ?' said Sir Piercie Shafton. ' I protest, by mine honoui-, I would

THE MONASTERY l7r_

abide in this house were I to choose. What ! I take no excep-"' tions at the youth for showing a flash of spirit, though the spark may light on niiuo own head. I liouour the lad for it. I pro­test I will abide here, aud he shall aid me in striking down a deer. I must uecds be friends with him, an he be such a shot; and we will speedily send down to my lord abbot a buck of the fii-st head, killed -so artificially as shall satisfy even the reverend kitchener.'

This' was said with such apparent ease aud good-humour that the abbot made no farther obsei-vatiou on what had passed, but proceeded to acquaint his guest with the details of furnitiu-e, hangings, provisions, aud so forth which he proposed to send up to the Tower of Glendearg for his accommodatiou. This discoui-se, seasoned with a cup or two of wine, served to prolong the time luitil the reverend abbot ordered his cavalcade to prepare for their return to the monastery.

'As wc have,' he said, ' in the coui-se of this our toilsome journey, lost om- meridian, indulgence shall be given to those of oiu- attendants who shall, from veiy weariness, be unable to attend the duty at prime, and this by way of misericord * or indulgentia.'

Having benevalently intimated a boon to his faithful fol­lowers which he probably judged would be far from unaccept­able, the good abbot, seeing all ready for his joui-ucy, bestowed his blessing on the assembled household ; gave his hand to be kissed by Dame Glendinning, himself kissed the cheek of Maiy Avenel, and even of the miller's maiden, when they approached to render him the same homage; commanded Halbert to rule his temper, and to be aiding and obedient in all things to the I'^nglish knight; adme:<oned Edward to bo tlisdj^uliis impii/ei-atque strenuits; then took a coiu-tcous farewell of Sir Piercic Shafton, advising him to lie close, for fear of the English Horderei-s, who might bo employed to kidnap him; and having discharged these various offices of courtesy, moved forth to the coui-tyai-d, followed by the whole establishment. Here, with a heavy sigh approaching to a gi-oan, the veneraWe father heaved himself upon his palfrey, whose dark purple housings swept tiie ground; aud, greatly comforted that the discretion of the animal's pace would be lio longer disturbed by the gambadoes of Sir Piercie and his prancing war-horse, he sot forth at a sober and steady trot upon his return to the monastery.

When the sub-prior had mounted to accompany his • See Note 16.

178 WAVERT.EY NOVELS

principal, his eye sought out llalbeit, who, partlj ' hidden by a proiection of the outward wall of the court, stood apai-t from, and gazing vipon, the departing cavalcade and the group which assembled aromid them. Unsatisfied with the explanation he liad received concerning the mysterious transaction of the silver bodkin, yet interesting himself in the youth, of whose character he had foi-med a favourable -idea, the worthy monk resolved to take an early opportunity of investigating that matter. In the meanwhile, he looked upon Halbert with a serious and warning aspect, and held up his finger to him as he signed farewell. He then joined the rest of the churchmen, and followed his superior down the valley.

C H A P T E R XX

I hope you'll give me cause to think you noble, Aud do lue right with your sword, sir, as becomes One gentleman of honour to another ; All this is fair, sir—let us make no days on't, I'll lead your way.

Love's jPilgnmagc.

THE look and sign of warning which the sub-prior gave to Halbert Glendinning as they parted went to his hear t ; for, ulthough he liad profited much less than Edward bj ' the good man's instructions, he had a sincere reverence for his person • and even tlie short time he had for deliberation tended to show liim he was embarked in a perilous adventure. The nature of the provocation which ho liad given to Sir Piercie Shafton he cc.dd not even conjecture; but he saw that it was of a mortal quality, and he was now to abide the consequences.

That ho might not force these consequences fonvaixl by any premature renewal of their quarrel, he resolved to walk apart for an hour, aud consider on what terms he was to meet this hauglity foreigner. The time seemed propitious for his doing so without having the apuparanco of wilfully shunning the stranger, as all the ror...oers of the little household were dis­persing, either to pcrfomi such tasks as had been inteiTupted by the arrival of the dignitaries, 'or to put in order what had been deranged by their visit.

Leaving the tower, tlierefore, and descending, imobser\'ed, as he thought, the knoll on which it stood, Halbert gained the little piece of level ground wliich extended betwixt the descent of the hill aud the firet sweep made by the brook after wasbmg tlie foot of the eminence on which the tower was situated, where a few straggling birch and oak trees served to secm-e liim from obsci-vation. But scarcely had he reached the spot when he was surprised to feel a smart tsip upon the shoulder, and, turning around, he perceived he had been closely followed by Sir Piercie Shafton.

180 -WAVERLEY NOVELS

Wlien, whether from oiu- state of animal spirits, want of confidence in the justice of our cause, or any other motive, oiu' o\vn 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 Glen-dinnihg, 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.

'Wha t is my pleasure?' answered Sir Piercie; ' a goodly question, after tlie part you have acted towards me ! Young man, I know not w'hat 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 insiUt. Neither do I ask, or cai-e, by what means thoii 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 hath cost thee thy life.'

' Not, I trust, if my hand and sword can defend it,' replied Halbert, boldly.

'True, 'said the Enghshman; ' I mean not to deprive thee of thy fair chance of .self-defence. I am only soiTy to think that young and country-bred as thou art,, it can but little avail thee! But thou must be well aware that ' tu--".bis quarrel I shall use no terms of quarter.'

'Eely on it, proud man,' answered the youth, ' t ha t 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 thv 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 pm-chased?' renlied 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 wort enabled to wound my

THE MONASTERY 181

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 thme insolence.'

'This is too high a flight,' said Glendinning, fiercely, 'for thine own presumption to soar without being checked. Thou hast come to mj' father's house, as well as I cau guess, a fugitive and an exile, and thy first greeting to its inhabitiints has been that of contempt and injury. By what means I have been able to retort that contempt, let thine own conscience tell theo. Enough for me that I stand on the privilege of a free Scotchman,, and will brook no insult imretumed and no injury unrequited.'

' I t is well, then,' said Sir Piercio Shaftou; ' 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 himdred men might fight and fall without any chance of interruption.'

' I t 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 twmkle 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, sh- viUagio, before the worshipful inmates of yonder cabin, and to-morrow we try conclusions with qur,swords.' So saying, ho turned away towards the tower. ^•'

I t may not be unworthy of notice, that in the last speech only had Sir Piercie used some of those flowers of rhetoric •which characteiised 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 acquked habits. " Indeed, siich is usually the influence of energy of mind, when called forth and exerted, that Sir Piercie Shafton had never appeared m 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, ho

182 WAVERLKY NOVELS

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 Picrcio Shaftou extended the benignity of his conntenance and the graces of his couvei-sation 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 and inimitable Discretion, as he chose to term \fai-y Avenol; but,' never­theless, there were iuterjectional flourishes to the Maid of the Mill,.under the title of Comely Damsel, and to the dame, under that of Wortliy Matron. Nay, lest he shoidd fail to excite their admiration by the gi-accs of his rlietoric, he generously, and without solicitation, added those of his voice; and after regret­ting bitterly the absence of liis viol-dc-gamba, he regaled thcni with a song, ' which,' said he, ' tlic inimitable Astropiicl, whom mortals call Philip Sidney, composed in the nonage of liis nuisc, to show the world what they are to expect from his riper yeare, and which will one day see the light in that not-to-be-paralleled pci-fection of human wit which he lias addi-essed to his sister, the matchless I'arthenopc, whom men call Countess of Pem­broke; a work,' he continued, 'whereof his friendship hath pei-mitted mc, though unworthy, to be an occasional partaker, and whereof I may well say that the deep afflictive talc which awiilceneth our sorrows is so relieved with brilliant similitudes, dulcet descriptions, pleasant poems, and engaging interludes tha t they seeni as the stars of tlic firmament beautifying the dusky robe of night. And thongii I wot well liow mucli the lovely and quaint language will suO'er by my widowed voice— widowed in tiiat it is no longer matchiifi '-j^ my beloved viol-de-gamba—I will es.say to give you a taste of the ravishing sweet­ness of the poesy of the un-to-bc-imitated Astrophel.'

S'o saying, lie sung without mercy or remorse about five iiUiifJi'C'l verHCH, of wliicli tlie two first and the four last may su/iico iof u Hpcoinioii—

' W'liat tongue can licr perfections tell, On whose each part all pens may dwell.'

Of "liose high prais" ""d [iraiseful bliss, Goodness the pen ITcav.n paper is ; The ink immortal fame doth send, As I began so I must en,i. l,alf-shnt,

^ , Sir Pi'^'-"'^ ^^''^'''' "^""^" " "" ' ' " ' ' ^ ' ' •

THE MONASTERY 183

it was not until, agi'eeably to the promise of his poetry, he had fairly made an end that, looking round, he discovered that the greater part of his audience had, in the meainvhile, yielded to the charms of repose. iMary Aveuel, indeed, from a natural sense of politeness, had contrived to keep awake through all the prolixities of the divine Astrophel; but Mysic was transported in dreams back to the dusty atmosphere of her father's - mill ; Edwai-d 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 under regulation, might have supplied the bass of the lamented viol-dc-gnmba. Halbert, however, who had no temptation to give way to the channs 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 comimny, 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 deadlj' combat. Yet it stiiick his natural acuteness of obseiTation that the ej'e 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 takiu" the exhibition of his antagonist's composure and serenity of mind.

' Ho 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 jnirpose, ho began with great industry to dress hooks, and had finished half a dozen of flies (wc arc enabled, for the benefit of those who 'idmire the antiquities of the gentle art of angling, to st-..o that they were brown hackles) by the time that Sir Piercio had an-ived' 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 Glendcarg separated for the evening; Sir Picrcic first saying to the danio that ' Her son Albert •

' Halbert,' said l-^lspcth, with emphasis—' Halbert; after his goodsire, Halbert Brydoue.'

' Well, then, I have prayed your son, Halbert, that we may strive to-moiTOW, with the sun's earliness, to wake a stag from his lair, that T may see whether he be as prompt at that sport as fame bespeaks him.'

1S4 WAV EHLEY NOVELS

' Alas ! sir,' answered Dame Elspeth, ' he is but too prompt, au you talk of promptitude, at anything that has steel at ouo 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 ^^•ith him to take the bow-bearer's place in fee; for, as the two worthy monks said, it will be- a gl-eat help to a widow womau.'

' Trust me, good dame,' replied Sir Piercie, ' it is niy 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 plea&uit dreams which wave their pinions around the couch of sleeping beauty, and to tints comely damsel the boimties 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 jilaoc and posture ; Ah sleep !—no sleep hut worn-out Natxiro's swooning ; Ah bed !—no bed but cushion fill'd with stones : Rest, sleep, nor bed await not on an exile.'

With a deliaite 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 liLfo-the abbey. But the good knight probably thought that the gi-<tcc and eflect of his exit would be diminished if he were recjiUed 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 •Juimorous. And sings a sweet song, though it is somewhat of the longest. Well, I make mine avow ho 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 Shaftoh at day­break, as he required.

• THK MOKASTERY 185

When stretched on his pallet by his brother's side, Halbert had )io 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 gi-anting the boon which he had asked so unadvisedly, she had contributed more to his harm than his good. Ho was now sensible, too late, of the various dangers' and inconveniences with which his dearest friends were threat­ened, aiiko 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 certiiin 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 Avcnel—he should have shown himself, if he succumbed iu 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 infaucj'. And to this view of the case w-ere to Tae added all those embittered and an.\ious feelings with which the bravest men, even iu 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 iu the event of his being conquered, Halbert could expect from victory little more than the safety of h'- own life and the gi-atification of his wounded pride. To \ i s friends—to his mother and brother— especially to Mary Avenel—the consequences of his triumph would bo more certiiin destruction than the contingency of his defeat and death. If the English knight survived, ho might iu courtesy extend his protection to them; but if he fell, nothing was hkcly to screen them from the vindictive measures which the alibot and couvcnt woxild 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 famil\', and that ruin entirely brought on by his own rashness, were thorns in Halbert Glendiuning's pillow, that deprived his soiU of peace and his eyes of slmuber.

18C WAVEULEY NOVELS

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. Ho might indeed confess to the English knight the strange circtimstauces which led to his presenting him with that token which the White Lady (in her displeasm-e, as it now seemed) had given him, that he might offer it to Sir Piercie Shafton. Biit 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 woiild 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 stigmatised 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 luimble myself!' he said, starting out of bed, grasping to 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 h im; 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 liim with a sense of approaching misfortime, anS' \vith the hideous appre-hcnsioQ that he had associated himself ^'with a demon, over whose motions he had no control, and of whose powers and quality he had no cerbiin knowledge. He remained, therefore, in mere terror, gazing on the apparition, which chanted or recited in cadence the following Imes—

ft

' He whose heart for vengeance sued, aiiist not shrink from slieddiiig blood ; The knot that thou hast tied with word-, Thou must loose by edge of sword.'

' Avaunt thee, false Spirit! ' said Halbei-t Glendinning; ' I have bought thy advice too dearly already. Begone, in the name of God !'

. THE MONASTERY 187

The Spirit laughed; and the cold, unnatural sound of her laughter had something in it more fearful than the usual melancholy tones of her voice. She then replied—

' Yoii have summon'd me once—you have suninion'd mo twiec, And without e'er a summons I come to you tluiee ; Unask'd for, un.sucd for, you came to my glen ; Unsued and nnask'tl, I am with you again.'

Halbert Glenduming gave way for a moment to teiTor, and called ou his brother, ' Edward ! waken—waken, for Our Lady's sake! '

Edward awaked accordingly, and asked what he wanted. 'Look out, 'said Halbert—'look u p ! seest thou no one in

the room ?' ' No, upon my good word,' Siiid Edward, looking out. ' What! seest thou nothing in the moonshine upon the floor

there?' 'No, nothing,' answered Edwai-d, 'save thyself, resting on

thy uaked 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.'

' I t may be,' said Halbert, slowly, and having his ejc still bent on the female form which to him seemed distinctly visible —' i t may be. But tell me, dear Edward, seest thou no one ou the chamber floor but - .e !'

'No one,'answeied Edward, raising himself on his elbow; ' dear brother, lay aside thy weapon, say thy prayers, and lay thee down to rest.'

Wliile he thus spoke, the Spirit smiled at Halbert as if m scorn; her wan cheek faded in the wan moonlight even before the smile had passed away, and Halbert hiihself no longer beheld the vision to which he had so anxiously solicited his brother's attpntion. ' Hay God preserve my wits !' he said, lis, laying aside his weapon, he again threw himself on his bed.

'Amen! my dearest brother,' answered Edward; 'bu t wc niuist not provoke that Heaven in oiir 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

^,^5., , V/AVK.UI.I'-.V NdVKI-S

from me. I t is true, 1 am neither so athletic in body nor so •ilcrt in courage as you liave been from your infancy; yet, till lately, you have not absolutely cast ott' my society. Believe inc, I 'bavo wept in secret, though 1 forbore to intrude myself on your pi-ivacy. The time has been when you held me not so cheap; and when, if I could not follow the game so closely, or mai-k it so tinily, as you, I could fill up our intervals of pastime witli pleasant talcs of the olden times, which I had read or heard and which excited even your attention as wc sate and ate our provision by some pleasant spring; but now 1 liavc, though I know not whj', lost thy regard and afTcction. Nay, toss not thy arms about thed thus wildly,' said the yomiger brother ; ' from thy strange dreams, I fear some touch of fever hath afl'ected 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 ai'e in vain.'

' Nay, but hear me, brother,' said Edwaitl. ' Your speech in sleep, and now even your waking dreams, are of beings which belong not to this world, or to om- race. Our good l-'ather Eustace says that, howbeit we may not do AN'CU to receive all idle tales of goblins and spectres, yet there is wan-ant from Holy Scripture to believe that the fiends haunt waste and solitary places; and that those who frequent such wildcnicsses alone are the prey, or the sport, of these wandering demons. And therefore I pray thee, brother, let me go with you wlien you go next up the glen, whore, as you well know, there bo places of evil reputation. Thou cai^^t uot for mv escort; but, llalbert, such dangers are more sjifely er*<juntered by the wise m judgment than by the bold in bosom; and though I have small cause to hoa.st of my own wisdom, yet I liave that which ariseth from the written knowledge of elder times '

There was a moment during this discourse when Halbert had w-cllmgh come to the resolution of disburdening his own W s t by entrnstmg I'.dward with all that weighed upon it. But when his brothei-re.nmdcd him that this was the morning o a high hoMay, and that, settu,g aside all other business or pleasure he ought to go to the monastery and shrive himself before I'ather Ji.ustace, who would th'it day o • tl on fessional pride stepped in and confirm'ed his wavering '.^solu­tion ' I will not avow he thought, ' a tale so extraordinary, that I may be considered as an impostor or something worse :

THE MONASTERY 189

will not fly from this Englishman, whose arm and sword njay be no better than my own. My fathei-s have faced his better.s, were he as much distinguished m battle as he is by liis quaint discourao.'

• Pride, which has been said to save man, and woman too, from falling, has yet a stronger influence on the mind when it embi-accs tlie 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.

C H A P T E R XXI

Indiirercnt, but indiffcreut—psliaw, he doth it not Like one who is his craft's master—ne'ertheless 1 have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb On one who was a master of defence.

Old Play.

^YITU the first grey peep of dawn, Halbert Glendinniug arose and hastened to dress himself, girded on his weapon, and took a ci-oss-bow in his hand, as if his usual sport had been his sole object. He groped his way down the dark aud winding stair­case, aud undid with as little uoise as possible the fastenings of the inner door, aud of the exterior iron grate. At length he stood free in the courtyard, aud looking up to. the tower, saw a signal made with a handkerchief from the window. Nothing doubting tliat it was his antagonist, he paused expecting him. But it was Mary Avenel, who glided like a spirit froin under the low aud rugged portal.

Halbert was much sui-prised, aud felt, he luiew not why, like one caught in the act of a meditated trespass. The \n-e-scncc of Mary Avenel had till that moment never given him pain. She. spoke, too, in a'tone where''ic:;row seemed to mingle with reproach, while she asked him wi th \nphas i s , • 'Wliat be was about to do 1'

He showed his cross-bow, aud was about to express the pre­text he had meditated, when Mai-y intemipted 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 yom- heart are aimed at other game—you seek to do battle with this stnuiger '

-And wherefore should I quarrel with our g u e s t r 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 searchin<r after '

Coj.lirijht I-^C bp A. S- C. lU'ir-

MAUV INTEIU'KIJING WITH llALnKUT.

THE MONASTERY 193

The knigiit stootl looking after her with a countenance in which contempt was strongly mingled with mortiiication. ' By my kuigiitliood!' ho ejaculated, ' I have thrown away upon this rude rustic Pliidele a speech which the proudest beauty at tiie court of Felicia—so let me call the Elysium from which I am banislicd—might have termed the verj' matins of Cupid. Hard and inexomble was the fate that sent thee thitlier, Piercie Sliafton, to waste thy wit upon comitry wenches and thy valour upon hobnailed clowns ! But that insult—that afiront —iiad it been oft'ored to me by the lowest plebeian, he must liave died for it by my hand, in respect tlie enormity of the otl'ence dotli countervail the inequality of liim by whom it was given. I trust 1 shall find this clownish roisterer not less will­ing to deal in blows than in taunts.'

While he held this convei-sation with himself, Sir Piercie Shafton was hastening to the little tuft of birch-trees which liad been assigned as the place of meeting. He greeted his antagonist with a courtlj- siUutation, followed by this comment­ary : ' I praj' you to observe that 1 doff my hat to you, thougli ,;o mucli my inferior iu rank, without derogation on my part, inasmuch as my having so far honoincd you in receiving antl admitting your defiance doth, in llio judgment of the best niartialists, iu some sort, and for the time, raise you to a level with me—an honour which you may and ought to aecoimt cheaply purchased even with the loss of your life, if such should chance to be the issue of this ditello.'

' For which condescension,' said Halbert, ' I have to thank the token which I presented to you.'

The knight changed colour, and grinded his teetli with rage. ' Draw your weapon !' said ho to Glendiuning.

' N'ot in tliis spot,! answered the youth ; ' we shoidd be liable to interruption. Follow me, and 1 will bring you to a place where we slmll encounter no such risk.'

He proceeded to walk up the glen, resolving that their place of combat shoidd be iu the cnti-ance of the Con-ie-nan-Shian ; l)otii because the spot, lying under the reputation of being haunted, Nyas very little frequented, and also because he re­garded it as a place which to him might be termed fated, and' wliich 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 wonls, and who had nothing friendly to exchange with each other. Silence,, liowever, waii always an irksome state with Sir Piercie,

X 13

194 .WAVERLKY NOVELS

and, moreover, his auger 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 Halbei-t on the alert activity with wluch ho surmounted the obstacles and impediments of the way.

' Trust me,' sivid he, ' worthy nistic, \vc 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 ai t of fence, which is more akin than dancing to our present pui-pose 1'

' I know nothing more of fencing,' said Halbert, ' than hath been taught mo b j ' an old shepheixl of ours called Martin, and at whiles a lesson from Christie of the Clinthill; for the rest, I must trust to good swoi-d, strong arm, and sound heart.'

'Many and I am glad of it, young Audacity—I will call you my Audacity, and you may call me your Condescension, while we are on these terms of imnatui-al equality—I am glad of your ignorance with all my heart. For we martial ists 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 pimished for yom- outrecuidanco and orgillous presumption by the loss of an ear, an eye, or even of 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 sufticiently for your prcsimiption.'

'Now, by God and Our Lady,' said Halbert, unable any longer to restrain himself, ' thou art thyself ovev-presumi)tuous who speakest tlius daringly of the issue of a combat which is not yet even begun. Are you a god, that you ulrtady dispose of my life and.limbs? or are you a judge in the justice air, telhug, at your ease and without risk, how the head and quarters of a condemned cnmiiml are to be disposed of t'

'No t so, 0 thou whom I have well permitted to call thyself my Audacity ! I, thy Condescension, am neitlier a god to judge the issue of the comkvt befoi-b 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 indififerent good master of

THE MONASTERY . 195

fence, being the first pupil of the first master of the first school of fence that our royal England aftbnls, the said master being no other tluiu 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, 0 my most rustical Audacity, art full like to reap the fruits, so soon as wc sliall find a piece of ground fitting for such experiments.'

They had now reached the gorge of the ravine where Hal-bert had "at first intended to stop; but when he observed the narrowness of the level gi-ound, he began to consider that it was only by superior agility that he could expect to make up liis deficiency in the science, as it was called, of defence, l ie found no spot which afibrdcd snfficient room to traveree for this pur­pose, until liQ 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 clifik with which it was surrounded on every point .Siive that from which the rivulet issued forth, yet large enough for their present pm-posc.

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 sui-prisod to observe that a grave was dug close bj ' the foot of the rock with great neatness and regulai-ity, the green turf being laid down upon the one side, and the earth thrown out in a heap Tipon the other. A mattock and shovel lay by the verge of the grave.

Sir Piercic Shafton bent his eye with unusual seriousness iipon Halbort Glendinning, as he asked Mm sternly, ' Does this bode treason, young man 1 And have you pin-pose 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 1 for the throne of Scotland take odds against a single arm.'

' I believe thou wouldst not, mine Audacity,' said the kniflit resuming thoafiected maimer which was become a second nature to him ; ' nevertheless, this fosse is curiously well shaped, and might be the mastei-piece of nature's last bed-maker I would say the sexton. Wherefore, let us be thankfid to chance or some unknown friend, who hath thus provided for one of us the decencies of sepulture, and let us proceed to detennine which shall have the advantage of enjoying this place of undisturbed slumber.'

So saying, he stripped oft" his doublet and cloak, which he

198 WAVERLEY NOVELS

folded up with great care and deposited upon a large stone, while Halbert Glendinning, not without some emotion, followed his-csample. Their vicinity to the favourite haunt of the White Lady led him to form conjectures concerning the incident of • the grave. ' I t must have been her work !' he thought: ' the Spirit foresaw and has provided for the fatal event of the combat. I must retm-n from this place a homicide, or I must remain here for ever 1'

The bridge seemed how broken down behind him,' and the chance of coming off honourably without killing or bein" killed

_(the hope of which issue lias cheered the sinking heart of many a duellist) seemed now to be altogether removed. Yet the very desperation of liis situation gave him, on an instant's reflection, both firmness and courage, and presented to liim one sole alternative—conquest, namely, or deatti.

' As we are liere,' said Sir Piercie Shaftou, ' unficconipanied by any patrons or seconds, it were well you should pass your hands over my side, as I shall over yours; not that I suspect you to use auy quaint device of privy armour, but in order to comply with the ancient and laudable ciLstom j)ractiscd on all such occasions.'

Wliile, complying with his antagonist's- humom-, Halbert Glendinning went through this ceremony, Sir Piercie Shafton (lid not fail to solicit his attention to the quality and fineness of his wrouglit and embroidered shirt. ' In this very shirt,' .said he, ' 0 mine Audacity—I say in this very garment, in which 1 am now to combat a Scottish rustic like thyself, it was my envied lot to lead tlie winning party at that wondrous match at ballon made betwixt the divine Astrophel—our matchless Sidney—and the right honourable my very good lord of OxfoVd All the beauties of Felicia—by which ntxme I distin-nii.sh 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 suitiible banquet, whereat it pleased the noble Urania—beiiiL' the unmatche* Countess of Pembroke-to accommodate me with her own fan for the cooling my somewhat too much inflamed vi-sage, to requite winch courtesy I said, casting nu-features into a smiling yet melancholy fashion, "-0 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 looki upon me somewhat scornfully, yet not so but what' the ( ing

es-

THE JIONASTERY 197

pcrienced coin-tier might perceive a certain cast of a])probative affection '

Here the knight was inlcmiptcd 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 prolLx in his reminiscences.

' Sir knight,' said the yoiith, ' if this matter be not very much to the piu-pose, 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 WOKIS, for here we spciid it in blows.'

' I crave yoiu- pardon, most rusticated Audacity,' answei'ed Sir Piercie; ' truly I become oblivious of everything beside when the recollections of the divine court of Felicia press upon my weakened memorj^, even as a saint is dazzled when he be­thinks him of the beatific vision. Ah, felicitous Feliciana I delicate nurse of the fair, chosen abode of the wise, the birth­place 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 w-ith harmony, wakened with sprightly sports and tourneys, decored with silks and tissues, ghttering with diamonds and jewels, standing on end with double-piled velvets, satins, and satinettas! '

' The token, sir knight—the token ! ' exclaimed Halbert (jlendinning, who, impatient of Sir Piercie's interminable omtory, reminded him of the gromid of their quarrel, as the best way to compel him to the purpose of their meeting.

And he judged r ight ; 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 wci-e 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 hi.s own share of real merit when he termed hini-self an absolutely good fencer; and Glendintting soon found that he should have great difficulty in escaping with life and honour from such a master of the .sword. The English knigjit was master of all the mystery of the s/ocoiln, imlrocata, punto rfvers^n, incavtala, .and so fortii, which the Italian nia.stei-s of defence had lately introduced into general jn-actice. 13nt (ilcu-dinning, on his part, was no novice in the principles of the art, according to the old Scottish fashion, and possessed the first

198 WAVERLEY KOVELS

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 liis defence, keeping his foot, hand, eye, and body in perfect unison, aiad liolding 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, ITalbert was prompt to pari-y these attacks, cither by shifting his ground or with the sword. The consequence was that, after two or three sharp attempts on tlie part of Sir Piercie, which were evaded or disconcerted by the addi-ess of his opponent, he began to assume the defensive in his turn, fearful of givuig some advantage by being repeatedly the assiulaiit. Ihit Halbert was too cautious to press on a swordsman whose dexterity hivd already more than once placed him within a hair's-brcadth of death, which ho had only escaped by imcommon watchfulness and agility.

When each liad made a feint or two, there was a pause in the conflict, both as if by one assent dropping their sword's point, and looking on ejvcli other for a moment without sjicak-ing. At length Halbert Olondinning, who felt perliaps more uneasy on accomit of his family than he had done before ho had displayed his own courage and proved the strength of liis antagonist, could not help saying, ' I s the subject of our quarrel, sir knight, so niortid that one of our two bodies must needs fill up that grave 1 or maj^ we with honour, having proved oureelves agauist 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 cjipablo of rendering you a reason. Let us jjause for tlie sjjace of one venue, until I give j-ou my o])inion on this dependence; for cei-tain 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 .vith 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 meV

• 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, niternipted Sir Pioreio Shafton, crim-

THE jrOXASTERY 199

soiling with a new fit of rage, ' the thread of tliy life is Hpuu !'

And with these ^rards he attacked with the utmost ferocity tlie Scottish youth, who had but just time to throw liimself into a posture of defence. But the ifish fury of tlio assailant, as frequently happens, disappointed its o\ra purpose; foi', as he made a desperate thrust, Halbcrt Gleudinning avoided it, and, ere the knight could recover his weapon, requited him (to use liis 'own language) with a resolute sioccata, which passed through his body, and Sir Piorcie Sliafton fell to the ground.

CHAPTER XXII

Yes, life li.ith left liijii : every biLsj- thought, Each fiery passion, cverj- strong all'cction, All Ffiisc of outward ill iiiid inward sorrow. Are Hod at once from the jiiile trunk before luo ; And I have given that wliich spoke and moved, Thonght, acted, sulfer'd as a living man. To bo a ghastly form of bloody clay. .Soon the foul food for reptiles.

Old P/oif.

1 BELIEVE few successful duellists, if the word successful can he applied to a superiority so fatal, have beheld their dead antagonist stretched on the earth at their feet without wishin" they could redeem with their own blood that which it has been their fate to spill. Least of all could such indifference bo the lot of so young a man as Halljcrt 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 greensward before Mm, vomiting gore as if impelled by the strokes of a pump. He threw his bloody sword on the ground aud hastened to kneel down and support him, vainly striving! at the sjmic time, to stanch his wound, which seemed rather to bleed inwardly than extenialiy.

The unfortunate knight spoke at intervals, when the syn­cope would permit liim, and his words, so far as intelligible' partook of his affected and conceited, yet not ungenerous! chai-acter. "

'Most i-usticul youth ' lie said, ' thy fortune hath prevailed over knightly skill, and Audacity hath overcome Condescension even a.s the kite halh sometimes hawked at and struck down the falcon-gentle. Fly and save tiiyself ! Take inv pmse ; it is in the nether pocket of my carnation-coloured hose, and is wortl, a clown's acceptance. See that iny mails, with my vestments be sent to the Monastery of St. JIary's (here his voice grew weak, and liis mind and recollection seemed to waver). ] be-

THK MONASTERY 201

stow the cut velvet jerkui, with close brecclics conforming, for —oh !—the good of my soul.'

' Bo of good comfort, sir,' said Halburt, half-distracted witii his agony of pity and remorse. ' I trust you shall yet do well. 0 for a leech !'

' AVere there twenty physicians, 0 most generous Audacity —and that were a grave specbicle—I might not survive : my life is ebbing fast. Commend me to the rustical njTiiph whom I called my Discretion. 0 Cluridiana! true emprcs.s of this bleeding lieart, which now bleedeth ui sad earnest! Place me on the ground at my length, most rusticiil victor, born to quench the pride of the buniing light of the most felicitous coiu-t of Feliciana. 0 saints and angels—knights and ladies—masques and theatres—quaint devices—chain-work and broidery—love, honour, and beauty ' '

AVhile muttering these last words, which slid from him, as it were unawares, while doubtless he was recalUng to mind the glories of the iMiglish court, the gallant Sir Picrcio Shafton stretched out his limbs, gi-oaned 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 ho saw not how it could be presen-ed.

'Why, ' he exclaimed, in vain penitence—'why did I provoke him to an issue so fatal! Would to God I had submitted to the wor.st insult man could receive from man, rather thiiu 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, 1 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 ray shouts, save the evil spirit who has couiiselled this mischief. I t 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 !'

J le spurnctl his bloo<ly shoe from his foot, and repeated the spell with which the reader is well acquainted; but there was neither voice, appurition, nor signal of an.swer. The youth, in the impatience of his dcsjiair, and with the rash hardihood which formed the basis of his character, shouted aloud—' AVitcli—sor­ceress—fiend ! art thou deaf to my cries for help, and so readv

202 WAVERLEY NOVELS

to appear and answer those of vengeance 1 Arise and speak to me, or I will choke up tiiy fountain, tear down thy holly-bush, 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 halloo, from the gorge of the ravine. ' Now may St. Mary be praised,' .said the youth, hastily fasten­ing his sandal, ' I hear tiio voice of some livmg man, who may give me counsel and iielp in this fearful extremity !'

Having donned his sandal, Halbert Glendinning, hallooing at inten'als, in answer to the sound which he had heard ran with the speed of a hunted buck dowii the rugged defilt as if jjaradiso had been before him, hell and all her furies behind, and his eternal happiness or misery had depended upon the speed which ho exei-ted. In a space incredibly short for any one but a Scottish mountaineer having his nerves strung by the deepest and most pa.ssiouate interest, the youth reached the entrance of the ravine, through wiiich the rill that flows down Corrie-nan-Shian discharges itself, and unites with the brook that waters the little valley of Glendearg.

Hero he paused, and looked arounu istn upwards and down-waixls through the glen, without perceiving a human form. His heart sivnk within him. But tiie windhigs of the glen intercepted his prospect, and the person whose voice he had lieaixl might, therefore, be at no great distance, though not obvious to his sight. Tiic branches of an oak-tree, which shot straight out from the face of a tall clift", profl'ered to his bold spirit, steady head, and active limbs tlic means of asccndiu'^ it as a place of outlook, although the enterprise was what most men would Iiavc shnink from. But by one boimd from the earth the active youth caught hold of the lower branch, and swung liimself up into the tree, and in a minute more gained the top of the clifi; from whiclj he could easily descry a Innnan figure descending the valley. I t 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 Haliiert Glendinning did not pause to consider who the traveller might be, or what might be the purpose of his journey To know tliat he saw a human being, and might receive, in the extremity of his distress, the countenance and advice of a fellow-crejiture, was enough for him at the moment. He throw

TIT K MONASTERY 203

himself from tlio pinnacle of the clifT once more into the arms of the ]irajecting oak-ti'cc, whose bouglis waved in middle air, anchored, by the roots in a huge rift or chasm of tlie rock. Catching at the branch which was neiirest to him, he dropped liimsolf from that heigiit npou the gromid; and sucli was the athletic springiness of his youthful sinews, that he pitched there as lightly, and with as little injury, as tho falcon stooping from her wlieel.

To resmne his race at full speed up the glen was the work of an instiiut; and as lie turned angle after angle of the in­dented banks of the valley without mectuig that which he sought, he became half afraid that the form which ho 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 uiexpressible joy, as ho turned round the base of a huge and distiuguisJicd crag, )ic saw, straight before and very near to him, a peraou whose dress, as he viewed it hastily, resembled that of a pilgrim.

He was a man in advanced life, and wearing a long beard, having on his head a large slouched hat, without either band or broach. His dress was a tunic of blaclc serge, wliich, like those commonly called lni.ssar cloaks, liad an upper part, which covered the arms and fell down on the lower; a small scrip and bottle, which himg at his back, witli a stoiit staff in his hand, completed his equipage. >lis step was feeble, like that of one exliausted by a toilsome journej-.

'Save yc, good father!' said tlie youth. 'Cod and Our Lady have sent you to my assistance.'

'And in what, my son, can so frail a creature as I am be of ser\-ice to you 1' siid the old man, not a little surprised at behig thus accosted by so handsome a youth, his features discomposed by anxiety, his face flushed with exertion, his hands and much of liis dress stauied witji blood.

'A man bleeds to death in the valley here, hard by. Come with me—come with me ! You are aged—yon have experience —you have at least your senses—and mine have wellnigh loft 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, 'bu t come instantly to his rescue. Follow mo follow me, without an instant's delay.'

WAVERLKY KOVEI.S 204 204 ,. 1 ,1

that I am "o* .vhoUj imskiUcd ^^^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^

tvaveh' . ;n-,mHpncc of the fiery steed wlicu ' With the "!d>g!) ;" .^"Xep pace with some slow drudge

compelled by his ^'^^ . *^, ^ ' ' P X „ i e d the wayfarer, huraing uporUhe high^vaJ^ Halbcit a c c o ^ a n c ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ . ^ ^ . with anxiety, which he ^ndevs ome ,^j^.^;^ ^ ^ ^ ^ not alarm his compamoi., ^^^° J.;^^ ° ° ^ . they were to turn him. A^^cn they reached the Place ^'^^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ d„^l,tf «1 off the ^Yider glen into the C o n e the t m euc _ ^

pause, as if unwilling ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ " h S go ^ ^ these gr-ey hairs,

b w a r u S ; t . y S l S ^ : ^ - no earthVtreasure

I tempt I t h e r robbery-m^^^^^^^^^^ ^ ^ , ^ . , , _ t ; od of

H e l v e : ' ^ : ! - ' S l ^ ^ c r e r , unless your aid eomes m tuue

to this wounded wretch! ^ < 1 ^ ^ Rinnan passions . . I s it even ml f ' ^ A e t u u e l ^ ^ ^^ . ^^^^^ ^ c t

distui-b tl;c b r - « ; ^ " £ X ^ darkness L d e s the worbs 0 why should 1 1 " ^ " ^ ^ , U its fruits is tho tree known. Lead darkness should '^^.^IIT follow thee ' ' on, unhappy yo>™i ,, ^^ the iouruev than he had evinced

Aiid with l>o"erj^ _ ^ himself'to the uttermost, and hitherto, *^°.„*i:t' J|g own fatigue in his efTorts to keep pace with

his impatient ff^^"' -^^ of Halbert Glendinning when, upon What was tl . ^^ 'P^J j , e saw no appearance of the body of a iTiv ingat thefa t . «pot ^ H^^ ^ . . ^^

Sir riercie Sha ton • ^ , ^^^^y^ 1^,^ indeed vanished a suTiciently "^f " ^ t his doublet remained where he had laid 1 well as the bodj,^buUi^^^^.^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ ,,,,, stained

THE MONASTERY 203

As he gazed round him in terror and astonishment, Halbert's eyes fell upon the place of sepixltuve which had so lately ap­peared to gape for a victim. I t 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 accui-acy of an experienced sexton. Halbert stood aghast. The idea rushed on his mind irresistibly that the earth-heap before him inclosed what had lately been a living, moving, and sentient fellow-creature, whom, ou little provocation, liis fell act had reduced to a clod of the valley, as senseless and as cold as tlie turf under which he rested. Tlie hand that scooped the grave had completed its work; and whose liand could it be save that of tlic mysterious being of doubtful quality whom liis rashness had invoked, and whom he had suflered to intermingle in his destinies 1

As he stood with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, bitterlv ruing his rashness, he was roused by the voice of the stranger," whose suspicions of his guide had again been awakened by find­ing tlie scene sa different from what Halbert had led him to expect. 'Young man, 'he said, 'hast thou baited thy tongue with falsehood, to cut perliaps only a few days from the life of one whom nature will soon call home, without guilt ou thy part to hasten' his joimiey?'

' By the blessed Heaven !—by our dear Lady !' ejaculated Halbert

' Swear not at a l l ! ' 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 liast feigned a tale to lead a liewildercd traveller yet farther astray?'

' As I am a Clu-istian man,' said Glendinuing, ' I left him here bleeding to death; and now I nowhere spy him, and uiucli T doubt that the tomb that thou seest has closed on his mortal remains!'

'And who is he for wlioso fate thou art .so anxious?' said the stranger; 'or how is it possible that this woimded 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

206 WA%T31LEY ^ 0"S^ELS

what power has conveyed him lience, I know no more than thou dost.'

'Piercie Shafton?' said the stranger—'Sir Piercie Shafton of Wilverton, a kinsman, as it is said, of tho great Piercie of Northumberland'! If thou hast slaiu him, to return to tho territories of the proud abbot is to give thy neck to the gallows. He is well known—that Piercie Shaftou—the meddling tool of wiser plottei-s—a Iiare-bi-ained trafficker in treason—a champion of the Pope, employed as a forloni hope by those more politic heads, who have moi-e will to work mischief than valour to encounter danger. Come with me, youth, and s<ive tiiyself fi-om the evil consequences of this deed. Guide me to the Castle of Avenel, and thy reward shall be protection and safety.'

Afain Halbert paused, and summoned his mind to a hasty council. The vengeance with which the abbot was likely to visit the slaughter of Shafton, liis friend, and in some mousxu-o his guest, was likely to be severe; yet, iu the various con­tingencies which he had considered previous to their duel, he had unaccountably omitted to reflect what was to be liis lino of conduct in ease of Sir Piercie falling by his hand. If he retiu-ned to Glendearg, he was sure to draw on his whole family, including Mary Avenel, the resentment of the abbot and com­munity, whereas it was passible that fliglit might make him bo regarded as tbe sole author of the deed, and might avert the indignation of tho 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 lii.s own guilt to that wortliy ecclesiastic, when at a distance from Ulendeai-g, secure his powerful intei-positiou in favour of liis family. These thoughts rapidly passed.througli his mind, and he determined on flight. Tlie sti-aiiger's company and his promised protection came in aid of that resolution; but he was unable to reconcile the in^^tatio^ which the old man cave him

. to accompany him for safety to tho Castle of Avenel "with tho connexions of JuJian, the present usurper of that inheritance ' Good fatlier,' ho said, ' I fear that you mistake tho man with whom you wish me to harbour. Avenel guided Piercie Shafton into Scotland, and bis heuclmian, Christie of tho Clinthill brought the Southron hither.' • '

' Of that, ' said the old man, ' I am well aware. Yet if thou wilt trust to mc, as I have shown no reluctance to confide in thee, tliou shalt find with Julian Avenel welcome, or at least safetv.''

THE MONASTERY 207

' Father,' rejDlied Halbert, ' though I can ill reconcile what thou say est with what Julian Aveuel hath done, yet caring little about tho safety of a creature so lost as myself, and as thy words seem those of tni th and honesty, and finally, as thou didst vender thyself frankly up to my conduct, I will return the confidence thou hast shown, and accompany thee to the Castle of Avenel by a road which thou thyself couldst never have discovered.' He led the way, and the old man followed for some time in silence.

C H A P T E R X X i n

'Tis wlien the wouud is stiffening with tlic cold The warrior first feels imiii ; 'tis when the lieat And fiery fever ol' hia soul is passV), The sinner feels remorse.

Old riay. T H E feelings of compunction with which HalI.ert Glendinnin-was visited upon this painful occasion were deeper than ht

cheap. Ihoy fe 1 far short certainly of those which might have afflicted a mind regulated by better religiovs precepts and more strictly trained under social laws; "but still t l L ^ e ' e deep and severely felt, and divided in Ha bert's heart even H.^

JS^l^'''' '-'^'-- ''-y ---' ^ the it The old traveller walked silently by his side for some time

and then addressed him ' My son, it has been said that sorrow must speak or die U by art thou so much cast down ? To mu thy unhappy tale and it may be that my grey head mav devise counsel and aid for your youn" life . ' ' ' ' • ' "-'"' "'"

' A l a s ! ' .said Halbert Olendinniujr < ,,,„ j.„„ ,,onder whv 1 am cast down 1 I am at this instant a fugitive from n.v f . , ) r ' house, from my mother and from my frimids n d T 7 ' " ' head the blood of a man who injured , r b u I fdT' ' °" '?^ ' which I have thus bloodily requited. Mv hon ^ " ' '^ . /^"Is , have done evil : it were harder than t h S r t k s i f T . V ^ ' unmoved the thought that f liave sent tt," "''^ ^'"^ account, unhoiisclcd and un.shrieved !' "^'^° *° " ^°"«

'Pau.so there, my son,' .said the traveljpv ' Ti, ^ *i i defaced God's image in tiiy nei-hbour-I , „ \ ^ V '°" '''''^^ sent dust to dust hi idle wratT, o icJe. S " ' ' - ' 1 " ° " ' " " ' the deepest dye ; that thou h a s t ' t ' ^ '^1^::::,S^ Ffeaven might have allowed him for wnn„f„, .„ i . ' ' " - "

J 11 t • 4- 11 »i • , 'epontance makes it vet more deadly :• but tor all this tliere is balm in Uilead.'

THE MOXASTKRY . 206

' I understand you not, father,' said Halbert, struck by the solemn tone which was assimied by liis companion.

Tho old man proceeded. ' Thoii hast slain thine enemy—it was a cruel deed ; thou hast cut him ofT perchance in his sins —it is a fearful aggravation. Do yet by my counsel, and in lieu of him whom thou hast perchance consigned to the kingdom of Satan, lot thine efforts wrest another subject from the reign of the Evil One.'

• ' I \iiiderstaud you, father,' said Halbert; ' thou wouldst iiave mo atone for niy rashness by doing service to tho soul of Miy adver.>j.iry. But how may this be 1 I have no money to purchase masses, and gladly would I go barefoot to the Holy [,and to free his spirit from purgatory, only that '

'Myson,'sdd the old man, interrupting him, ' the sinner for whose redemption I entreat j'ou to labour is not the dead hut the living. It is not for the soul of thine enemy I would e.xliort thee to pi-ay, that-has already had its final doom from a Judge as merciful as He is j u s t ; nor, wert thou to coin that rock into du(y,ts, and obtain a mass for each one, would it avail the departed (.) pirit. Where the tree hath fallen it must lie. Hut the sapling, which hath in it yet the vigour and juico of life, may be bendod to the point to which it ought to incline.'

'A r t thou a priest, father?' said the young man, 'or by what commission dost thou talk of such high mattere ] '

' By that of my Almighty blaster,' said the traveller, ' undei-whoso banner I am an enlisted soldier.'

Halbert's acquaintance with religious matters was no deeper than could bo derived from the Archbishop of St. Andrews' Catechism, and the pamphlet called the Twa-pennie Faith, both wiiich were industrio\isly circulated and recommended by the monks of St. Mary's. Yet, however indifferent and superficial a theologian, ho began to suspect that he was now in company" with one of tho gospelloi-s, or heretics, before whose influence the ancient system of religion now tottered to the very founda­tion. Bred up, as may well be presumed, in a holy horror against these formidable sectaries, the youth's first feelings were those of a loyal and devoted church vassal. ' Old man,' he .said, ' wert thou able to make good with thy hand the words that thy tongue hath spoken against our Holy Mother Church, we should have tried \ipon this moor which of our creeds hath the better champion.'

' Nay,' said the stranger, ' if thou ai-t a true soldier of Eome, thou v/ilt not jwuse from thy purpose becjiuse thou hast the

WAVERI.EY NOVELS 210

,n,l of Strength on thy side. Hearken to me, odds of years and J J - t r aa x j ^ . ,

nw sou. I 1" ° * ° ; ' ^ ' ^ . ^Z^ nw m-ofrer I will now show K a v e n . and t l - ^ ^^-t - j e ^ ^ d ^ ^ ^ . i t h the powe.. thee how thou ^ ^ ^ - ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ P ^ e a d from the frail body ^vlueh of this world. / ' ^ ' ; . ^ ; ' " \ f the chair of proud Abbot Boniface ; ' ^ " r f ^ ' ^ u t S him thou hast s J u Piercie Shafton, and

* ' " i ' ' a m Hom-j- W.rfen of . sutct j , ' »«i<l t t e old >.».., ' t "

„ . „ ' o . X to be ' „ . . , . d ' " " - - " . " r : ^ ^ ^ , i £ . willing to venture on whate^ei aangeia my -<iaa

" " ^ i a r k e n ' t o xne, then,' said Halbert; ' to sla.hthee I have no heart- to make thee prisoner were equaUyp:o brmg thy blook on'my head ; to U e thee in tins wild without a gmdc werVlittle better. I will conduct thee, as 1 promised, m safety to 4 e Castle of Avenel; but breathe not, while we are on the iovmiey, a word against the doctrines of the holy church of v S l am an unworthy, but, though an ignorant, a zealous member. When thou art there arrived, beware of thyself: S is a high price upon thy head, and Julian Avenel love.s tViP fflance of gold bonnet-pieces.'

'Yet thou saycst not,' answered the Protestant preacher, for mich he was ' that for lucre he would soil tl^e blood of his guest 1'

' Not if thou comest an invited stranger, relying on his faith,' said the youth : ' evil as Julian may bo, lie dare not break the rites of hospitality ; for, loose as wo on these marches may bo in all other ties, these are respected amongst us even to idolatry,

d his nearest relations would think it incumbent ou them to spill his blood themselves, to efface the disgrace such treason w-ould bring upon their name and lineage. But if thou goeat ' K-invited, and without assurance of safety, I promise theo thv risk is great.

' I am in God's hand,' answered the preacher ; ' it is on His J tjjj^j; I traverse these wilds amidst dangers of every kind ;

'^ '^T I am useful for my Master's sei-vice, they shall not pro-v^ l ac'ainst me, and when, like the barren fig-tree, I can ?iu

THE MONASTERY 211

longer produce fruit, what imports it when or by whom the axo is laid to the root 1'

'Your courage and devotion,' said Glendinning, 'are worthy of a better cause.'

' 'i'liut,' said Warden, ' cannot be : mine is the \try best.' They continued their journey in silence, Halbcrt tJlendiniiiu"

tnicing with the utmost accuracj' the mazes of the dangerous and intricate morasses and hills which dividetl the halidome from the barony of Avcnol. From time to time ho was obliged to stop in order to assist his companion to cross the black inter­vals of quaking bog, called in the Scottish dialect ' hags,' by which the firmer parts of the morass were iuteraccted.

' Courage, old man,' said Halbcrt, as ho saw his companion almost exhausted with fatigue, 'we shall soon be upon hai-d ground. Aud yet, soft as this moss is, I have seen the men-y falconei-s go through it as light as deer when the quaiT>' was upon the flight.'

' True, my son,' answered Warden, ' for so I will still call you, though you term mo no longer father; and even so doth headlong youth puraue its pleasures, without regard to the mire and the peril of the paths through which they arc hun-ied.'

M have already told thee,' answered Ifalbert Olcndinnino' sternly, ' t ha t I will hoar nothing from thee that savoure of doctrine.'

' Nay, but, my son,' answered Warden, ' thy spiritual father himself would surely not dispute the tnith of what I have now spoken for your edification 1'

(ilendinuing stoutly replied, ' I know not how that may b e ; but I wot well it is the fasliion of your brotherhood to bait vour hook with fair discourse, and to hold yoiu-sclves up as an^'ols of light, that you may the better extend the kingdom of darkness.'

'Ahvy God,' replied the preacher, 'pai-don those who have thus reported of His servants ! I will not ofiend thee, my son, by being instant out of season. Thou speak est but as thou art taught; yet sure I trust tliat so goodly a youth will be still rescued, like a brand from the burning.'

While he thus spoke, the verge of the morass was attained, and their path lay on the declivity. Greensward it was, and, viewed from a distance, chequered with its narrow and veixiant line the dark-brown heath which it traversed, though the dis­tinction was not so easily traced when they wore walking on it.*

• 'nilji apocies ofpatli, visible when looked at from a .lisUiico, but not to be seen Wlieii you are w^n it, is called ou the Border by the signillcant iiaioo of a ' blind road,"

„^2 WAVERLF.Y XOVKLS

The old man pursued his journey with comparative ease ; and, unwilling again to awaken the jealous zeal of his young com­panion for Iho Roman faith, he discoursed ou other matters. The tone of his conversation was still grave, moral, and in­structive. He had travelled much, and knew both the language and manners of other countries, concerning which Ilalbcrt Glcn-dimiing, already anticipating the possibility of being obliged to quit Scotland for the deed he had done, was naturally nnd anxiously desirous of infonuation. By degi-ees he was more attracted by I lie chanus of the stranger's conversation than repelled by the dread of his dangerous character as a heretic, and Halhert had called him father more than oiico ere the turrets of Avenel Castle came in view.

The situation of this ancient fortress was remarkable. It occupied a small rocky islet in a momitain lake, or tarn, as such a piece of water is called in Westmoreland. 'I'he lake might be about a mile in circumference, surrounded by hills of considemble height, which, except where old trees and brush­wood occupied the ruviues that divided them from each other, were bare and heathy. 'I'he sui-prise of the spectator wa.s chietly exciie<l by finding a piece of water situated in that high and ,• mountainous region, and the landscape around had features ; which,might rather be temied wild than either romantic ov sublime; yet the scene was not witliout its charms. Under the bui-ning sun of summer, the clear azure of the deep unrufllcd lake refreshed the eye, and impressed the mind witli a pleasing feelino' of deep solitude. In winter, wlieu the snow lay ou the mountains around, these dazzling masses appeared to ascend far beyond their wonted and natiind height, while the lake, which stretched beneath, and filled their bosom with all its frozen waves, lay like the surface of a darkened and broken mirror around tlie lilack and rocky islet, and the walls of the grey castle with which it was crowned.

As the castle occupied, either with its principal buildings or with its flanking and outward walls, every projecting point of rock, which served as its site, it seemed as completely sur­rounded by water as the nest of a wild swan, siive where a narrow causeway extended betwixt the islet and the shore. 13ut the fortres.s wa.s larger in appearance than in reality ; and of the buildings wiiicli it actually contained, many liad lieconio ruinous and uninhabitable. In the times of the grandeur of the Avenel family, these hail been occuiiied by a considerable gun-ison of followers and retainers, but tliey were now in a great

THE >tOXASTKHY 213

measure deserted; and Julian Avencl would jjrobably have lixcd his habitation in a residence better suited to his diminished fortunes, had it not been for the great security which the situation of the old castle aflbixled to a man of his jM-ecarious and perilous mode of life. Jndeed, in this respect the spot could scarce have been more happily chosen, for it covdd be rendered, almost completely inaccessible at the pleasure of the inhabitant. The distance betwixt the nearest shore and the islet was not indeed above an hundred yaixls; but then the causeway which connected them was extremely naiTow, and completely divided by two cuts, one in tlie midway between the islet and shore, and another close under the outward gate of the castle. These formed a formidable, and almost insurmount­able, interruption to any hostile approach. J'Jich was defended by a drawbridge, one of which, being that nearest to the castle, was regularly raised at all times during the day, and both were lifted at night.*

The situation of Julian Aveuel, engaged in a variety of feuds, and a party to almost every dark and mysterious transaction which was on fOot in tliat wild aud militiiry fixjntiei-, required all these precautions for his security. His own ambiguous and do>d)tful coui-se af policy had increased these dangers; for as he made professions to both ])arties iu the state, and occasionally luiitcd more actively with citlicr the one or the other, as chanced best to serve his inmicdiatc purpose, he could not be said to liavc either firm allies aud protectors or determined enemies. His life was a life of expedients and of peril; and while, in pui-suit of his interest, he made all the doubles which he thought necessary to attain his object, he often ovemui his l)rey, aud missed'that which he might have gained by observing a straighter course.

• .iuo Castle of Avuncl. Ni>U 17.

C H A P T E R XXIV

I'll walk on tiptoe ; arm luy eye witli caution, J[y heart with courage, and my hand ^ntli weapon. Like him who ventures on a lion's den.

OU Play.

WuEN, issuing from the gorge of a pass which terminated upon the lake, the travellers came in sight of the ancient castle of Avenel, the old man paused, and, resting upon his pilgrim stuftj looked with earnest attention ujion the scene before him. The castle was, as we have said, in many places ruinous, as was evident, even at this distance, by the broken, rugged, and irregular outluic of the walls and of the towers. In others it seemed more entire, and a pillar of dark smoke, which ascended from the chimneys of the donjon, and sjiread its long dusky pennon through the clear other, indicated that it was inhabited. But no cornfields or inclosed pasturc-gromjds on the side of the lake showed that provident attention to comfort and subsistence which ^ usually ap])eared near the houses of the greater, and even of the lesser, barons. There were no cott^iges with their patches of infield, and their crofts and gardens, surrounded by rows of massive sycamores; no church with its simple .tower in the valley; no herds of sheep among the hills; no cattle on the J lower ground; nothing which intimated the occasional pro- ' secution of the arts of peace and of industry. I t was iilaiui ') that tiio inhabitants, whether few or numerous, nnist bc)^ considered as the garrison of the castle, living within its defended precincts, and subsisting by means which were other \ than peaceful.

Probably it was with this conviction that the old man, gazing on the castle, muttered to himself, ' Lapis offensionis et pelra scandali !' and then, tm-ning to Halbert Glendinniug, he added, ' We may say of yonder fort a.s King James did of an-

THE MONASTERY 215

other fastness in this province, that he who built it was a thief in his heart.' *

' But it was not so,' answered Glendinning; ' yonder castle was built by the old lords of Avenel, men as much beloved in ])eaco ns they were respected in war. They wci'e the bulwark of the frontiei-s against foreiguei-s, and the protcctore of the natives from domestic oppression. The present usurper of their inheritance no more resembles them than the night-prowling owl resembles a falcon bccjiusc she builds on the same rock.'

'This Julian Avenel, tlien, holds no high place in the love and reganl of his neighbours 1' said Wai-deu.

' So little,' answered Halbert, ' that, besides the jaok-meu and riders with whom he has associated himself, and of whom he liius many at his dispo-sal, I know of few who vohmtarily asso­ciate with him. He has been more than once outlawed botli by England and Scotland, his lands declared forfeited, and his head set at a price. But in these xuiquiet times a man so daring as Julian Avenel has ever found some friends willing to protect liim against the penalties of the law, on condition of his secret sci"viccs.'

'You describe a dangerous man,' replied AVaixlen. ' You may have experience of that,' replied the youth, ' if

you deal not the more warily; though it may be that he also has foi-saken the communion of the church, and gone astray in the path of heresy.'

' What your blindness tenns the path of heresy,' answered the Reformer, ' is iudeed the straight and narrow way, wherein he who walks turns not aside, whether for worldly wealth or for worldly passions. Would to Uod this man wore moved by no other and no worse spirit tluui that which prompts my poor endeavours to extend the kingdom of Heaveu ! This Baron of •Avenel is peraonallj' unknown to me, is not of our congregation or of our counsel; yet I bear to him charges touching my safety from those whom he must fear if he does not respect them, and upon that assurance I will venture upon his hold. I am now sufficiently refreshed by these few minutes of-repose.'

' Take, then, this advice for your isafety,' said Halbert, ' and believe that it is foimded upon \ h e usage" of this co\mtry and its inliabitants. If you can better shift for yourself, go not to the Castle of Avenel; if you do risk going thither, obtain from

" It w.ts of LocUvTOwl, tlio hcrcilitai-y fortress of the Johiistonca of Annanilalo, n stronp castle situated in the centre of a auakinc boe, that JamM VI. made this remarl;. ^ o =.

216 WAVKRLEY XOVKLS

•him, if possible, his bafc-conduct, aud beware that he swears it by the Black Rood. And lastly, observe whether he cats with you at the board, or j)ledges you in the cup; for if lie gives you not these sigus of welcome, his thoughts are evil towards you.'

' Alas !' said the preacher, ' 1 have no better earthly refuge for the present than these frowning towers, but I go thither trusting to aid which is not of this earth. But thou, good youth, needest thou trust thyself in this dangerous den? '

' 1 / answered Halbert, ' am in uo danger. I am well known to Christie of the Clinthill, the heuchman of tliis Julian .A vend ; and, what is a yet better j)rotection, I have nothing eitiier to pi-ovoke malice or to tempt plunder.'

The tramp of a steed, which clattered along the shingly banks of the loch, was now heaixi behuid them ; and, when Ihcy looked back, a rider was visible, his steel cap and the point of his long lance glancing in the settuig sun, as he rode rapidly towards them.

Halbert Glendinning soon recognised Christie of the Clint-hill, and made liis companion aware that the hcncliraan of Julian Avenel was approaching.

' Ha, youngling !' said Christie to Halbert, as ho came up to them, ' thou hast made good mj' word at last, luid come to take •service with my noble mastci', hast thou not? Thou shalt find me a good friend and a t rue ; and ere St. Barnaby come round again, thou shalt know every pass betwixt Millburn Plain and Netherby, as if thou hadst been bom with a jack on thy back and a lance in thy hand. AVhat old carle hast thou with thee? He is not of the Ijrothcrhood of St. Jlai-j-'s: at least he has not the buist of tliese black cattle.'

'He is a wayfaring man,'Sfiid Halbert, 'who has concerns with Julian of Avenel. For myself, 1 intend to go to lulin-burgh to see the court and the Queen, and when I return hither we will talk of your profier. Meantime, as thou hast often invited me to the castle, I crave hospitality tliorc to-night for myself aud my companion.'

'For thyself, a-nd welcome, young comrade,' i'e],lied Christie ; ' b u t wc liarbour no pilgrnus, nor aught that looks like a pil­grim.'

'So please you,' said Warden, ' I have letters of conuucnda-tion to tliy master fiom a .sure friend, whom lie will right willingly oblige in highci matters than in aftbixJing me a brief protection. And I am no pilgrim, but renounce the same, with all its superstitious observances.'

THK MONASTKKY 217

He otlcred his letters to the hoi-senuin, wlio shook his head. ' These,' he said, ' are matters for my master, and it will be

well if he can read them liimself; for mo, swonl and lance ai-e mv book and psalter, and have been since I was twelve years old. But I will guide you to the castle, and the Baron of Avenel will himself judge of your crmnd.'

By this time the party had reached the causeway, along which Christie advanced at a trot, intimating his presence to the warders within the castle by a shrill and peculiar whistle. At this signal the farther drawbridge was lowered. The hoi-se-man passed it, and disappeared inider the gloomy portal which was beyond it.

Glendinning and his companion, advancing more leisurely along the rugged causeway, stood at length under the same gateway, over which frowned iu dark red fi'cest<jne the ancient armorial bearings of the house of Avenel, which represented a female figure shrouded and muffled, which occupied the whole field.* The cause of their assuming so singular a device was vmccvtain, but the figure was gcucrally supposed to represeut the mysterious being called the White Lady of Avenel. The sight of this mouldering shield awakened in the mind of Halbert the stninge circumstances which had connected his fate with that of Mary Avenel, and with the doings of the spiritiial being who was attached to her house, and whom he saw here repre­sented in stone, as he had before seen her efiigy njx)n the seal ring of Walter Avenel, which, with other trinkets formerly men­tioned, had been saved from pillage and brought to Glendearg when Mary's mother was driven from her habitation.

' Vou sigh, my son,' said the old man, observing the im-l)re.ssion made ou his youthfid companion's countenance, but mistaking the cause : ' if you fear to enter, we may yet return.'

' That can you not,' said Christie of the Clinthill, who emerged at that iusUuit from the side door under the archway. ' Look yonder, and choose whether you will return skimrnnii the water like a wild duck, or wuiging the air likc^a plover.'

They looked, and saw that the drawbridge"which they had just crossed was again raised, and now interposed its planks betwi.xt the setting sun and the ])ortal of the castle, deepening the gloom of the arch under which they stootl. Christie laughed, and bid them follow hiin, saying, by way of encourage-

• Tlicre is :m nnciciit English familv, I bolioi e, which bears, or ili<l bear, a ffhost or Biiirit vt-'«in salile in .1 lieW argent. Tliis sccniS to liavc IJ«U a device of a v"'"""8 or 'cantin;;' lienild.

218 WAVERLEY NOVELS

mcnt, in Halbert's ear, ' Answer boldly and readily to whatever the Baron asks you. Never stop to pick your words, and above all show no fear of h im: the devil is not so black as he is painted.'

As he spoke thus, he introduced them into the large stone hall, at the upper end of which blazed a huge fire of wood. The long oaken table, which, as usual, occupied the midst of the apartment, was covered with rude preparations for the evening meal of the Baron and liis chief domestics, five or sis of whom, strong, athletic, ssivage-looking men, paced up and down the lower cud of the hall, which rang to the jarring clang of their long swords that clashed as they moved, and to the heavy tramp of their high-heeled jack-boots. Iron jacks, or coats of bu&^ formed the principal part of their dress, and steel bonnets, or lai-ge slouched hats with Spanisii phuncs drooping backwards, were their head attire.

The Baron of Avenel was one of those tall, muscular, martial figures which are the favourite subjects of Salvator Rosa. He wore a cloak which liad been once gaily trimmed, but which, by long wear and frequent exposure to the weather, was now faded in its colours. Thrown negligently about his tall person, it partly hid and partly showed a short doublet of bufl", under which was in some places visible that light shirt of mail which was called a ' secret,' because worn instead of more ostensible armour, to protect against private assassination. A leathern belt sustiviued a large and heavy sword on one side, and on the other that gay poniard which had once called Sir Piyrcie Shafton master, of which the hatchments and gildings were already much defaced, either by rough usage or neglect.

Notwithstanding the rudeness of his apparel, Julian Aveuel's manner and countenance had far more elevation than those of the attendants who surrounded him. He might be fifty or upwards, for his dark hair was mingled witii grey, but a<'e had neither t:;med the fire of his eye nor the enterprise "of his disposition. His countenance had been handsome, for beauty was an attribute of tlic family ; but the linesWere roughened by fatigue and exposure to the weather, and rendered^coarso by the habitual indulgcuce of violent passions.

He seemed in deep and moody reflection, and was pacing at a distance from his dependants along the upper end of the hall, sometimes stopping from time to time to caress and feed a goshawk, which sat upon his wist , with its jesses (i e. the leathern straps fi.xed to its legs) wrapt around his hand The

THE MONASTERY • 219

bird, which seemed not insensible to its master's attention, answered his caresses by raffling forward its feathers and peck­ing playfully at his finger. At such intervals the Baron smiled, but instantly resumed the darksome air of sullen meditation. He did not even deign to look upon an object which few could have passed and reixissed so often without bestowing on it a transient ^jlance.

Tliis .was a woman of exceeding beauty, ratlier gaily tlian richly attired, who sat on a low seat close by the luige hall chimney. The gold chains roimd her neck and amis ; the gay gown of green whicli swept tlie floor; the silver-embroidered gii-dle, with its bunch of keys, depending in housewifely pride by a silver chain; the yellow silken couwe-duf (Scottice, curch) which was disposed around her head, and partly concealed lier dark jjrofusion of hair; above all, tlie circumstances so delicately touched in the old ballad, that ' the girdle was too sliort,' the 'gown of green all too strait,' for the wearer's present sha])c, would have intimated the Baron's lady. But then the lowly seat; the expression of deep melancholy, whicli was changed into a timid smite whenever she siiw the lea.st chance of catcli-ing the eye of Julian Aveuel; tlie subdued look of grief, and the starting tear 'for which that constrained smile was again exchanged when slie saw lierself entirely disregaixied—these were not the attributes of a wife, or [mther] they were those of a dejected and afflicted female who had yielded her love on less than legitimate temis.

Julian Aveuel, as we have said, continrccd to pace the hall without payhig any of that mute attention which is rendered to ahnost every female either by affection or courtesy. He seemed totally unconscious of her presence, or of that of his attendants, and was only roused from his own dark reflections by the notice he paid to the falcon^o which, however, the lady seemed to attend, 'as if studyuig t#fiud either an opjiortunity of speaking to the Baron, or of iiilding something enigmatical in the expressions which lie used to the bird. All this the straugera had time enough to remark; for no "sooner had they entered the apartment than their usher, Christie of the Clint-hill, after exchanging a significaut glance with the menials or troopere at the lower end of the apartment, signed to Halbcrt Gleudinning and to his companion to stsind still near the door, while he liiinself, advancing nearer the table, placed himself in such a situation as to catch the' Baix)n's observation when ho should be disposed to look around, but without presuming to

•220 WAVKKr,EY NOVELS

in t rude himself on his master 's notice. Indeed, the look of this-niau, natumlly bold, hardy, and audacious, seemod totally changed when he was in presence of his lortl, and resembled the dejected and cowering manner of a quarrelsome dog when rebuked by' his owner, or when he finds himself obliged to deprecate tlie violence of a superior adversary of his own species.

In spite of the novelty of his own situation, and every pain­ful feeling connected with it, Halbert felt his curiosity iptercsted in the female who sate by the chimney umioticed and un-regaixled. He marked with what keen and trembling solicitiide she watched the broken words of Julian, and how her glance stole towards him, ready to be averted upon the slightest chance of his perceiving himself to be watched.

^Meantime, he went on with his dalliance with liis feathered favourite, now giving, now withholding, the morsel witli which ho was about to feed tiie bird, and so exciting it« appetite and • a-atifying it by tunis. ' W h a t ! more yet? Thou foul kite, tliou wouldst never have done: give thee part thou wilt liave all. -^y, prune thy foathei-s, and prink thy.self gay—much thou wilt make of it now; dost think I know thee not? dosf think I see not tliat all that ruffling and pluming of wing and feathei-s is not for thy master, but to try what thou ctuist make of him, thou greedy gled? Well—there—take it then, and rejoice thyself; little boou goes far with thee, and with all thy sex—and so it should.'

He ceased to look on the biixl, and again ti-.iverscd the apartment. Then biking another small piece d" raw meat from

. t h e trencher, on which it was placed ready cut for his use, he began once again to tempt and tease tiie biixl, by oflering and withdrawing it, until he awakened its wild and' bold disposi­tion. ' W h a t ! struggling, fluttering, aiming at uie with beak and single?* So la ! so hj wouldst mount? wouldst lly ? the jesses are round thy clutchva, fool: thou ciuist neither stir nor soar, but by my will. Beware thou come to reclaim, wench, else 1 will wi'ing thy head ofl' one of these days. 'Well, have it then, and well fare thou with it. So ho, Jenkin !' One of the attendants stepped forward. 'I 'ake tiic foul gled hence to the mew—or, stay, leave her, but look well to lier casting and to her bathing: we will see hei- fly to-mon-ow. How now, dliristie. so soon returned ?'

Cliristie advancetl to his master, and gave an account of

• In Uic l:<n'll'J InoRuage of liawkiDc, as Udy Jul ian Bcrners tomiii it liawl« Ulons aro caUed suigles-

JULIAN AVKNKL CAUESSINd THE (iOSHAWK.

TIIK JIOXASTERY 221

himself and his journey, in tlib way in whicli a police-ofticer holds communication with his magistrate, that is, as mucli bv signs as by words.

'Xoblo sir,' said that worthy satellite, ' the Laird of ,' he named no place, but pointed with his finger in a south­western direction, ' may not ride with you the day he piu-posed, because the Lord Warden has threatened that he will '

Here another blank, intelligibly enough made up b' the speaker toichiug his own neck with his left forefinger, and leaning his head a. little to one side.

'Cowaixlly eaitift'l' said Julian. ']?y Heaven! the whole wo'rld turns sheer naught—it is not worth a brave man's living in; ye may ride a day and night, and never see a feather wave or hear a horse prance; the spirit of our fathei's is dead among-st us—the very brutes are degenerated—the cattle we briug home at our life's risk are mere carrion—our liawks are riilers—our homids are tiu'nspits and trindle-tails—our men are women—and our women are '

He looked at the female for the first time, and stopped sliort in tlio midst of v.'hat lie was about to s.ay, though there was something so contemptuous in the glance tiiat the blank mi<»ht have been thus filled up—' Our women are such as she is.'

fie said it not, however, and, as if desirous of attracting his attention at all risks, and in whatever mannei-, she rose and came forwanl to him, but with a timorousuess ill-disguised In-aflected gaiety. ' Our women, Julian—what would you say of the women?'

'Nothing^' answered Julian Avenel, ' a t least nothing but that they are kind-hearted wenches like thyself, Kate.' The female coloured deeply, and returned to her seat. ' .And what strangers ha.st thou brought with thee, (.'hristie, that stand ' yonder like two stone statues?' said the liaron.

' The tidier,' answered Christie, ' is, so please you, a j'onng fellow called Halbert (Jlendinning, the eldest son of the old widow at (Hendcarg.'

'Wha t brings him here?' said the Baron.- 'Hath he any message from ^lary Avenel?'

'Not as I think,' said Christie; ' iho youth is rovinif the country: he was always a wild slip, for I have known him since he was tlie height of my swoixl.'

'What qualities hath he? ' said the Baron. 'All manner of qualities,' answered bis follower: 'he can

strike' a buck, track u deer, fly a hawk, halloo to a hound; he

222 WAVERT.EY NOVELS

shoots in the long and cross-bow to a Imir's-brcadth, wields a lance or swoitl like myself nearly, backs a. horse manfully and fairly ; I wot not what more a man need to do to make him a gallant companion.'

' And wlio,' said the Baron, ' is the old miser * who stands beside him 1'

' Some cast of a priest as I fancy ; he says he is charged •with lettci-s to you.'

' Bid them come forward,' said the Baron; and no sooner had they approached him more nearly, than, struck by the fine fonn and strength displayed by Halbert Glendinuing, he addressed him thus : ' I am told, young swaukie, that you are roaming the world to seek your fortune; if you will serve Julian Avenel, yo\i may find it without gohig farther.'

' So please you,' answered Oleudinning, ' .something has chanced to me that makes it better I sliould leave this land, and I am bomid for Edinburgh.'

' ^^^lat l thou hast stricken some of the king's deer, I warnmt; or lightened the meadows of St. Mary's of some of their beeves ; or thou hast taken a moonlight leap over the Boixler 1'

' No, sir,' said Halbert, ' luy case is entirely difterent.' ' Then 1 warrant theo,' said the Baron, ' thou hast stabbed

some brother churl in a fray about a wench : thou art a likely lad .to wrangle in such a cause.'

Inefiably disgusted at his tone and manner, Halbert Glen-dinning remained silent while the thought darted across his mind, what woiUd Julian Avenel have said, had lie known the quarrel, of which he spoke so lightly, had ariseil' on account .of his own brother's daughter! ' But bo thy cause of flight what it will,' ssiid Julian, in continuation, 'do.st thou think the law or its emissaries can follow thee into this island, or arrest thee under the standard of Avenel 1 Look at the depth of the lake, the strength of the walls, the length of the causeway; look at my men, and think if they are likely to see a conu-ade injured, or if I, their muster, am a man to desert a faithful follower, in good or evil. I tell thee, it shall be an eternal day of truce betwixt thee and justice, as they call it, from the instant thou hast put my colours into thy cap : thou shalt ride by the warden's nose as tliou \vouldst pass an old market-woman, and ne'er a cur wliich follows him shall dare to bay at thee! '

' I thank you for your offers, noble sir,' replfed Halbert,

• Used in llie sense in ivliich It often occui-s In Spenser, and wliich is indeed its literal import, ' HTetcUed old man.'

THK MONASTERY 223

' bu t I must answer in brief, tlmt T cannot profit bj ' them ; my fortunes lead me elsewhere.'

' Thou art a self-willed fool for thy pains,' said Julian, turn­ing from him; and signing Christie to approach, he whispered in his ear, '"There is promise in that young fellow's looks, Ciu'istie, and we want men of limbs and sinews so compacted ; those thou hast brought to me of late are the mere refuse of mankind, wretches scai'ce worth the arrow that ends them: this youngster is limbed like St. George. Ply him with wine and wassail; let the wenches weave their meshes about him like spiders—^thou understandest ?' Christie gave a sagacious nod of intelligence, and fell back to a respectful distance from liis master. 'And thou, old man,' said the Baron, turning to the elder traveller, 'hast thou been roaming the world after fortune too ? it seems not she has fallen into thy way.'

' So please you,' replied Warden, ' I were perhaps more to be pitied than I am now had I indeed met with that fortune which, like others, I ha^-c sought in my greener days.'

' Nay, uuderstivnd me, friend,' said the Baron ; ' if thou art satisfied with thy buckram gown and long staff, I also am well content thoii shouldst be as poor and contemptible as is good for the health of thy bodj- and soul. All 1 care to know of thee is, the cause which hath brought thee to my castle, where few crows of thy kind cave to settle. Thou art, I wan-ant thee, some ejected monk of a suppressed convent, paying in his old days the price of the luxurious idleness in which he spent his youth. Ay, or it may be some pilgi-im with a budget of lies from St. James of Compostella or Our Lady of Loretto; or thou maj'est be some pardoner with his budget of relics from Home, forgiving sins at a penny a-dozen, and one to tlie tale. Ay, I guess why I fiud tiiee in this boy's company, and doubtless thou wouldst have such a strapping lad as ho to carry thy wallet, and relieve thy lazy shoulders; but, by the ma.ss, I will cross thy cunning. I make my vow to sun and moon, I will not see a proper lad so misleard as to run the comitry witli an old knave, like gimmie and his brother. Away with thee ! ' he added, rising in wrath, and speaking so fast as to give no opportunity of answer, being probably determined to terrify the elder guest into an abrupt flight—'away with thee, with thy clouted coat, scrip, and scallop-shell, or, by the name of Avenel. I will liave thcin loose the hounds on thee !'

Wvden waited with the greatest patience until Juli»n

224 WAVKULKY NOV MLR

Aveuel, astonished that tlie tiireafs and violence of his language made no impression on him, paused in a sort of wonder, and said in a less imperious tone, ' Why the fiend dost thou not answer mc-l'

'When you have done speaking,' said Warden, in the Siime composed manner, ' it will be full time to reply.'

' Say on, man, in the devil's name; but t ike Iieed—beg not here—were it biit for the rinds of cheese, the refuse of the rats, or a moi-sel that my dogs would turn from—neither a gi-ain of meal, nor the nineteenth part of a grey groat, will I give'to anv feigned limmar of thy coat.'

' I t may be,' imswered Warden, ' that you would have less (^nan-el with ray coat if you knew what it covers. I am neither friar nor mendicant, and" would be right glad to hear thy testi­mony against these foid deceivei-s of (iod's church, and usui-pers of His rights over the Christian flock, were it given in C^hristian charity.'

'And who or what art thou, then,' said Avenel, ' t ha t thou comest to this Border land, and art neither monk, nor soldier nor broken man 1' '

' I am an hiunblo teacher [preacher] of the Holy Word,' answered Warden. ' This letter from a most "oblo pei-son will speak why I am here at this present time.'

He delivered the letter to the Baron, who regarded the seal •with some surprise, and then looked on the letter itself, which seemed to excite still more. Ho then fi.\ed his eyes on the stranger, and said, in a menacing tone, ' 1 think thou darest not betray me or deceive me 1'

' I am not the man to attempt either,' was the concise reply.

Julian Avenel carried the letter to the window, where lib perused, or at least attempted to peruse, it more than once, often looking from the paper and gazing on the stii\nger ^viio had delivered it, as if he meant to read the purport bf the missive in the face of the messenger. Julian at length called to the female—' Catherine, bestir thee, and fetch mo presently that letter which I bade thee keep ready at hand in thy casket, Laving no sure lockfast jilace of my own.'

Catherine went with the readiness of one willing to be em­ployed ; and as she walked, the situation which retiuires a wider gown and a longer girdle, and in which woman claims from man a double portion of the most anxious care, was still more visible than before. She soon returned with the papev, and

TIIK jrONASTRRY . 225

was rewarded with a cold—'I thank thee, wench; thou art a careful secretary.'

This second pa])er lie also perused and repeiiiscd moi-e than once, and still, as he read it, bent from tune to time a warj- and observant ej'C upon Henry Warden. This examination and re-examination, though both the man and the place were dangerous, the preacher endured with the most composed and steady countenance, seeming, under the eagle, or rather the vulture, eye of the Baron, as tnmiovcd as under the gaze of an oi-dinary and peaceful pc;u5<int. At length Julian Aveuel folded both papers, and having put them into the pocket of his cloak, cleared his brow, and, coming forwai-d, addressed his female companion. ' Catherine,' said he, ' I have done this good man injustice, when I mistook him for one of the drones of Home, lie is a preacher, Catherine—a preacher of the—the new doctrine of the Loi-ds of the Congregation.'

' The doctrine of the blessed Scriptiu-es,' said the preacher, 'purified from the devices of men.'

' Sayest thou 1' said Julian Avenel. ' Well, thou maycst call it what thon lists; but to me it is recommended because it flings ofT all those sottish dreams about saints and angels and devils, and mihorscs the lazy monks that have ridden us so long, and spur-galled us so hard. No more masses and corpse-gifts; no more tithea and ofTerings to make men poor; no more prayers or psalms to make men cowai'ds; no more christenings" and penances, and confessions and marriages.'

' So please yon,' said Henry Warden, ' it is against the cor­ruptions, not against the fundamental doctrines, of the church, which we desire to renovate, and not to abolish.'

' Prithee, pcjice, man,' Sixid the Baron ; ' we of the laity care not what you set up, so you jiull merrily down what stands in our way. Specially it suits well with usof the southland fells; for it is our profession to turn the world upside down, and wc live ever the blythest life when the downer siSe is uppermost'

Warden would have replied ; but the Baron allowed him not time, striking the table with the hilt of his dacger, and crymg out—' Ha ! you loitering knave-s, bring our supper meal quickly. See you not this holy man is exhausted for lack of food? Heaixl ye over of priest or preacher that devoured not his five meals a-day 1'

The attendants bustled to and fro, and speedily brought in sevei-al large smoking plattcra, filled with huge pieces of beef, boiled- and roasted, but without any variety whatsoever, with-

X 15

226 .WAVERLEY N0^'^5LS

out vegetables, and almost without bread, though there was at the upper end a few oat-cakes in a basket.

Julian Avcnel made a sort of apology to Warden. 'You have been commended to our care, sir preacher, since that is your style, by a person whom we highly honour.'

' I am assured,' said Warden, ' that the most noble Lord ' ' Prithee, peace, man,' said Avcnel; ' what need of naming

names, so we underetand each other 1 I meant but to speak in reference to your safety and comfort, of which he desires us to be chary. Now, for j'our safety, look at my walls and water. But touching your comfort, we have no corn of our own, and the meal-girncls of the south arc less easily transported than their beeves, seeing they have no legs to walk upon. But what though ? a stoup of wine thou shalt Iiave, and of the best; tliou shalt sit betwi.xt Catherine and me at the board-end. And, Christie, do thou look to the young springald, and call to the cellarer for a flagon of the best.'

The Baron took his wonted place at the upper end of the board; his Catheiine sate down, and courteously pointed to a seat betwixt thorn for their reverend guest. But, notwithstand­ing the influence both of hunger and fatigue, Henry Warden retained his standing posture.

C H A P T E R XXV

When lovely womau stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray

JULIAN AVENEL saw with suriDriso the demeanour of the revei-end stnuigcr. 'Beshrow me,'he said, 'these new-fashioned religioners have fast-days, I waniuit mo; the old ones used to confer these blessings chiefly- on the laity.'

' We acknowledge no such iiile,' said the preacher. ' We hold that our faith consists not in iisiug or abstainmg from special meats on special days ; and iu fasting we rend our hearts, and not om- garments.'

' 'I'he better—tiw better for yourselves, and the worse for Tom Tailor,' said the Baron; ' but come, sit down, or, if thou needs must e'en give us a cast of thine ofiice, mutter thy cliarni.'

'Sir Baron,' said the preacher, ' I am in a strange land, where neither mine office nor my doctrine are known, and where, it would seem, both are greatly misunderetood. I t is my duty so to bear mo that iu my person, however unworthy, my -Master's dignity may be respected, and that sin may take no coiifideuce from relaxation of the bonds of discipline.'

' Ho la ! halt there,' said the Baron; ' thou wert scut hither tor thy safety, but not, I thiuk, to preach to or control me. What IS It thou wouldst have, sir preacher? Hemember thou speakest to one somewhat short of patience, who loves a short licalth and a long dmught.'

I In a word, then,' said Hem-y Warden, ' that lady ' How! said the Baron, starting—' what of her ? What hast

thou to say of that dame ?' ' Is she thy house-dame 1' said the preacher, after a moment's

pause 111 which he seemed to seek for the best mode of express­ing what he had to say—' is .she, in brief, thy wife?'

Ihe'mifortunate young woman pressed both her hands on

228 WAVKRLEY NOVELS

her face, as if to hide it, but the deep blush which crimsoned her brow and nock showed that her cheeks were also glowing; and the bm-stiug tears, which found their way betwixt her slender fingers, bore witness to her son-ow, as well as to her shame.

'Now, by my father's ashes !' said the Baron, rising and spuming from him his footstool with such violence that it hit the wall on the opposite side of the apartment; then, instantly constraining himself, he niuttercd, ' What need to riin naysclf into trouble for a fool's word?' Then resuming his seat, lio answered coldly and scornfully, ' No, sir priest or sir preacher, Catherine is not my wife—Cease thy whinipei-ing, thou foolish wench !—She is not my wife, but she is handfasted witli me, and that makes her as honest a woman.'

' Handfasted !' repeated Warden. ' Kuowest thou not that rite, holy man ?' said Avcncl, m the

same tone of derision; ' then I will tell tlice. We Border men are more wary than yoiu- inland clowns of Fife and Lothian : no jump in the dark for us, no clenching the fetters around our wrists till we know how they will wear'with us : we take our wives, like our horses, upon trial. When we are handfasted, as we term it, wo arc man and wife for a year and day; that space gone by, each may choose another mate, or, at their pleasure, may call the priest to many them for life; and this we call handfiisting.' *

''I'hen,' said the preacher, ' I tell thee, uoble IJuron, in brotherly lovo to thy soul, it is a custom licentious, gross, and con-upted, and, if pereisted in, dangerous, yea (Jamuable. It binds thee to the frailer being while she is tlie object of desire; it relieves thee when she is most the subject of pi ty; it gives all to brutal sense, and nothuig to genei-ous and gentle affec­tion. I say to thee, that he who can meditate the breach of such an engagement, abandoning the deluded woman and tlic helpless offspring, is worse than the birds of prey; for of them the males remain with tlieir mates until the nestlings cau take wing. Above 'all, I say it is contraiy to the pure Cliristian doctrine, which assigns woman to man as the partner of his labour, the soother of his evil, his liolpmate in peril, his friend in afliiction; not as the toy of his looser hours, or as a flower which, once cropped, he may throw aside at pleasure.'

' Now, by the saints, a most virtuous homily!' said the • See Nolo 18.

f HE MONASTERY 229'

Baron; 'quaintly conceived and curious]- prouounced, and to a wcll-choscn coiigrogatiou. Hark ye, sir gospeller! tixiw ye to have a fool in hand! Know I not that your sect rose by bluir Harry Tudor, merely because ye aided him to change /lis Kate; and wherefore should I not use the same Christian liberty with min^'i Tush, man ! bless tlic good food, and meddle not with wliat concerns thee not; thou hast no gull in Julian AvencL' •

' He hatli gulled and cheated himself,' said the preacher, 'should he even incline to do that poor sharer of liis domestic cares the imperfect justice that remains to him. Can he now raise her to tlie rank of a pure and uncontaminated matron ? Can he deprive his child of the misery of owing birth to a mother who has erred 1 He can indeed give them both the rank, the state'of married wife and of lawfid son; but, in public opinion, their names will be smirched and sullied with a stiiin which his tardy efforts cannot cntirelj' efliice. Yet render it to them. Baron of Aveuel—render to them this late and imperfect justice. Bid mo bind you together for ever, and celebrate the day of your bridal, not with feasting or wassail, but with' sorrow for past sin, and the resolution to commence a better life. Happy then will the chance have been that has drawn me to this castle, though I come driven by calamity, and unknowing where my coiii-se is bound, like a leaf travelling on the north wind.'

Tiie plain, and even coarse, features of the zealous speaker were warmed at once and ennobled by the dignity of his en­thusiasm ; lyid the wild Baron, lawless as he was, and accus­tomed to spurn at the control whether of religious or moral law, felt, for tlie fust time perhaps in hi.s life, that he iras under subjection to a mind superior to his own. He sat mute and suspended in his deliberations, hesitating betwixt anger and shame, yet borne down bv the weight of the just rebuke thiif boldly fulminated iigainst him.

The unfortunate young woman, conceiving hopes from her tyrant's silence and apparent indecision, forgot both her fear and shame in her timid expectjition that Avenel would relent; and fixmg n])on him lier anxious and beseeching eyes, gi-adually drew near and nearer to his seat, till at length, laying'a trembling hand on liis cloak, she ventured to utter, ' 0 noble Julian, listen to the good man !'

The speech and tlie motion were ill-timed, and wrought on that proud and wayward spirit the reverse of her wislies.

230 'WA\'T:TILEY NOVELS -

The fierce Baron started np in fiuy, exclaiming, ' What ! thou foolish callet, art thou confederate with this strolling vagabond, whom thou hast seen beard me in mine own hall! Hence with thee, and think that I am proof both to male and female hypocrisy!'

The poor girl started back, astounded at his voice of thunder and looks of fury, and, turning pale as death, endeavom-ed to obey his oi-dei-s, and tottered towards the door. Her limbs failed in the attempt, and she fell on the stone lloor in a manner which her situation might have rendered fatiil. The blood giished from her face. Halbert Glcndinuing brooked not a sight so brutal, but, uttering a deep imprecation, started from his seat, and laid his hand on his sword, under the strong impulse of passing it tlu'ough the body of the cruel and hard-liearted ruffian. But Christie of the Clinthill, guessing his in­tention, tlu-ew liis arms around him, and prevented him from stiiTing to execute his purpose.

The impulse to such a dangerous act of violence was indeed but momentaiy, as it instantly appeared that Avenel himself, shocked at the eflects of liis violence, was lifting up and endea­vouring to soothe in his own waj' the terrified Catherine.

'Peace,' he said—'prithee, peace, thou silly minion; why, Kate, though I listen not to this tramping preacher, I said not what might liappen an thou dost bear me a stoait boy. There—there—drj' thy teai-s—call thy women. So ho ! where be these queans? Christie—Rowley—Hutcheon—drag them hither by the hair of the head !'

A half-dozen of startled, wild-looking females rushed into the room, and bore out her who might be either tonned their misti'css or their companion. She .showed little sign of life, except by gi-oaning faintly and keeping her hand on her side.

No sooner had this luckless female been conveyed from the apartment than the Baron, advancing to the tabic, filled and drank a deep goblet of wine ; then putting an obvious restraint on his passions, turned to the preacher, who stood horror-struck a t the scene he had witnessed, and Siiid, ' You have borne too hard on us, sir ih-cacher; but coming with the commendations whicli you have brought me, I doubt not but your meaning was good. But we are a wilder folk than you inland men of Fife and Lothian. Be advised, therefore, by mc. Spur not an unbroken horse; i)ut not your ploughshare too deep into new land. Preach to us spiritual liberty, and we will hearken to you ; but we will give no way to spiritual bondage. Sit, there-

'rilK MOXASTERY 231

fore, down, and pledge mo in old sack, and we will talk over other matters.'

' It is / row spiritual bondage,' said the preacher, iu the same tone of admonitory reproof, ' that I came to deliver you—it is from a bondage more fearful than that of the heaviest earthly gyves : it is from your own evil passions.'

'Si t down,' said Avoncl, fiercely—'sit down while the play is good, else by my father's crest and my mother's honour—: !'

'Now,' whispered Christie of the Clinthill to Halbert, 'if ho refuse to sit down, I would not give a_ grey groat for his head.'

' Lord Bai-on,' said Wai-dcn, ' thou hast placed me in ex­tremity. But if the question be, whether I am to hide the light which I am commanded to show forth or to lose the light of this world, my choice is made. I say to thee, like the Holy Baptist to Herod, it is not lawful for thee to have this woman ; and I say it, though bonds aud death be the consequence, counting my life as nothing in comparison of the ministry to which 1 am called.'

Julian Avenei', enraged at the firmness of this reply, flung from his right hand the cup in which he was about to drink to his guest, and fit)m the other cast oft' the hawk, which flew wildly through the apartment. His first motion was to lay liand upon his dagger. But, changing his resolution, he exclaimed, 'To the dungeon with this insolent stroller! I will hear no man speak a word for him. Look to the falcon, Christie, thou fool; an she escape, I will despatch you after her every nian. Away with that hypocritical dreamer; drag him hence if he resist! '

He was obeyed in both points. Christie of the Clinthill arrested the hawk's flight by putting his foot on her jesses, and so holding her fast, while Henry Warden was led off, without having shown the slightest symptom of teiTor, by two of the Baron's satellites. Julian Aveuel walked the apartment for a short space in sullen silence, and despatching one of his attend­ants with a wliLspered message, which probaUy rekvted to the liealth of the unfortunate Catherine, he said aloud, ' These rash and meddling priests ! By Heaven ! they make us worao than we .should be without them.' *

The answer which he presently received seemed somewhat to pacify his angiy mood, and he took his place at the board,

• See JullBn Avenei. Noto 19.

232 WAVERLl'.Y NOVEfe •

commanding liis retinno to do the like. All .sat down in silence, and began the repast.

During the meal, Clu-istic in vain attempted to engage his youthful companion in carousiil, or, at least, in convci-sation. Halbert Glendinuing pleaded fatigue, and expressed himself Tinwilling to take any liquor stronger than the heather ale, which was at that time frequently used at meals. Thus every effort at jovialty died away, until the Baron, striking his hand against the table, as if impatient of the long unbroken silence, cried out aloud, ' Wliat, ho ! my masters, are ye Border riders, and sit as mute over your meal as a mess of monks and friars? Some one sing, if no one list to speak. Meat eaten without cither mirth or music is ill of digestion. Louis,' he added, speaking to one of the youngest of-his followers, ' thou art ready enough to sing when no one bids tliee.'

The young man looked firat at his master, then up to the arched roof of the hall, then drank off the horn of ale, or wine, which stood beside him, and with a rough yet not uninelodious voice sung the following ditty to the ancient air of 'Blue Bonnets over the Border.'

' March, marcli, Etti-ick and Teviotdaln, Why the deil diniia ye march forward iu order ?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, ' All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.

Many a banner spread, Fhitters above your licad,

JIaiiy a crest that is famous in story ; Mount and make roady then, Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glorj*!

Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ;

Come to the crag where tlie beacon is lilazmg. Come witli the buckler, the lance, and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds arc bounding,

Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, , , .

Wlien*lhc nine Bonnets tame over llie Borocr !

•The -on^ rude as it was, liad in it that warlike cliaracter w h i r h a t any other time would have roused Halbert s s p m t ; 1, t I t present the charm of minstrelsy liad no effect t.pou him. le made it his request to CIn-istic to suffer him to retu-e to St '.-eq^^est wit! ^vhich that worthy person, seeing no chance

THE MONASTERY _ 233

of making a favourable impi'ossion on his intended proselyte in hia preseiit humour, was at lengtli pleased to comply. But no Sei'geant Kite who ever practised the profession of recruiting wiis more attentive that his object should not escape liim than was Christie of the Cliutliill. He indeed conducted Halbert Glcndiuning to a small apartment overlooking the lake, wliich was accommodated with a truckle-bed. But before quitting liim Christie took special care to give a look to the bai-s which crossed the outside of the window, and when lie left the apart­ment lie failed not to give tiie key a double turn—eircumstjuiccs which convinced young Glendinuing tliat there was no inten­tion of sufleriug him to depart from the Castle of Avcnel at his own time and jjleasure. He judged it, however, most prudent to let these alarming symptoms pass without observation.

No sooner did he find liimsolf in undisturbed solitude than lie ran rapidly over the events of tlie day in his recollection, and to his sui-priso found tiiatliis own precarious fate, and even the death, of I'iercie Shafton, made less impression on bim than the singularly bold and determined conduct of his companion, Henry Warden. _ Providence, which suits its instruments to the end they are to achieve, had awakened in the cause of lleformation in Scotland a bodj- of preachers of more energy than refinement, bold in spirit, and strong in faith, contemners of whatever stood betwixt them and their principal object, and seeicing the advancement of the great cause in which they labo\u'ed by the roughest road, provided it were the shortest. Tlic soft breeze may wave the willow, but it requires the voice of the tempest to agitate the boughs of the oak; and, accord­ingly, to milder hearers, and in a less rude age, their miumers would have been ill adapted, but they were singularly suc­cessful in tlieir mission to the rude people to wliom it was addressed.

Owing to these reasons, Halbert (Jlendinning, who had re­sisted and repelled the arguments of the preacher, was forcibly struck by the iirmuess of his demeanour in the dispute with Julian Avenel. I t might bo discourteous, au^ mo^t certainly it was incautious, to choose such a place and such an andienco, for upbraiding with his transgressions a baron whom both manners and situatiou placed in full jiossession of independent power. But the conduct of the preacher was uncompromising, firm, manly, and obviously grounded upon the deepest convic­tion which duty and principle could alibrd; and Glcndmning,. who had viewed tlie conduct of Avenel with the deepest abhor-

234 . WAVERLF.Y NOVELS '

rence, was proportionally interested in the brave old man, who liad ventured life rather than withhold the censure due to guilt. This pitch of virtue seemed to him to be in religion what was demanded by chivalry of her votaries iu war—an absolute surrender of all selfish feelings, and a combination of every energy proper to the human mind to discharge the task which duty demanded.

Halbert was at the period when youth is most open to generous emotions, and knows best how to appreciate them in others, and he felt, although he hardly know why, that, whether Catholic or heretic, the safety of this man deeply interested him. Curiosity mingled with the feeling, and led him to wonder what the nature of those doctiines could be which stole their votary so completely from himself, and devoted him to chains or to death as their sworn champion. He had indeed been told of saints and martyrs of former days who had braved for their religious faith the extremity of death and torture. But their spirit of enthusiastic devotion had long slept in the ease and indolent habits of their successors, and their adven­tures, like those of knights-errant, were rathqr read for amuse­ment than for edification. A new impulse had been necessary to rekindle the energies of religious zeal, and that impiilse was now operating in favour of a purer religion, with one of whose steadiest votaries the youth had now met for the fir-st time.

The sense that he himself was a prisoner, under the power of this savage chieftain, by no means diminished Halbert's interest in the fate of his fellow-sufferer, while he detemiined a t the same time so far to emulate his fortitude that neither threats nor sufieriug should compel him to enter into the service of such a master. The possibility of escape next occun-ed to him, and, though with little hope of effecting it in that way, Glen-dinning proceeded to examine more particularly the window of the apartment. This apai-tment was situated in the first stoi-y of the castle, and was not so far from the rock on which it was founded but that au active and bold man might witli little assistance descepd to a shelf of the rock which was immediately below tlie window, and from thence cither leap or drop himself down into the lake which lay below his eye, clear and blue in the placid light of a full summer's moon. ' Were I once placed on that ledge,' thought Gleudmning, 'Julian Avenel and Christie had seen the last of mc.' The size of the window favoured such an attempt, but the stanchions or iron bars seemed to form an insurmountable obstacle.

THE MONASTERY 235

While Halbert Glendinuing gazed from the window with that eagerness of hope w^hich was prompted by the energy of liis character and his determination not to yield to circum­stances, his ear caught some sounds from below, and listening with more attention, he could distiuguisli the Voice of the preacher engaged in his solitary devotions. To open a corre­spondence with him became immediately his object, and failing to do so by less marked sounds, he at length ventin-ed to speak, and was answered from beneath—' Is it thou, my son ?' The voice of the prisoner now sounded more distinctly than when it was first heard, for "Warden had approached the small aperture which, serving his prison for a window, opened just betwixt the wall and the rock, and admitted a scanty portion of light through a wall of immense thickness. This soupirail being placed exactly under Halbert's window, the contigviity permitted the prisoners to converse ui a low tone, when Halbert declai-ed his intention to escape, and the possibility he saw of achiev­ing his purpose, but for the iron stanchions of the window. ' Prove thy strength, my son, in the name ot God !' said the preacher. Halbert obeyed him more in despair than hope, but to his great astonishment, and somewhat to his terror, the bar parted asunder near the bottom, and the longer part being easily bent outwards and not secured with lead in the upper socket, dropt out into Halbert's hand. He immediately whispered, but as energetically as a whisper could be expressed —' By Heaven, the bar has given way in my hand !'

' Thank Heaven, my sou, instead of swearing by it,' answered Warden froiji his diingeon.

With little effort Halbert Glendinuing forced himself through the opening thus wonderfully effected, and using his Icatlicrn swoj*d-belt as a rope to assist him, let himself safely drop on the shelf of rock upon which the preacher's window opened. But through this no passage coidd be eflected, being scarce larger than a loophole for musketiy, and apparently con­structed for that purpose.

' Arc there no means by which I can assist your escape, my father?' said Halbert.

'Tliere are none, my son,'answered the preacher; ' bu t if thou wilt ensure my safety, tliat may be in thy power.'

' I will labour earnestly for it,' said the youth. 'Take then a letter which I will presently write, for I have

tlie means of light and writing materials in my scrip. Hasteii towards Edhibnrgh, and on the way thou wilt meet a body of

23(5 WAVERLK\ NOVICLS

horse m a r c h i n g southwards . Give this to the i r leader, and a c q u a i n t h im of the s t a t e in which thou has t left me. I t may h a p t h a t t h y doing so will advantage thyself.'

In a minute or two the hght of a taper gleamed through the shot-hole, and very shortly after the preacher, with the assistance of his stiff, pushed a billet to Glcndmnmg througii

the window. , . , , , , < , i <, ' God bless thee, my son,' said the old man, and complete

the marvellous work which He hath begun !' ' Amen '.' answered Halbert, with solemnity, and proceeded

on his enterprise. , , i x.. i. ^ i He hesitated a moment whether he should attempt to de­

scend to the edge of the water ; but the steepness of the rock, notwithstanding the clearness of the night, rendered the cnter-nrise too dangerous. He clasped his hands above his head, and boldly spniu<' from the precipice, shooting himself forwai-d into the ah- as fai°as he could for fear of sunken rocks, and alighted on the lake, head foremost, with such force as sunk Kim for a

' minute below the surface. But, strong, long-breathed, and ftccustomed to such exercise, Halbert, even though encumbered with his sword, dived and rose like a sea-fowl, and swam across the lake in the uortheni direction. When he landed and looked back" on the castle, he could observe that the alarm had been (riven for lights glanced from window to window, and he lieard the drxwbridge lowered, and the tread of horses' feet upon the Luseway But, little alanned for the consequence of a pui-suit

' diirin" the darkness, he wning the water from his dress, and plungtng into the moors, directed his com-se to thp north-east bv the assistance of the polar star.

C H A P T E R XXVI

Why, what an intricate impeach is this ! I think you all have di-ank of Circe's cup. If liere you housed liim, hero he would have been ; If lie were mad, ho would not plead so coldly.

Comedy of Errors.

T H E coui-se of our story, leaving for the present Halbert Glen-dinning to the guidance of his courage and his fortune, returns to the Tower of Glcndearg, where matters in the meanwhile fell out with which it is most fitting that the reader should be acquainted.

The meal was prepared at noontide with all the care which Elspeth and Tibb, assisted by the various accommodations which had been supplied from the monastery, could bestow on it. Their dialogue ran on as usual in the intervals of their labour, partly as between mistress and seiTant, partly as main­tained by gossips of nearly equal quality.

' Look to tlie minced meat, Tibb,' said Elspeth; 'and turn the broach"even, thou good-for-nothing Simmie: thy wits are harrying birds' nests, child. Weel, Tibb, this is a fasheous job—this Sir Piercie lying leaguer with \is up here, and wha kens for how lang 1'

'A fasheous job, indeed,' answered her faithful attendant, 'and little good did the name ever bring to fair Scotland. Ye may have your hands fuller of them than they are yet. Jilony a sair heai-t have the Piercies given to Scots wife and baims with tlieir pricking on the Borders. There was Hotspur, and many more of that bloody kindred, have sate in our skirts since Malcolm's time, as ^Martin savs !'

•jNIartin sliould keep a weel-scrapit tongue in his head,' said Klspeth, ' and not slander the kin of anybody that qmirtcrs at Glendearg; forbye, that Sir Piercie Shafton is much respected with the holy fathers of the conuiumity, and they will make up to us ony fasherie that we may have with him, either by

238 WAVERLEY N0VI5LS

good word or good deed, I'so warrant them: He is a considerate .lord, the lord abbot.'

'And wool he likes a siift seat to his hinder end,' said Tibb ; ' 1 have scon a belted baron sit on a bare bench, and find nae fault. But an yc are pleased, mistress, I am pleased.'

'Now% in good time, hero comes Mysie of the Mill. And wharc hae ye been, lass, for u's gaue wnmg without you? ' said Klspcth.

' I just gacd a blink up the burn,' said Mysie, ' for tlie youn<' lady has been dovra on her bed, and is no just that wcel. So I gaed a glilF up the burn.'

' To see the young lads come hamo frac the sport, I will warrant you,' said Elspeth. ' Ay, ay, Tibb, that's the way the young folk guide us, Tibbie; leave us to do the wark, and out to the plaj' themsells.'

'Ne'er a bit of that, mistress,' said the Maid of the Mill, stripping lier round pretty ai-ms, aud looking actively and good-humouredly about her for some duty that she could dis­charge ; ' but just—I thought ye miglit like to ken if they were coming back, just to get the dinner forwai-d.'

' And saw you aught of them, then ?' demanded Elspeth. ' Not tho least tokening,' said Mysie, ' though I got to the

head of a knowe, aud though the English knight's beautiful white feather could have been seen over all the bushes in the shaw.'

' The knight's white feather!' said Dame Glendinning; ' ye are a sillie hompie—my Halbcrt's high head will be seen farther than his featlier, let it be as white as it lilce, I trow.'

Mysie made no auswei', but began to knead dough for wastel-cake with all despatch, observing that Sir Piercie had partaken of that dainty, and commended it, upon the preceding day. And present!)', in order to place on the fire the giixJIe or iron l)late on wliich these cates wore to be baked, she displaced a stew-pan in which some of Tibb's delicacies were submitted to the action of the kitchen fire. Tibb muttered betwixt her teeth—' And it \s> the broth for my sick bairn that maun make room for the dainty Soutliron's -wastel-bread ! I t was a blythe time in Wiglit Wallace's day, or good King Eobert's, when the pock-puddings gat naething here bnt hard straiks aud bloody crowns. But wo will see how it will a' end.'

Elspeth did not think it proper to notice these discontented exjjressions of Tibbie, but they sunk into her mind; for she was apt to consider her as a sort of authority in matters of war-and

THE MONASTERY 239

policy, with which her former experience as bower-woman at Avencl Castle made her better acquainted than wore the peace­ful inhabitants of the halidome. She only spoke, however, to express her surprise that the hnntei-s did not return.

' An they come nob back the sooner,' said Tibb, ' they will fai'e the waiir, for the meat will be roasted to a cinder; and there is poor Simiuie that can turn the spit nae langer: the bairn is melting like an icicle in waim water. Gang awa', baini, aiid take a mouthful of the caller air, and I will tuni the broach till ye come back.'

' Rin up to the bartizan at the tower bead, eallant,' said Dame Glendinning, ' t he air will be callerer there than ony gate else, and bring iis word if our Halbert and the gentleman are coming down the glen.'

The boy lingered long enough to allow his substitute, Tibb Tacket, heartily to tire of her own generosity and of his cricket-stool by the side of a huge fire. He at length returned with the fiews that he had seen nobod-.

The matter was not remarkable so far as Halbert Glen­dinning was concerned, for, patient alike of want and of fatigue, it was no uncommon circumstance for him to remain in the wilds till curfew-time. But nobody had given Sir Piercie Shafton credit for being so keen a sportsman, and the idea of an Englishman preferring the chase to his dinner was altogether inconsistent with their preconceptions of the national character. Amidst wondering and conjectin-ing, the usual dinner hour passed long away; and the inmates of the tower, talcing a hasty meal t&emselvcs, adjomnicd their more solemn prepara­tions until the hunters' return at night, since it seemed now certain that their sport had either carried them to a greater distance, or engaged them for a longer time, than had been expected.

About four hours nftor noon, arrived, not the ex]Dectcd sports­men, but an unlooked-for visitant, the sub-prior from tbo monastery. The scene of the preceding daj- had dwelt on the mind of Father Eustace, who was of that keen and penetrating cast of character wliich loves not to leave unascertained what­ever of mysterious is subjected to its inquiry. His kindness was interested in the family of Glendearg, which he had now known for a long t ime; and besides, the community was interested in the preservation of the peace betwixt Sir Piercie Shafton and his youthful host, since whatever might draw imblio attention on the former could not fail to be prejudicial

240 WAVERLEY NOVELS

to the monastery, which was already threatened by the hand of power. He found tlie family assembled all but Mary Avoncl and was niformed that Halbcrt Glcndinning had accompanied the stranger on a day's sport. So far was well. They had not returned ; but when did youth and sport conceive them­selves bound by set hom-s? and the circumstance excited no alarm m his nnud.

While he was conversing with I'xlwaixl CJlendinniug touching Ins progress mt l ie studies he had pointed out to him, they were startled by a shriek from Miu-y Avcnel's apartment, which drew tlie whole family hither in headlong liaste. They found her in a swoon in tlio arms of Old Martin, wlio was bitterly accusin.' himself of having killed her : so indeed it seemed, for her pale features and closed eyes argued ratlicr a dead corpse than a living person. Tlie whole family were instantly in tumult Snatching her from Martin's arms with the eagerness of aficc-tiouate terror, Edward bore her to the casement, tliat she might receive the influence of the open air; the sub-prior wlio like many of his profession, had some knowledge of medicine' hastened to prescribe the readiest remedies which occurred to him; and tlio ten-ified females contended with, and impeded cacli other, in their rival efforts to be useful.

' I t ha.s been ane of her weary ghaists,' said Dame Glen-dinning.

' It 's just a trembling on her spirits, as her blessed motlier used to have,' said Tibb.

' I t ' s some ill news has come owor her,' said the miller's maiden; while burnt feathers, cold water, and all the usual means of restoring suspended animation, were employed alter­nately, and with little effect.

At length a new assistant, who had joined the group un­observed, tendered his aid in the following tcnns : ' How is tliis my most fair Discretion ? What cause hath moved the rul)y current of life to rush back to the citiulel of the heart, leaving pale those features in which it should have delighted to meander for ever ! Let nic approach her,' ho said, 'with this sovereign essence, distilled by the fan- hand.s of the divine Urania and powerful to recall fugitive life, even if it were tremblin" on the verge of departure.' °

Thus speaking, Sir Piercie Shafton knelt down, and most gracefully presented to the nostrils of Mary Avenel a silver pouncet-bo.v, exquisitely chased, containing a sponge dipt in the essence which ho recommended so highly. Yes, gentle reader.

Tin ; MONASTERY 241

it was Sir Piercic Shafton himself who thus luiexpectedly proffered his good offices!—his cheeljs, indeed, veiy pale, and some part of his dress stained with blood, but not otherwise appear­ing different from what ho was on the preceding evening. But no sooner had Mary Avenel opened her eyes and fixed them on the fig\n-e of the officious courtier, than she scrcained faiutiv and exclaimed—'Secure the muixlerer !' ,-. . „ . - ""'

Those present stood aghast with astOBO^.SnfJ and none more so than the Euphuist, who found himself so suddenly and so strangely accused by the patient whom he was endeavouring to succour, and who repelled his attempts to yield her assistance with all the energy of abhorrence.

' Take him away !' she exclaimed—' take uway the mur­derer !'

' Now, by my knighthood,' answered Sir Piercic, ' j 'our lovely faculties either of mind or body are, 0 my most fair D'iscretion, obnubilated by some strange hallucination ! For either your eyes do viot discern that it is Piercic Shafton, j-oiu- most de­voted Affability, wlio now stands before you, or else, your ej-es discerning truly, your n\ind has most erroneously conchided that he has been guilty of some delict or violence to which his hand is a stranger. 5fo murder, 0 most scornful Discretion, hath beeu this day done, saving but that wliioh your angi-y glances are now performing ou yom- most devoted captive.'

lie was here interrupted by the sub-prior, who had, in the meantime, beeu speaking with"?klai-tin apart, and had received from him an account of the circumstances Viiich, suddenly coinnuinicat^ to ]Mary Avenel, had tluown her into this state. 'Sir knight, said the sub-prior, in a very solemn tone, y e t . with some hesitation, ' circumstances have been communicated to us of a nature so extraordinary that, reluctant as I am to exercise such authority over a guest of our venerable connuunity, I am constrained to request from you an explanation of them. You left this tower curly in the morning, accompanied by a youth, llalbert Gleudiiming, the eldest sou of this good dame, and you return hither witliout him. ^^'here, and at what hour, did you part company from him ?'

The English knight paused for a moment, and then replied —' I marvel that your reverence employs so grave a tone to enforce so light a question. I pai-ted wi'th the villagio whom you call Halbert Olcndinning some hour or twain after sunrise.'

' And at what place, I pray you ?' said the monk. ' In a deep ravine, where a fountain rises at the base of a X i6

242 WAVERLEY NOVELS '

huge rock, an earth-born Titan, which heavetli up its gi-oy head, even as '

' Spare us further description,' said the sub-prior; ' we know the spot. But that youth hath not since been heaixl of, and it will fall on you to account for him.'

' M y bairn!—my bairn! ' exclaimed Dame Gleudinning. ' Yes, holy father, make the villain account for my bairn ! '

' I swear, good woman, by bread and by water, which arc the props of our life '

' Swear by wine and wastel-bread, for these are the props of ?Ay life, thou greedy Southron!' said Dame Gleudinning; ' a base belly-god, to come here to eat the best, and practise on our lives that give it to him I'

' I tell thee, woman,' said Sir Piercie Shafton, ' 1 did but go with thy son to the hunting.'

' A black hunting it has been to him, poor bairn,' replied Tibb; ' and sae I said it wad prove since I first saw the false Southron snout of thee. Little good comes of a I'icrcie's himt-ing, from Chevy Chase till now.'

'Be silent, woman,' said the sub-prior, 'and rail not upon the English knight; wc do not yet know of anything beyond suspicion.'

'We will have his heart's blood !' sjiid Dame Glcndinning; and, seconded by the faithful Tibbie, she made such a sudden onslaught on the luilucky Euphuist as must have' terminated in something serious, had not the monk, aided by j\Iysie Happer, interposed to protect him from their fuiy. Edward had left the apartment the instant the disturbance broke j;int, and now entered swoi-d in hand, followed by Martin and Jasper, the one having a hunting-spear in his hand, tlie other a cross-how.

' Keep the door,' he said to his two attendants ; ' shoot him or stab him without mercy should he attempt to break forth • if he ofi'ers an escape, by Heaven, ho shall die !' '

'How now, Edward,' said the sub-prior; 'how is this th'it you so far forget yourself? meditating violence to a guest and in ray presence, who represent your liege lord 1' '

Edward stepped forwai-d with his drawn swoi-d in his hand 'Pardon me, reverend father,' he said, 'bu t in this matter the voice of nature speaks louder and stronger than yours I turn my sword's point against this proud man, and I demand of him the blood of my brother—the blood of my father's son—of the heir of our name I If he denies to give me a true accomit of him, he shall not deny me vengeance.'

THE JIONASTKRY . • 243

Embarrassed as he was, Sir Piorcic Shafton showed no per­sonal fear. ' Put up thy sword,' he said, ' young man ; not in the same day does Piercic Shafton contend with two peasants.'

' Hear h im! he confesses the deed, holy father,' said Edward.

'Be patient, my son,' said the sub-prior, endeavouring to soothe tlio feelings which he could not otherwise control—' be patient, thon wilt attain the ends of justice better through my means than thine own violence. And you, women, be silent. Tibb, remove your mistress and !Mai-y Avenel.' ' Wliile Tibb, with the assistance of the otiier females of the household, bore the poor mother and Mary Avenel into separate apiirtmeuts, and while Edward, still keeping his sword in his hand, hastily travei-sed the room, as if to prevent the possi­bility of Sir Piercie Shafton's escape, the sub-prior insisted upon Icnowing from the perplexed knight the particidare whicli he knew respecting Halbort Glendinning. His situation be­came extremely embarrassing, for what he might with safety have told of the issue of their combat was so revolting to his pride that lie could not bring himself to enter into the detail; and of Halbert's actual fate he knew, as the reader is well awai-e, absolutely nothing.

The father in the meanwhile pressed him with remon­strances, and prayed him to observe, he would greatly pre­judice himself bj ' declining to give a full account of the transactions of the day. ' You cannot deny,' he said, ' that yestetxlay j'ou seemed to take the most violent oftbnce at thi.s unfortunate lyouth; and that you suppressed your resentment so suddenly as to impress us all with surprise. Last night you proposed to him this day's hunting party, and you set out together by break of day. You parted, you said, at the foun­tain near tiie rock, about an hour or twain after sunrise, and it appeai-s that before you parted you had been at strife together.'

' I said not so,' replied the knight. ' Here is a coil indeed about the absence of a rustical bondsman, who, I daresay, liath gone otV—if he be gone—to join tlic ne.xt rascally band of freebootei-s! Ye ask me, a knight of the Piercie's lineage, to account for such an insignificant fugitive, and I answer, let mo know the price of his head, and I will pay it to your convent treasurer.'

'You admit, then, tiiat you have slain my brother?' s;iid lidward, interfermg once more; ' I will presently show you at what price we Scots rate the lives of our friends ! '

244 WAVKRLEY NOVELS

'Peace, Edward—peace, I entreat—I command thee !' said the sub-prior. ' And you, sir knight, think better of us than to suppose you may spend Scottish blood, and reckon for it as for wine spilt in a drunken revel. Tins youth was no bondsman ; thou well knowest that, in thine own land, thou hadst not dared to lift thy sword against the meanest subject of England but her laws would have called thee to answer for the deed. Do not hope it will be otherwise here, for you will but deceive yoiu-sclf.'

'You drive me beyond my patience,' said tlio Euphuist, ' even as the over-driven ox is urged into madness ! Wliat can I tell j 'ou of a young fellow whom I have not seen since the second hour after sunrise 1'

'Bu t can you explain in wliat circumstances j'Ou parted with him 1' said the monk.

'Wha t are the circumstances, in the devil's name, which you desire should be explained 1 for although I protest against this consti-»int as alike tmworthy and inhospitable, yet would I willingly end this fray, provided that by woixls it maybe ended,' said the knight.

' If these end it not,' said Edward, ' blows shall, and that full speedily.'

'Peace, impatient boy! ' said the sub-prior; 'and do you. Sir Piercie Shafton, acquaint mo why the ground is bloody by the vei'go of the fountain in C'orric-nan-Shian, where, as you say •youi-self, you parted from Ilalbert Glendinning.'

Resolute not to avow his defeat if possibly lie could avoid it, the knight answered, in a haughty tone, that licb supposed it was uo mmsual thing to find the turf bloody wliere huntere had slain a deer.

'And did you buiy your game as well as kill i t ? ' inquired the monk. ' We must know from you who is tlie tenant of that grave—that newly-made grave, beside tlie very fountain whose marghi is so deeply crimsoned with blood. Thou seest thou canst not evade me; therefore be ingenuous, and tell us the fate of this unhjippy youth, whose body is doubtless lying under that bloody turf.' • ' I f it be,' said Sir Piercie, 'tlicy must have buried him

alive; for I swear to thee, i-evercnd father, that this mstic Juvenal parted from me in perfect health. Let the grave be searched, and if his body be found, then deal with me as ye list.'

' I t is not my sphere to determine thy fate, sir knight, t>u

. THF. MONASTKRY 245

that of the loitl abbot and the right reverend chapter. I t is but my duty to collect such information as may best possess their wisdom with the mnttcra which have chanced.'

' Might I presume so far, reverend father,' said the knight, ' I slionld wish to know the author and evidence of all these suspicions, so unfoundedly lu'ged against me ?'

' I t is soon told,' saiil the sub-prior; ' nor do I wish to dis­guise it, if it can avail j'ou in your defence. This maiden, Mary Avenel, apprehending that you nourished malice against her foster-brother under a friendly brow, did adAnsedly send \ip the old man, Martin Tacket, to follow yoin- footsteps, and. to prevent mischief. But it seems that your evil passions had outnui precaution; for when he came to the spot, guided by j-our footsteps upon tlic dew, he found but the bloody turf and the new-covered grave; and after long and vain search through the wilds after llalbert and youi-self, he brought back the soiTOwful news to her who had sent him.'

' Saw he not my doublet, I pray you 1' said Sir Piei-cie; ' for when I came to myself I found that I was wrapped in my cloak, but without my under garment, as your reverence may observe.'

So saying, he . opened his cloak, forgetting, with his char-acteristical incousistenc', tliat he showed liis shirt stained with blood.

' How! cruel man,' said the monk, when he observed this confii-mation of hi;4 suspicions; ' wilt thou deny the guilt, even while thou beai-cst on thy person the blood thou hast shed 1 Wilt thou laiger deny that thy rash hand has robbed a mother of a son, our comnunnty of a vassal, the Queen of Scotland of a liege subject ? And what canst thou expect, but that, at the least, w'o deliver thee up to England, as undesei-ving our further protection ?'

' By the saints! ' said the knight, now driven to extremity, 'if this blood be the witness against me, it is but rebel blood, since this moniing at sunrise it flowed witliin my own veins.'

' How were that possible, Sir Piercic Shaftois' ssud the monk, 'since I see no wound from whence it can have flowed?'

' That,' said the knight, ' is the most mysterious part of the transiictiou. See here !'

So saying, he undid his shirt collar, and, openmg his bosom, showed the spot through whicii Halberfs sword liad passed, but already cicatrised, aiid bearing the appearance of a wound latelv healed.

246 WAVERLEY NOVELS

' This exhausts my patience, sir knight,' said the sub-prior, ' and is adding insult to violence and injury. Do you hold mo for a child or an idiot, that you pretend to make me believe that the fresh blood with which your shirt is stained flowed from a wound which has been healed for weeks or months? Unhappy mocker, thinkest thou thus to blind us 1 Too well do we know that it is the blood of your victim, wrestling with j^ou in the desperate and mortal struggle, which has thus dj'ed your apparel.'

Tlio knight, after a moment's recollection, said in reply, ' I will be open with you, my father; bid these men stand out of car-shot, and I will tell j'on all I know of this mysterious

, business; and muse not, good father, though it may pass thj-wit to expound it, for I avouch to you it is too dark for mine own.'

Tlic monk conunanded Edwanl and the two men to with­draw, assuring the former that his conference with the prisoner should be brief, and giving him permission to keep watch at the door of the apartment; without which allowance ho might, perhaps, have had some difficulty in procuring his absence. Edward had no sooner left the chamber than he despatched messengers to one or two families of the halidomo, witli whoso sons his brother and he sometimes associated, to tell them that Halbert Glendinning had been murdered by an Englishman, and to require them to rejwir to the Tower of Glendearg with­out delay. The duty of revenge in such cases was held so sacred that ho had no reason to doubt they would instantly come with such assistance as would ensure the detention of the prisoner. He then locked the doors of the tower, both inner and outer, and also the gate of the courtyarf. Having taken these precautions, he made a hasty visit to the females of the family, exhausting himself in efforts to console them, and in pi-otestations that he would have vengeance for his murdered brother.

C H A P T E R XXVII

Ifow, by Our Lady, sherilT, 'tis hard reckoning, Tliat I, with every odds of birth and barony, Should be detiiin'd here for the casual death Of a wild forester, whose utmost having Is but the brazen buckle of the belt In which ho sticks his hedge-knife.

Old Play.

WHILE Edward was making preparations for securing and punishing the supposed miu-derer of his brother, with an in­tense thirst for vengeance which had not hitherto shown itself as part of his character, Sir Piercie Shafton made such com­munications as it> pleased him to the sub-prior, who listened witli great attention, tliough the knight's narrative was none of the clearest, especially as his self-conceit led him to con­ceal or abridge the details which were necessary to render it intelligible.

'You are to know,' he said, 'reverend father, that this rustical juvOnal having chosen to offer me, in the presence of your venerable superior, yourself, and other excellent and worthy persons, besides the damsel Mary Avencl, wliom I term my Discretion in all honour and kindness, a gross insult, rendered yet more intolerable by the time and place, my just resentment did so gain the mastery over my discretion, that I resolved to allow him the privileges of an equal, and to indulge him with the combat.'

'But, sir knight,' said the sub-prior, 'yon still leave two matters very obscure. Fii-st, why the token he presented to yon gave you so much offence, as I with others witnessed; and then again, how the 3'outh, wliom you tiicn met for tlie fii-st, or at least the second, time, knew so much of j'oiu- history as enabled him so greatly to move you.'

'I'lie knight coloured very decplv. ' For yotir first query,' he said, ' most i-cvereud father, we

248 WAVERLEY NOVELS

will, if you please, pretermit it as notliiug essential to the matter in hand; and for the second, I protest to you that 1 know as little of his means of knowledge as you.do, and that 1 am wellnigh persuaded he deals with Sathanas, of whicli more anon. Well, sir—in the evening, I failed not to veil my pur­pose with a pleasant brow, as is the custom amongst us mar-tialists, who never display the bloody colours of defiance in our countenance tmtil our hand is armed to fight under them. I amused the fair Discretion with "some cannonettes and other toys, which could not but be ravishing to her mexperieuced ears. I arose in the morning, met my antagonist, who, to say truth, for an ine.xperienced villagio, comported himself as stoutly as I could have desired. So, commg to the encounter, reverend sii", I did try his mettle with some half a dozen of downright passes, with any one of which I could have been through his body, only that I was loth to take so fatal au advantage, but rather, mixing mercy with my just indignation, studied to inflict upon him some flesh-wound of no very fatal quality. But, sir, in the midst of my clemency, he, being instigated, I think, by the devil, did follow up his first ofFeuce with scftno insult of the same nature. Whereupon, being eager to prmish him, I made an estramazone, and my foot slipping at the same time—not from any fault of fence on my part, or any advantage of skill on his, but the devil having, as I said, taken up the matter in hand, and the grass being slippery—ere I recovered my position I encountered his sword, which he had advanced, with my un­defended person, so that, as I think, I was iu some sort run through the body, l l y juvenal, being beyond meafAire appalled at his own unexpected and unmerited success in this strange encounter, takes the flight and leaves me there, and I fall into a dead swoon for the lack of the blood I had lost so foolishly • and when 1 awake as from a sound sleep, I find myself lying an it like you, wrapt up in my cloak at the foot of one of the birch-trees which stand together in a clump near to this place. 1 feel my limbs, and experience little pain, but much weakness; I put my hand to the-wound—it was whole and skinned over as you now see i t ; I rise and come hither; and in these words you have my whole day's story.'

' I can only rej^ly to so strange a tale,' answered the monk, ' that it is scarce possible that Sir Piercie Shafton can expect me to credit it. Here is a quan-el, the cause of which you conceal; a wound received in the morning, of which there is no recent appearance at sunset; a grave filled up, iu whieh no

THE MONASTERY 249

body is deposited; the vanquished found alive and well; the victor departed no man knows whither. These things, sir knight, liang not so well together that I should receive them

a s g o s p e l . ' . r., r < T ' Eeverend father,' answered Sir Piercie fehafton, i pray you

in the first place to observe, that if 1 offer peaceful and civil justification of that which I have already averred to be true, I do so only in devout deference to your dress and to your order, protesting, that to any other opposite, saving a man of religion, a lady or my liege prince, I would not deign to support that which I had once attested, otherwise than with the point of my good sword. And so much being premised, 1 have to add, that I can but gage my honour as a gentleman and my faith as a Catholic Christian, that the things which I have described to you have happened to me as I have descnbed them, and not otherwise.' , . , , , , i •

' I t is a deep assertion, sir knight,' answered the sub-prior; ' yet, bethink you, it is only an assertion, and that no reason can be aile-'cd why things should be believed wliich arc so conti-ary to reason. Let me pray you to say whether the grave which has been seen at your place of combat was open or closed when your encounter tDok place V ^ .„ ., ,

'Eeverend father,' said the knight, ' I will veil from you nothing but show you each secret of my bosom; even as the pure foimtaiii revealeth the smallest pebble which graces the sand at the bottom of its crystal miiTor, and as

'Speak iu plain tenns, for the love of Heaven! said the monk; 'thSse holiday phrases belong not to soleimi affairs. Was the grave-open when the conflict began ?

' I t was,' answered the knight, ' I acknowledge i t ; even as he that acknowledgeth ' . . . . .

' Nay, I pray you, fair son, forbear these similitudes, and observe me. On yesterday at even no grave was found in that place, for Old Martin chanced, contrary to his wont, to go thitlier in quest of a strayed sheep. At break of day, by your own confession, a gi-ave was opened in that spot, aiid there a combat was fought; only one of the combatants appears, and he is covered with blood, and to all appearance wouudless.' Here the knight made a gesture of impatience. ' Nay, fair son, hear me but°one moment—the grave is closed and covered by the sod; what can we believe, but that it conceals the bloody corpse of the fallen duellist r

"Bv Heaven, it cannot! ' said the knight, ' unless the Juvenal

250 WAVERLEY NOVELS

hath slain himself, and bvu'ied himself, in order to place me in tlie predicament of his murderer.'

'The grave shall doubtless be explored, and that by to-moiTow's dawn,' said the monk ; ' 1 will sec it done with mine own eyes.'

'But, ' said the prisoner, ' I protest against all evidence which may arise from its contents, and do insist beforehand that what­ever may be found in that grave shall not prejudicate me in my defence. I have been so haunted by diabolical deceptions in this matter, that what do I know but tliat the devil may assume the form of this rustical juvenal, in oi-dcr to procure me farther vexation ? I protest to you, holy father, it is my very tlioun-ht that there is witchcraft in all that hath befallen me. Since 1 eutered into this northern land, in which men say that sorceries do abound, 1, who am held iu awe and regard oven by tlio prime gallants in the court of Feliciana, have been here bearded and taunted by a clod-treading clown. I, whom Vincentio Saviola termed his nimlslest and most agile disciple, wa.s, to speak briefly foiled by a cow-boy, who knew no more of fence than is used at every country wake. I am run, as it seemed to me, through the body, with a very sufficient stoccata, and faint on tlie spot-and yet, when 1 recover, 1 find myself without either worn or wound, and lacking nothing of my apparel, siiving my nuiiToy-coloured doublet, slashed with satin, which I will pray may be

• inquired after, lest the devil, who transported me, should have dropped it in his passage among some of the trees or b u s h e s -it being a choice and most fanciful piece of i-aiment, which I wore for the fii-st time at the Queen's pageant in Sd.ithwark '

'Sir knight,' said the monk, 'you do again go astray from this matter. 1 inquire of you respecting tliat wliich concerns the life of another man, and, it may be, touches 3-our own also and you answer me with the tale of an old doublet! ' '

'Old! ' exclaimed the k n i g h t ; ' now, by the godsand saints, if there be a gallant at the British court more fancifullv con sideratc and more considerately fancifxd, more quaintly curious and more curioKsly quaint, in frequent changes of all rich articles of vesture beconung one who may be accounted point-device a courtier, 1 will give you leave to term me a slave and a liar.

The monk thought but did not say, that he had ah-eadv acqmred right to doubt the voracity of the l':npliuist, cousidei"-ing the marvellous tale which ho had told. Yet his own strange adventure, and that of Father Philip, rushed 01. his

THE .MON"ASTERV 251

mind, and forbade his coming to anj' conclusion. He cpn-toutcd himself, therefore, with obsomng, tliat these were^eer-tainly strange incidents, and requested to know if Sir Piercie Shafton had any other reason for suspecting himself to be'in a manner so particularly selected for the sport of sorcery and witchcraft.

'Sir sub-prior,' said the Euphuist, ' the most extraordinary circumstance remains behind, which alone, had I neither been bearded in dispute nor foiled in combat, nor wounded and cured in tlio sijace of a few hours, would nevertheless of itself, and without any other cori-oborative, have compelled me to believe myself the subject of some malevolent fascination. Reverend sir, it is not to your cai-s tliat men sliould tell tales of love and gallantry, nor is Sir Piercie Sliafton one who, to any eai-s whatsoever, is wont to boast of his fair acceptance with the choice and prime beauties of the court; insomuch tliat a lady, none of the least resplendent constellations which revolve in that hemisphere of honour, pleasure, and beautv, but whose name I here pretermit, was wont to cidl me her Tacitm-nity. Nevertheless, truth must be spoken ; and I cannot but allow, as the general report of the com't, allowed in camps, and echoed back by city and country, that in the alacrity of the accost, the tender delicacy of tlie regard, the facetiousness of the address, tlio adopting and pui-suing of the fancy, the solemn close and the graceful fall-off, Piercie Shafton was accounted the only gallant of the time, and so well accepted amongst the choicer beauties of the age, that no silk-hosed reveller of the presence-chambei-, or plumed jouster of the tilt-yard, approached him by a bow's-length in the ladies' regard, being the mark at which every well-boni and generous Juvenal aimeth his shaft. Nevertheless, reverend sir, having found in this rude place something which by blood and birth might be termed a lady, and being desirous to keep my gallant humour in e.xercise, as well as to show my swoni devotion to the se.x in general, I did shoot oft" some arrows of compliment at this Mary Avonel, temiing her my Discr'^tion, with other quaint and well-imagined courtesies, rather bestowed out of my bounty than warranted by her merit, or perchance like unto the boyish fowler, who, rather than not exeixiso his bird-piece

will shoot at cro«s or magpies for lack of better game ' 'Mary Aveuel is much obliged by your notice,' answered the

monk; ' but to what does all this detail of past and present gallantry conduct us ?'

THE MONASTERY 253

lineage and your kindling anger will avail you nothing in this matter. Yon shall not come here to seek a shelter, and then spill our blood as if it were water.'

' I tell you,' said the knight, ' onee more, as I have told j'ou already, that there was no blood spilled bxit mine own !'

' That remains to bo proved,' replied the sub-prior; ' we of the community of St. Mary's of Keunaqiihair use not to take faiiy tales in exchange for the lives of our liege vassals.'

' We • of the house of Piercie,' answered Shafton, ' brook neither threats nor restraint. I say I will travel to-morrow,, happen what may !'

' And I,' answered the sub-prior, in the same tone of deter­mination, 'say that I will break your journey, come wluit may! '

"'Who shall gainsay me,' said the knight, 'if I make uiy way by force 1'

'Yon will judge wisely to think ere you make such an attempt,' answered the monk, with composirre ; ' there arc men enough in the halidomo to vindicate its rights over those who dare to infringe them.'

'My cousin of Northumberland will know how to revenge this \isago to a beloved kinsman so near to his blood,' said the I'jUglishmau.

'The lord abbot will know how to pi-otect the rights of his tcmtory, both with the temporal and spiritual sword,' said the monk. ' Besides, consider, were we to send yon to your kinsman at Alnwick or Wai'kworth to-raoiTOw, he dare do nothing but transmit you in fetters to the Queen of England. Bethink, sir knight, tliat yon stand on slippeiy ground, and will act most wisely in reconciling yourself to be a jnisoner in this place until the abbot shall decide the matter. There are armed men enow to countervail all your cttbrta at escape. Let patience and resignation, therefore, ann you to a uecessiii-y submission.'

So saying, he clapped his hands and called aloud. Edwaixl entered, accompanied by two young meu who had already joined him, and were well aimed.

'Edward,'said the sub-prior, 'yon will supply the English knight hero in this spenco with svutable food and accommodation for the night, treating liini with as much kindness as if nothing had happened between you. But you will place a sufficient guaixl, and look carefully that he make not his escape. Shoidd he attempt to break forth, resist him to the death; but in no othgr case hanii a hair of his head, as you shall be answerable.'

252 •WAVERI.l'A'- NOVELS

' Marry, to this conclusion,' answered tlie knight; ' that either this my Discretion or I myself am little less than bewitched; for, instead of rccci\nng my accost with a gratified bow, answering my regard with a suppressed smile, accompany­ing my falling off or departure with a sligiit sigh—honours ^^^th which I protest to you the noblest dancers and proudest beauties in Feliciana liave graced my poor services—she hath paid me as little and as cold regai-d as if I liad been some hob­nailed clo\vn of these bleak mountains! Na% this vciy day, while I was in the act of kneeling at licr feet to render hci- the succours of this pmigent quintessence of purest spirit distilled by the fairest hands of the court of Fclicianii, she pushed me from her with looks which savoured of repugnance, and, as I think, thrast at me with her foot as if to spiu-n me from her presence. These things, reverend father, are strange, por­tentous, unnatural, and befall not in the current of° mortal aflairs, but are symptomatic of sorcery and fascination. So that, having given to your reverence a perfect, simple, and plain account of all that I know concerning this matter, I leave it to your wisdom to solve what may be found soluljlc in tlie same, it being my pui-pose to-mon-ow, with the peep of dawn, to set forward towai-ds Edinburgh.'

' I grieve to be an inten-uption to your designs, sir kniglit,' said the monk, ' bu t t k i t purpose of thine may hardly be fulfdled.' •'

' How, reverend father ! ' said the luiight, with an air of the utmost surprise; ' if what you say respects my departure, understand that it must be, for I have so resolved it.'

'Sir knight,' reiterated the sub-prior, ' I must once more repeat, this caimot be, until tlie abbot's pleasure be known in the matter.'

'Eeverend sir,' said the Icnight, drawing himself up with great dignity, ' I desire my hearty and thankful commenda-

this matter a voice potential.' •Sir Piercie Shafton's colour began to rise. ' I marvel,' he

.said, ' to hear youi- reverence talk thus. Wliat! will you, for tiie miagnied death of a nide, low-born framplcr and wmngler, venture to mipinge upon the liberty of the kinsman of the house of Piei'cie ?

'Sir knight,' returned the sub-prior, civilly, 'your high

25i ' WA'VrERLEY N0\T5LS

Edward Glendinning replied—'Tliat I may obey your commands, reverend sir, I will not again oft'er myself to this person's presence; for shame it were to me to break the peace of the halidome, but not less shame to leave my brother's dea,th unavenged.'

As ho spoke, his lips grew livid, the blood forsook liis cheek, and he was about to leave the apartment, when the sub-prior recalled liim, and said in a solemn tone—' Edward, I have known you from infancy. I have done what lay within my reach to be of use to you. I say nothing of what you owe to rao as the representative of your spiritual superior. I say nothing of the duty from the vassal to the sub-prioi-. But Father Eustace expects from the pupil whom he has nurtured— he expects from Edwai-d Glendinning, that he will not, by any

>deed of sudden violence, however justified in his own mind by the provocation, break thi-ough the respect due to public justice, or that which he has an especial right to claim from him.'

'Fear nothing, my reverend father, for so in an hundred senses may I well term j'ou,' said the yomig man; ' fear not, I would say, that I will in anytliing diminish the respect I owe to the vcnei-able commmiity by whom we have .so long been protected, far less that 1 will do aught which can be personally less than respectful to you. But the blood of my brother must not cry for vengeance in vain: your revei'enco knows our Border creed.'

' " Vengeance is mine, siiith the Lord, and I will requite it," ' answered the monk. ' The heathenish custom of deadly feud which prevails in this land, through which cachr. man seeks veno-eancc at his own hand when the death of a friend or kins­man' has chanced, hatii already deluged our vales with the blood of Scottish men, spilled by the hands of countrymen and kindred. I t were endless to coimt up the fatal results. On the Eastern Border, the Homes are at feud with the Swintons and Cockburns; in our Middle Marches, the Scotts and Ken-s have spilled as much brave blood in domestic feud as might have fought a pitched field in England, could they have but forgiven and forgotten a casual rencounter that placed their names in opposition to each other. On the west frontier, the Johnstones are at war with the JIaxwells, the Jardincs with the Bells, drawing with them the flower of the country, which should place their breasts as a bulwark against England, into private and bloody warfare, of which it is the only end to waste and impair the forces of the country, already divided in

TUE MOXASTKHY " 255

itself. Do not, my dear son Edward, permit tliis bloody pre­judice to master your mind. I cannot ask you to think of the crime supposed as if the blood spilled had been less dear to you. Alas ! I know that is impossible. But I do require you, in proportion to j'our interest in the supposed suflerer—for as yet the whole is matter of supposition—to bear on yom- mind the evidence on which the guilt of the itccused person must be tried. lie hath spoken with me, aud I confess his talc is so extraordinary that I should have, without a moment's hesita­tion, rejected it as incredible, but that an affair which chanced to mj-self in this very glen More of that another time. Suffice it for the present to say that, from what 1 have myself experienced, I deem it possible—that, extraoi-dinary as Sir Piercic Sliafton's story may seem, I hold it not utterly im­possible.'

' Father,' said Edward Glcndinning, when he siiw that his pi'c-ccptor paused, miwilling farther to explain upon what gi-oimds he was inclined to give a certain degree of credit to Sir Piercic Shafton's story, while ho admitted it as improbable—'father to me you liavc been in every sense. You know that my hand grasped more readily to the book than to the swoixl; and that 1 lacked utterly the readyand bold spirit which distinguished ' Here his voice faltered, and he paused for a moment, aud then went on with resolution and rapidity—' I would say, that I was uuequal to Ilalbert in promptitude of heart and of hand: but Halbert is gone, aud I stand his representative, and that of my father—his successor in all his rights (while he said this his eyes shot fire), and bomid to assert and maintain them as he would have done; thcrefoi'C I am a changed man, increased in coui-age as in my rights and pretensions. And, reverend fathei-, respectfully-, but plainly and firnily, do I s;iy, his blood, if it has been shed by this man, shall be atoned." Halbert shall not sleep neglected in his lonely grave, as if with him the spirit of my father had ceased for evei-. His blood flows in my veins, and while his has been poured forth unrequited, mine will permit mo no rest. My poverty and meanness of rank shall not avail the lordly murderer. My calm nature and peaceful studies sliall not be his protection. l']ven the obligations, holy father, which I acknowledge to you, shall not be his protection. I wait with patience the judgment of the abbot and chapter for the shuighter of one of their most anciently descended vassals. If they do right to my brother's memory, it is well. But n)ai'k me, father, if they shall fail in rendering me that

256 WAVERLEY NOVlfLS •

justice, I bear a heart and a hand which, though I love'not such extremities, are capable of remedying such an error. He who takes lip my brother's succession must avenge his death.'

The monk perceived with sui-priso that Edward, with his ex­treme diffidence, humility, and obedient assiduitj", for such were his general chai-acteristics, had still boiling in his veins the wild principles of those from whom he was descended, and by whom he was surrounded. His eyes sparkled, bis frame wa"s agitated, and the extremity of his desire of vengeance seemed to give a vehemence to his manner resembling the restlessness of joy.

' May God help us,' said Father ICustace, ' for, frail wretches as we are, we cannot help om-sclves under sudden and strong temptivtion. Edward, I will rely on your word that you do nothing rashly.'

' That will I not,' said Edward—' that, my better than father, I surely will not. But the blood of my brother—the tears of my mother—and—and—and of Mary Avcnel, shall not be shed in vain. I will not deceive you, father: if this Piercie Shafton hath slain my brother, he dies, if the whole blood of the whole house of Piercie were in his veins.'

There was a deep and solemn determination in the utterance of Edward Glondinning, expressive of a rooted resolution. The sub-prior sighed deeply, and for the moment yielded to circum­stances, and urged the acquiescence of his pupil no farther. He commanded lights to be placed in the lower chamber, which for a time he paced in silence.

A thousand ideas, and even differing principles, debated with each other in his bosom. He greatly doubtedptho English knight's account of the duel, and of what had followed it. Yet the extraordinary and supernatural circumstances which had befallen the sacristan and himself in that very glen prevented him from being absolutely uicredulous on the score of the won­derful woimd and recovery of Sir Piercie Siiafton, and prevented him from at once condemning as impossible that which was altogether improbable. Then ho was at a loss how to control the fraternal allbctions of F-dward, with respect to whom he felt sometiiing like the keeper of a wild animal, a lion's whelp or tiger's cub, which he has held under his command from infancy, but which, when grown to maturity, on some sudden provoca­tion, displays his fangs and talons, erects his crest, resumes his savage nature, and bids defiance at once to his kcejjer and to all mankind.

How to restrain and mitigate an ire wliich the universal

THE MONASTERY • 257

example of the times rendered deadlyand inveterate, was sufli-eicnt cause of anxiety to Father Eustace. But he had also to

.consider the situation of his community, dishonoured and de­graded by submitting to suft'er the slaughter of a vassal to pass unavenged—a circumstance which of itself might in those difficult times have afforded pretext for a revolt among their wavering adherents, or, on the other hand, exposed tlie com­munity to imminent danger, sliould they proceed against a subject of England of high degree, coimectcd with the house of N'orthumberland and other northern families of high rank, who, as they possessed the means, could not be supposed to lack inclination to wreak upon the patrimonj' of St. Mary of Keunaquhair any violence which might be offered to their kinsman.

In either case, the sub-prior well knew that, the ostensible cause of feud, insurrection, or incursion being once afforded, the case would not bo ruled either by reason or by evidence, and ho groaned in spirit when, upon counting up the chances which arose in this ambiguous dilemma, he found ho had only a choice of difficulties. Ho was a monk, but he felt also, as a man, indignant at the supposed slaughter of young Glen-dinning by one skUful in all the,practice of arms, in which the vassal of the monasteiy was most likely to be deficient; and to aid the resentment -wliioh ho felt for the loss of a youth whom he had known from infancy, came in full force the sense of dishonour arising tp his community from passing over so gross an insult unavenged. Then the light in which it might be viewed by thogo who at present presided in the stormy court of Scotland, attached as they were to the Eeformation, and allied by common faith and coumiou interest with Queen Elizabeth, was a formidable subject of apprehension. The sub-prior well know how they lusted after the revenues of the church (to express it in the ordinaiy phrase of the religious of the time), and how readily tliey would grasp at such a pretext for encroaching on those of St. Mary's as would be afforded by the suffering to pass unpimishcd the death of a native Scottishmau by a Catholic Englishman, a rebel to Queen Elizabeth.

On the other hand, to deliver up to F.ngland, or, which was nearly the same thing, to the Scottish administration, an English knight leagued with the Piercio by kindred and political intrigue, a faithful follower of the Catholic Church, who had fled to the lialidome for protection, was, in the

X ' 17

258 WAVERLEY NOVELS

estimation of the sub-prior, an act most unwortliy in itself, and meriting the malediction of Heaven, besides being, moreover, • fraught with gi-eat tempoml risk. If the government of Scot­land was now almost entirely in the hands of the Protestant party, the Queen was still a Catholic, and there was no knowing when, amid the sudden changes whicli agitated that tiunultuous country, she might find herself at the head of her own aflairs, and able to protect those of her own faith. Then if the court of England and its Queen were zealously I'rotestant, the northern counties, whoso friendship or enmity were of most consequence in the firet instance to the community of St. Mary's, contained many Catholics, the heads of whom were able, "and must be supposed willing, to avenge any injuiy suffered by Sir Piercic Shafton.

On either side, the sub-prior, thinking, according to his sense of duty, most anxiously for the safety and welfare of his monastery, saw the greatest risk of damage, blame, inroad, and confiscation. The only course on which he could determine was to stimd by the holm like a resolute'pilot, watch every contingencc, do his best to weather each reef and shoal, and commit tlio rest to Heaven and his patroness.

As he left the apartment, the knight called after him, bo-seeching he would order his trvmk-mails to be sent into his apartment, understanding he was to be guarded there for the night, as he wished to make some alteration in his apparel.*

' Ay, ay,' said the monk, nmttering as he went up the wind­ing stair, ' carry him his tmuupery with all despatch. Alas ! that man, with so many noble objects of pm-svit, will amuse himself like a jackanape with a laced jerkin and a cap and bells! I must now to the melancholy work of consoling that which is wellnigh inconsolable, a mother weeping for her fii-st-born.'

Advancing, after a gentle knock, into the apartment of tlie women, he found that Mary Avcnel had retired to bed ex­tremely indisposed, and that Dame Glendinning and Tibb were indulging their SOITOWS by the side of a decaying fire, and by the light of a small iron lamp, or cruize, as it was termed.

"'Poor Elspeth's aprou was thrown over her head, and bitterly did she sob and weep for 'her beautiful, her brave—the very image of her dear Simon Glendinning, the stay of her widow­hood and the support of her old age.'

The f:iithfnl Tibb echoed her complaints, and, more violently • ,««•<>. Foppery of the .SixtecaUi Centur-. Nnte 20. ,

TH"R MONASTKRY - 259

clamorous, made deep pi'omissos of revenge on Sir Picrcio Shafton, ' if there were a man-left in the south that could draw a whinger, or a woman that could tluuw a rape.' The presence of the sub-prior imposed silence on these clamours. He sate down by the unfortunate mother, aud essayed, by such topics as his religion and rea.son suggested, to interrupt the current of Dame Glen-dinuing's feeliugs; but the attempt was in vain. She listened, indeed, with some little interest, while he pledged his word and his influence with the abbot that the family which liad . lost their eldest-born by means of a guest received at his command should experience particular- pi-otection at the bauds of the coiii-nmnity; and that the fief which belonged to Smion Glendinning should, with extended boimds and added privileges, be conferred on I'Idward; but it was only for a very brief space tiiat the mother's sobs were apparently softer and her gi-ief more mild. She soon blamed herself for casting a moment's thought upon world's gear while poor Halbert was lying stretched in liis bloody shirt. The sub-prior was not more fortunate when ho promised that Halbort's body ' should bo removed to hallowed ground, and liis soul secm-ed by the prayers of the church in his behalf.' Grief would have its natural course, and the voice of the comforter was wasted in vain.

THE JIONASTERY 201

from the spence b j : the sub-prior's direction, and having once missed the opportunity of retreating along with them, bashful-ncss, and the high respect which she was taught to bear to the monks, prevented her venturing forth alone, and intruding lierself on the presence of Father Eustace, wbile in secret con­ference with the Soutliron. There appeared no remedy but to wait till their inteiTiew was over; and, as the door was thin, and did not shut very closely, she could hear every word which passed bfetwixt them.

I t thus happened, that without any intended intrasion on her part, she became privy to the whole conversation of the sub-prior and the English knight, and could also observe from the window of her little retreat that more than one of the young men summoned by Edwaixl an-ived successively at tlie tower. These circumstances led her to entertain most serious apprehension that the life of Sir Piercie Shafton was m gi-cat and instant peril.

Woman is naturally compassionate, and not less williuL'lv so when youth and fair features are on the side of him who claims her sympathy. The handsome presence, elaborate dress and address of Su-Piercie Shafton, which had failed to make any favom-ablc impression on the gmve and lofty character of Mary Avenel, had complete y dazzled and bewildered the poor Maid of the Mill. The knight had perceived this result, and flattered by seeing that his merit was not nniversali; unden^ted, he had bestowed on Mysie a good deal mori ot his courtesy than in his opinion her rank warranted t was not ca.t away, but received with a devout sense of his coi,descens.on, and with gi-atitude for his pei^onal notice, which, jomed to her feai-s for his safety and the natum lier heart. " ^"^P°^"^'°"' ^"g'"^" to make wild work hi

' To be sure it was very wrong in him to slav Halbert Glen-dinning, it was thus she argued the case wiih herself, ' bu t then he was a gentleman boni, and a soldier, and so gent e and courteous withal that she was sure the qua.Tel.had been all of

f T f l S r i r ' ™ ^ ' ° " " f ' ' ^ ' " g ; for it was well known that both these lad. were so taken up with that Mary Avenel that they never looked at another lass in the halidome, mo.-e than if they were of a difterent degree. And then Halbort's dress was as clownish as his manners were haughty; and this jxjor voung gentleman, who was habited like any prince, banished from his own land, was hrat drawn into a quarrel by a rude branglcr, and

C H A P T E R XXVIII

He is at liberty, 1 have ventured for him I . if the law-

Find and condemn me for't, some living wenohos, Some honest-liearted maids will sing my dirge, And toll to memory my death was noble, Djdng almost a martyr.

The Two Noble Kinsmen.

T H E sub-prior of St. JIary's, in biking his departure from the spencc iu which Sir Piercio Shafton was confined, and in which some preparations were made for his passing the night, as the i-oom which might be most convenieutly ghardcd, loft more than one perplexed person behind him. There was connected with this chamber, and opening into it, a small ' outshot,' or pro­jecting part of the building, occupied by a little sleeping apart­ment, which upon ordinary occasions was that of Mary Avenel, and which, iu the unusual number of guests who had come to the tower on the fonuer evening, had also accommodated My.sie Happcr, the miller's daughter; for anciently, as well as in the present dav, a Scottish house was always rathe/ too narrow and limited for the extent of the owner's hospitality, and some shift and contrivance was necessary, upon any mmsual occasion, to ensure the accommodation of all the guests.

The fatal news of Halbert Glendinning's death had thrown all former aiTangements into confusion. Mary Avenel, whose case required immediate attention, had been transported into the apartment hitherto occupied by Halbert and his brother, as the latter proposed'to watch all night in order to prevent the escape of the jjrisoner. Poor Mysie had been altogether overlooked, and had naturally enough betaken hcreelf to the little apart­ment which she had hitherto occupied, ignorant that the spencc, throu<^h which lay the only access to it, was to be the sleeping-chamber of Sir Piei-cie Shafton. The measm-es taken for sccur-in"- him there had been so sudden that she-was not aware of it, until she found that the other females had been removed

262 WAVEKLEY NOVELS •

tlien persecuted and like to be put to death by his kin and allies.'

Mysie wept bitterly at the thought, and then her heart rising against such cruelty and oppression to a defenceless stranger', who dressed with so much skUl, and spoke with so much gi'ace, she began to consider whether she could not render him some assistance in his extremity.

Her mind was now entirely altered from its original purpose. At first her only anxiety had been to find the means of escap­ing from the interior apartment, without being noticed by any one; but now she began to think that Heaven had placed her there for the safety and protection of the j)ersecuted stranger. She was of a simple and alTectionate, but at the same time an alert and enterprising, character, possessing more than female strength of body, and more than female courage, though with feelings as capable of being bewildered-with gallantry of dress and language as a fine gentleman of any. generation would have desired to exercise his talents upon. ' I will saA'e him,' she thought, ' that is the fii-st thing to be resolved ; and then I wonder what he will say to the poor miller's maiden, that has done for hira what all the dainty dames in London or HoljTOod would have been afraid to venture upon.'

Prudence began to pull her sleeve as she indidged specu­lations so hazardous, and hinted to her that the warmer Sir Piercie Shafton's gratitude might prove, it was the more likely to be fraught with danger to his benefactress. Alas! poor Pnidence, thou mayst say with oiu' moral teacher—

I preach for ever, but I preach in vaiu.

The miller's maiden, while you pour your wanimg into her unwilling bosom, has glanced her eye on the small miiTor by which she has placed her little lamp, and it returns to her a countenance and eyes, pretty and sparkling at all times, Urt ennobled at present with the energy of expression proper to those who have dared to fomi, and stand prepared to execute, deeds of generous audacity.

'Will these featui-es—will these eyes, joined to the benefit I am about to confer upon Sir Piercie Shafton, do nothing towards removing the distance of rank between us 1'

Such was the question which female vanity asked of fancy; and though even fancy dared not answer in a ready affirmative, a middle conclusion was adopted. ' Let me first succour the gallant youth, and trust to fortmic for the rest.'

THE MONASTERY -263

Banishing, therefore, from her mind everything that was personal to herself, the.rash but generous girl tinned her whole thoughts to the means of executing this enterprise.

The difficulties which iutei-posed were of no ordinary nature. The vengeance of the men of that country, in cases of deadly feud, that is, hi cases of a quan-el excited" by the slaughter of any of their relations, was one of their most marked char­acteristics ; and Edward, however gentle in other respects, was so fond of his brother that there conld be no doubt that he would be as signal in his revenge as the customs of the coimtry authorised. There were to bo passed the inner door of the apartment, the two gates of the tower itself, and the gate of the courtyard, ere the prisoner was at liberty; and then a f'uide and means of flight were to be provided, otherwise ultunate escape was impossible. But where the will of woman is strongly bent on the accomplishment of such a jjui-posc, her wit is seldom baffled by difficulties, however cmban-assiug.

The sub-prior had not long left tlie apartment ere Mysie had devised a scheme for Sir Piercie Shafton's freedom, daring indeed, but likely to be successful, if dexterously conducted. I t was necessaiy, however, that she should remain where she was till so late an hour that all in the tower should have betiiken themselves to repose, excepting those whose duty made them watchers. The interval she employed in obseiwing the movements of the pei-son in whose ser\'ice she was thus boldly a volunteer.

She could hear Sir Piercie Shafton pace the floor to and fro, in reflection, doubtless on his own untoward fate and precarious situation. By and by she heard him making a rustling among his trunks, which, agreeably to the order of the sub-prior, had been placed in the apartment to which he was confined, and which he was probably amusing more melancholy thoughts by e-xamiuing and arranging. Then she could hear him resume his walk through the room, aud, as if his spirits had been some­what relieved and elevated by the survey of his wardrobe, she could distinguish that at one turn he half-recited a sonnet, at another half-whistled a galliard, and at the third hummed a saraband. At length she could understand that he extended himself on the temporaiy couch which had been allotted to huu, after muttering his prayers hastily, and in a short time she concluded he must be fast asleep.

She employed the moments which iuteiweued in considering her eutei-priso under every different aspect; and, dangerous as

264 WAV5RTyKY NOVKLS

it was, the steady review which she took of the vaiious perils accompanpng her purpose furnished her with plausible devices for obviating them. Love and generous compassion, which give.singly such powerful impulse to the female heart, were in this case imited, and championed her to the last extremity of hazard.

I t was an hour past midnight. All in the tower slept soundly but those who had undei-fciken to guard the English prisoner": or if sorrow and suffering drove sleep from the bed of Dame Glendinning and her foster-daughter, they were too much wrapt in their own gi-iefs to attend to e.Kternal souuds. The means of striking light were at hand in the small apartment, and thus the miller's maiden was enabled to light and trim a small lamp. With a trembling step and throbbing heart, she undid the door which separated her from the apartment in which the Southron knight was confined, and almost flinched from her fixed pui-pose when she found herself in the same room with the slccpiii" prisoner. She scarcely trusted herself to look upon him, as he lay wrapped in his cloak, and fast asleep upon the pallet bed, but turned her eyes away wliile she gently pulled his mantle with no more force than was just equal to awaken him. He moved not until she had twitched his cloak a second and a third time, and then at length looking up, was about to make an exclamation in the suddenness of his siu'prise.

Mysie's bashfulncss was conquered by her fear. She placed her fingers on her lips, in token that he nuist observe the most strict silence, and then pointed to the door to intimate that it was watched.

Sir Piercie Shaftou now collected himself, and sat upright on his couch. He gazed with surprise on the graceful figure of the young woman who stood before him ; her well-formed per­son, her flowing hair, and the outline of her features showed dimly, and yet to advantage, by the partial and feeble light which she held in her hand. Tlie romantic unuo-ination of the gallant would soon have coined some compliment proper for the occasion, but Mysie left hira not time.

' I come,' she said, ' to save your life, which is else in great perO; if you answer me, spe<ik as low as you can, for they have sentinelled your door with armed men.'

' Comeliest of mLllera' daughtera,' answered Sir Piercie, who by Ibis time was sitting upright in his couch, 'dread nothing for my safety. Credit me that, as in very truth I have not spilled the red puddle, which these villagios call the blood.

THE MONASTERY 265

of their most uncivil relation, so 1 am mider no apprehension whatever for tlie issue of this restraint, seeing that it cannot but be harmless to me. Natheless, to thee, 0 most molendinar beauty, I return the thanks which thy courtesy may justly claim.'

'Nay, but, sir knight,'aiis\fered the maiden, in a whisper as low as it was tremulous, ' I deserve no thanks, unless you will act by my counsel. Edward Glendiiming hath sent for Dan of the Howlethii'St and young Adic of Aikenshaw, and they are come with three men more, and with bow, and jack, and spear, and I heard them say to each other and to Edward, as they alighted in the court, that they would have amends for the death of their kinsman, if the monk's cowl should smoke for it. And the vas.sals are so wilful now that the abbot himself dare not control them, for fear they tuni heretics, and refuse to pay their feu-duties.'

' I n faith,' said Sir Piercic Shafton, ' i t may be a shrewd temptation, and perchance the monks may rid themselves of trouble and cumber by handing mc over the march to Sir John Foster or Lord Hunsdon, the English wardens, and so make peace with their vassals and with England at once. Faii-est Molinara, I will for once walk by thy redo, and if thon dost contrive to extricate mo from this vile kennel, I will so celebrate thy wit and beauty that the Baker's Nymph of Raphael d'Urbino shall seem but a gipsy in comparison of my Molinara.'

' I pray you, then, be silent,' Sivid the miller's daiighter; I for if yourv speech betrays that you are awake, my scheme fails utterl', and it is Heaven's mercy and Our Lady's that we are not already overheai-d and discovered.'

' I am silent,' replied the Southron, 'even as the starless night; but yet, if this contrivance of thine should endanger tliy safety, fair and no less kind than fair damsel, it were utterly imworthy of me to accept it at thy hand.'

'Do not think of me,'said Mysie, hastily; ' I am safe—I will take thought for myself, if I once saw vou out of this dangerous dwelling; if yon would provide yourself with anv part of your apparel or g'oods, lose no time.'

The knight did, however, lose some time ere he could settle in his own mind what to take and what to abandon of his wai-d-i-obe, each article of which seemed endeared to him by recollec­tion of the feasts and revels at which it had been exhibited. For some little while ilysie left him to make his selections at

266 WAVERLEY NOVELS •

leisure, for she herself had also some preparations to make for flight. But when, returning from the chamber into which she had retired, with a small bundle in her hand, she fomid him still indecisive, she insisted in plain tei-ms that he should either make up his baggage for the entci-prise or give it up entirely. Thus urged, the disconsolate knight hastily made up a few clothes into a bundle, regarded his trunk-mails with a mute expression of parting sorrow, and intimated hiS readiness to wait upon his kind guide.

She led the way to tlic door of the apartment, having fii-st carefully extinguished her lamp, and motioning to the knight to stand close behind her, tapped once or twice at tlio door. She was at length answered by Edward Glendinning, who de­manded to know who knocked within, and what was desired.

'Speak low,' said ilysie Happer, 'or you will awaken the Englisli knight. I t is I i[ysie Happer, who knock; I wish to get out ; you have locked me up, and I was obliged to wait till the Southron slept.'

' Locked you up !' replied Edward, in sm-prise. 'Yes,' answered the miller's daughter, 'yo*i have locked me

up into this room : I was in Mary Avencl's sleeping apai'tment.' ' And can you not remain there till morning,' replied IMward,

' since it has so chanced 1' ' Wha t ! ' said the miller's daughter, in a tone of offended

delicacy, ' / remain here a moment longer than I can get out without discovery! I would not, for all the halidome of St.. JIaiy's, remain a miiuite longer in the neighbourhood of a man's apartment than 1 can help it. For whom or for what do you hold me ? I promise you, my father's daugliter has been better brought up tlian to put in peril her good name.'

'Come forth, then, and get to tliy chamber in silence,' said Etlwai-d.

So saying, he undid the bolt. The staircase without was in utter darkness, as Mysio had before ascertained. So soon as she stept out, she took hold of Edward as if to support her­self, thus interposing her pereou betwixt him and Sir Piercio Shafton, by whom she wa.s closely followed. Thus screened from obseiwation, the Englishman slipped past on tiptoe, unshod and in silence, while the damsel complained to Edward that she wanted a light.

' I cannot get j'ou a light,' said ho, ' for I cannot leave this post; but there is a fire below.'

' I will sit below till morning,' said the Maid of the Mill;

THE MOXASTKRY 267

and, tripi)ing downstairs, heard Edwaixl bolt and bar the door of the now tenautless apartment with vain caution.

At the foot of the stjiir which she descended, she found the object of her care waiting her farther directions. She recom­mended to him the most absolute silence, which, for once in his life, he seemed not unwilling to observe, conducted him with as much caution as if he were walking on cracked ice to a dark recess used for depositing wood, and instnicted him to ensconce himself behind the fagots. She herself lighted her lamp once more at the kitchen fire, and took her distaff and spindle, that she might not seem to be unemploj-ed in case any one came into the !ipartmcnt. From time to time, however, she stole towards the window on tiptoe to catch the first glance of the dawn, for the farther prosecution of her advcntui-ous project. At length she saw, to her great joy, the first peep of the morn­ing brighten upon the grey clouds of the east, and, clasping her hands together, thanked Our Lady for the sight, and implored protection during the remainder of her enterprise. Ere she had finished hei' prayer, she started at feeling a man's anu across her shouMer, while a rough voice spoke in her cai', ' What! nienseful ^lysic of the Mill so soon at her prayei-s ? Now, benison on .the bonny eyes that open so early ! I'll Iiavc a kiss for good-morrow's sivke.'

Dan of the Howlethirst, for he was the gallant who paid Mysie this compliment, suited the action with the word, and

. the action, as is usual in such cases of nistic gallantry, was rewai'ded with a cuff', which Dan received as a fine gentleman receives a ti' ) with a fan, but which, delivered by the energetic arm of the miller's maiden, would have certainly astonished a less robust gallant.

' How now, sir coxcomb !' said she, ' and must you be away fi-om your g\nird over the Englisli knight to plague quiet folk with your horse-tricks !'

' Truly you are mistaken, pretty Mysic,' said the clown, ' for I have not yet relieved I'Mward at his post; and were it not a shame to let him stay any longer, by my faith, I could find it in my heart not to quit j-ou these two houre.'

' 0 , you have hours and houra enough to see any one,' said Mysio; ' bu t you must think of the distress of the household even now, and get Edward to sleep for awhile, for bo has kept watch this whole night.'

' I will have another kiss first,' answered Dan of the Howlct-hirs;.

263 WAVER LEY NOVELS '

Bvit Mysie was now on her guard, and, conscious of the vicinity of the wood-hole, offered such strenuous resistance that the swain cursed the nymph's bad humour with very unpastoral phrase and emphasis, and ran upstairs to relieve the guard of his comi'ade. Stealing to the door, she heard the new sentinel hold a brief convei'sation with Edward, after which the latter withdrew, and the former entered upwn the duties of his watch.

Mysie suffered him to walk there a little while undisturbed, until the dawning became more general, by which time she supposed he might have digested her coyness, and then present­ing herself before the watchful sentinel, demanded of him ' the keys of the outer tower, and of the courtyai-d gate.'

' And for what purpose 1' answered the warder. ' To milk the cows, and drive them out to their pasture,'

said Mysie; ' you would not have the poor beasts kept in the byro a' morning, and the family in such distress that there isua ane fit to do a turn but the byre-woman and myself 1'

' And where is the byre-woman 1' said Dan. 'Sitt ing with me in the kitchen, in case"these distressed

folk want auj'thing.'

' There are the keys then, Mysie Dorts,' said the sentinel. ' Many thanks, Dan Ne'er-do-Wecl,' answered the Maid of

the Mill, and escaped downstairs in a moment. To hasten to the wood-hole, and there to robe the English

knight in a short gown and petticoat, which she had provided for the purpose, was the work of another moment. She then inidid the gates of the tower, and made towards the byre or cow-house, which stood in one comer of the coiirtyard. Sir Piercic Siiafton remonstrated against the delay which this would occasion.

' Fair and generous Moliuara,' he said, ' had we not better undo tlie outwai-d gate, and make the best of our way hence, even like a pair of sea-mews who make towards shelter of the rocks as the storm waxes high 1'

' We must drive out the cows first,' said Mysie, ' for a sin it were to spoil the poor widow's cattle, both for her sake and the poor boasts' own; and I have no mind any one sliall leave the tosver in a hurry to follow us. Besides, you must have your liorse, for you will need a fleet one ere all be done.'

So saying, she locked and double-locked both the inward and outwai-d door of the tower, proceeded to the cow-house, tm-ned out the cattle, and, giving the knight his own horac to lead, drove them before her out at the courtyard gate, intending to

TIIK MONASTERY 269 • >

return for her own palfrey. But the noise attending the first operation caught the wakeful attention of Edward, wlio, starting to the bartizan, called to know what the matter was.

Mysie answered with great readiness, that 'She was driviu<r out the cows, for that tliey would be spoiled for want of look°-ing to.' •

' I thank thee, kmd maiden,' said Edward; 'and y e t ' he nclded after a moment's pause, 'what damsel is that thou hast with thCo?

Mysio was about to answer, when Sir Piercie Shaftou, who apparently did not desire that the great work of his libemtion should be executed without the interposition of his own in­genuity, exclaimed from beneath, ' I am she, 0 most bucolical juvenal under whose charge are placed the milky mothei-s of the herd. •'

'Hell and darkness !'exclaimed Edward, in a transport of fury and astonishment, ' it is Piercio Shafton. W h a t ' treason ' treason ! ^ h o .'—Dan—Jasper—Martin—the villain escapes i ' ' , , . ? ^'"•^f ' .*'?''"'•^^ ' ' ' '"^^ ^^y^'"' •' "'1 i" 'i» instant mounted behind the kmght, who was already in the saddle.

Edward caught up a cross-bow and let fly a bolt which whistled so neai; Mysie's ear that she called to her companion ' Spur—spur, sir knight! the next will not miss us. Had it been Halbert instead of Edward who bent that bow, we had been dead.'

The knight pressed his horse, which daslied past the cows, and down the knoll on wliich the tower was situated. Then taking the -oad down the valley, the gallant animal, reckless of its double burden, soon conveyed them out of hearing of the tumult and alarm with which their departure filled the Tower of Glendearg.

Thus it strangely happened that two men were living in different directions at the same time, each accused of being the other's mui-derer.

C H A P T E R XXIX

Sure lio cannot Be so luimanly as to leave mo here ; If he do, inaids will not so ensily Tnist men again.

The Two Noble Kinsmen.

T H E knight contmued to keep the good horse at a pace as quick as the road permitted, until they had cleared the valley of Glendearg, and entered upon the broad dale of the Tweed, which now rolled before them la crystal beauty, displaying on its opposite bank the huge gi-ey Monastery of fjt. Mary's, whose towers and pinnacles wei'c scarce yet touched by the newly-risen smi, so deeply the edifice lies shrouded luider the moimtiuus which rise to the southward.

Turning to the left, the knight couthiued his road down tlie uortheni bank of the river, until they arrived nearly opposite to the wear, or dam-dike, where Father Philip concluded his extraordinary_aq\iatic excursion.

Sir Percie Shafton, whose brain seldom admitted more than one idea at a time, had hitherto pushed fonvard without vorv distinctly considering where he was going. IJut the sight of the monastery so near to him reminded him tliat he was still on dangerous ground, and that he must necessarily woxida for his safety by choosing some settled plan of escape The si tui tionof his guide and deliverer also occurred to him for ho was far from being either selfish or nngi-atefd. He li'stened, and discovered that the niiller s daughter was sobbing and wccnin.' bitterly as she rested her head on his shoulder

•What ails thee, 'he said, 'my generous Mdinara? is there aught that P.erc.e Slmfton can do winch may show his gratitude to his deliverer? Mysie pointed with her finger across the river, but ventured not to tuni her eyes in that direction ' N I V but speak plain, most generous damsel,' said the knight, who' for once, was puzzled as much as his own elegance of speech

.<* ^ fl

?-.•;;•' .ViV - . v ; • •t2:5i*-•

ESCAPE OK SIR P.ERCE SHAFTON FROM GLKNDEARG.

•^HK MONASTKHY 271

was wont to puzzle others,. ' for I swear to you that I compre­hend nought by the extension of thy fair digit.'

' Yonder is my father's house,' said Mysie, in a voice inter­rupted by the increased burst of her sorrow.

' And I was carrying thee discourteously to a distance from thy habitation?' said Shafton,rtmagining he had found out the source of her grief. 'Woe worth the liour that Piercie Sliafton, in attention to his own safety, neglected the accommodation of any female, far less of his most beneficent liberatrice! Dis-moiuit, then, 0 lovely Molinara, unless thou wouldst rather that I should transport thee on horseback to the house of thj ' molcndinary father, which, if thou sayest the word, I am prompt to do, defying all dangers which may arise to me personally, whether by monk or miller,'

Mysie suppressed her sobs, and with considerable difficulty muttered her desire to alight, and take her fortune by herself. Sir Piercie Shafton, too dcvot«d a squire of dames to consider the most, lowly as exempted from a respectful attention, inde­pendent of the claims which the miller's maiden possessed over him, dismounted instantly from his horse, and received in his arms the poor girl, who still wept bitterlj', and, when placed on the gi'ound, seemed scarce able to support herself, or at least still clung, though, as it appeared, unconscioiislj', to the support he had afforded. He carried her to a weeping birch-tree, whicii grew on the greeuswai-d bank around which the road winded, and, placing her on the ground beneath it, exhorted her to compose herself. A strong touch of natural feeling stmggled with, and half overcame, his acquired affectation, while he said, ' Credit me, 'most generous damsel, the sen'ice you have done to Piercie Shafton he would have deemed too dearly bought had he foreseen it was to cost you these teare and singulis. Show me the cause of your grief, and if I can do aught to remove it, believe that the rights you have acquired over mo will make your commands sacred as those of an empress. Speak, then, fair Molinara, and command him whom fortune hath rendered at once your debtor and your chami)ion. What are your orders 1'

'Only that you will fly and save yourself,' said Mysie, mustering up her utmost efforts to utter these few woixis.

' Yet,' said the knight, ' let me not leave you without some token of remembrance.' Mysie w-ould have said there needed none, and most truly would she have spoken, could she have spoken for weeping. ' Piercie Shafton is poor,' he continued,

272 WAVERLEY NOVELS

' b u t let this cliain testify he is not ungrateful to his deliverer.'

He took from his neck the rich chain and medallion wo have formerly mentioned, and put it into the powerless hand of the poor maiden, who neitlier received nor rejected it, but, occupied witli more intense feelings, seemed scarce aware of what he was doing.

' Wo shall meet again,'said Sir Piercie Shafton, "• at least 1 trust so; meanwhile, weep no more, fair Molinara, -an thou lovest me.'

The phrase of conjuration was but used as an ordinary commonplace expression of the time, but bore a deeper sense to poor J^Iysic's ear. She dried her tears; and when the kuiglit, in all kind and chivalrous courtesy, stooped to embrace lier at tlieir parting, she rose humbly up to receive the proflered lionour in a posture of more deference, and meekly and grate­fully accepted the offered salute. Sir Piercie Shafton mounted liis horse, and began to ride ofT; but curiosity, or perhaps a stronger feeling, soon induced him to look back, when he beheld the miller's daughter stiinding still motionless on the spot where they had parted, her eyes turned after him, and the unheeded cliain hanging from her liund.

I t was at this moment that a glimpse of the real stiite of Mysie's affections, and of the motive from which she had acted in the whole matter, glanced on Sir Piercie Shaf ton's mind. The gallants of that age, disinterested, aspiring, and lofty-minded even in their coxcombry, were strangers to those degrading and mischievous pursuits which arc usually termed low amours. They did not 'chase the humble maidens of the plain,' or degrade their own rank to deprive rural innocence of peace and virtue. I t followed of course that, as conquests in this class were no part of their ambition, they were in most cases totally over­looked and unsuspected, left unimproved, as a modern would call it, wliere, as on the pre-sent occasion, they were casually made. The companion of Astrophel, and flower of the tilt-yard of Feliciana, had no more idea that his graces and good parts could attach the love of Mysie Happor than a firat-rate beauty in tlie boxes dreams of the fatal wound which her chanus may inflict on some attomej-'s romantic apprentice in the pit. 1 suppose, in any ordinary case, tlie pride of rank and distinction would liave pronounced on the humble admirer the doom which Beau Feildiug denounced against the whole female world, ' Let them look and d i e ' ; but the obligations

THE JtONASTERY . 273

under which he lay to the enamoured maiden, miller's daughter as she was, precluded the possibility of Sir Piercie's treating the matter en cavalier, and, much embaiTassed, yet a little flattered at the same time, he rode back to try what could bo done for the damsel's relief.

The innate modestj' of poor.^Iysie could uot prevent her showing too obvious signs of joy at Sir Piercie Shafton's return. She was botmyed by the sparkle of the rekindling eye, and a caress which, however timidly bestowed, she could not help giving to the neck of the horse which brought back the be­loved rider.

' What farther can I do for you, kind Molinara ?' said Sir Piercie Shafton, himself hesitating and blushing; for, to the grace of Queen Bess's age be it spoken, her courtiers wore more iron on their breasts than brass ou their foreheads, and even amid their vanities presei-ved still the decaying spirit of chivahy, whicli inspired of yore the very gentle knight of Chaucer,

WliQ in liis port wns modest as a maid.

Mj'sie blushed deeply, with her eyes fixed on the groimd, and Sir Piercie proceeded in the same tone of embarrassed kindness. 'Are you afraid to return home alone, my kind ilolinara ? would you that I should accompany you ?'

'Alas ! ' said Mysie, looking up, and her cheek changing from scarlet to pale, ' I have no home left! '

' How ! no home 1' said Shafton. ' Saya my generous Molin-ara she hath uo home, when yonder stands the house of hot. fatlier, and bu" a cr^'stal stream between 1'

' Alas! ' answei'ed the miller's maiden, ' 1 have no longer either liome or father. He is a devoted servant to the abbey; I have oflbnded the abbot, and if I return home my father will kill me.'

' He dare not injure thee, by Heaven !' said Sir Piercie. ' I swear to thee, by my honour and knighthood, that tlie forces of my cousin of Northiunbcrland shall lay the monastery so flat that a horse shall not stimiblo as he i-ides ever it, if they should dare to injtu'O a hair of your head ! Therefore be Iiopeful and content, kind Mysinda, and know yon have obliged one who can and will avenge the slightest wrong ofl'cred to

you-' ' He sprung from his horse as ho spoke, and m the animation of his argument grasped the willing hand of Mysie, or Mysinda,

i8

274 WAVERLEY NO\'ELS

as he had now christened her. He gazed too upon full black eyes, fixed upon his own with an expression which, however subdued by maidenly shame, it was impossible to mistake, on cheeks where something like hope began to restore the natural colour, and on two lips which, like double rosebuds, were kept a little apart by expectation, and sliowed within a line of teeth as white as pearl. All this was dangerous to look upon, and Sir Piercie Shafton, after repeating witli less and less force his request that the fair Mysinda would allow him to carry her to her father's, ended by asking the fair Mysinda to go along ^\•itll him. ' A t least,' he added, 'unti l I shall be able to conduct you to a place of safety.'

Mysie Happer made no answer; but, blushing scarlet betwixt joy and shame, mutely expressed her willingness to accompany tlie Southron knight, by knitting licr bundle closer, and pre-]iaring to resume lier seat en croupe. 'And wliut is your pleasm-e tliat I should do with this? ' she said, holding up the chain as if she had been for the fii-st time aware that it was in her hand.

' Keep it, fairest Jlysinda, for my sake,' said the knight. ' iSot so, sir,' answered Mysie, gravely ; ' the maidens of my

country take no such gifts from their superiors, and I need no token to remind me of this morning.'

Most earnestly and courteously did the knight urge her acceptance of the proposed guerdon; but on this point Mysie was resolute, feeling, perhaps, that to accept of anything bearing the appearance of rewai-d would be to place the sersdce she had I'endered him on a mercenary footing. In short she would only agree to conceal the chain, lest it mlglit prove the means of detecting tlic owner, \intil Sir Piercie should be placed in perfect safety.

They mounted and resumed their joimiey, of which Jlysie as bold and sliarp-witted in some points as she was simple'and susceptible in others, now took in some degree tlio direction having only inquired its general destination, and learned that Sir Piercie Shafton desired to go to l':dinburgh, where he hoped to find friends' and protection. Possessed of tliis information, Mysie availed herself of her local knowledge to get as soon as possible out of the bounds of the halidome, and into those of a temporal baron, supposed to be addicted to the Refonned doctrines, and upon whose limits, at least, she thought their pui-suers would not attempt to luizai-d any violence. She was not indeed very apprehensive of a pm-suit, reckouin"

. TH*E MONASTERY 275

with some confidence that the inliabitants of the Tower of Glendearg would find it a matter of difficulty to surmount the obstacles arising fi-om their own bolts and bars, with which slie had carefully secured them before setting forth on the retreat.

They journeyed on, therefore, 'in tolerable security, and Sir Piercie Sliaftou found leisure to amuse the time in high-flown speeches and long anecdotes of the court of Feliciana, to which ilysic bent an ear not a whit less attentive that she did not imderstand one word out of three which was uttered by her fellow-traveller. She listened, however, and admired upon trust, as many a wise man has been contented to treat the con­versation of a handsome but silly mistress. As for Sir Piercie, he was in his element; and well assured of the interest and full approbation of his auditor, he went on spouting Euphuism of more than usual obscurity, and at more than usual length. 'J'hus passed the morning, and noon brought them within si^ht of a winding stream, on the side of which arose an ancient baronial castle, surrounded bj- some large trees. At a small distance from the gate of the mansion extended, as iu those days was usual, a straggling hamlet, having a church in the centre.

'There arc two hostolries in tliis Kirktown,' said Ifysie ' but the worst is best for our purpose; for it stands apart from the other houses, and I ken the man weel, for he has dealt with my fatiier for malt.'

This causa scieiitia; to use a lawyer's phrase, was ill chosen for Mysio's puvpose; for Sir Piercie Siiafton had, by dint of his

' own loquacity, beeu talking himself all this while into a hicrh esteem for his fellow-traveller, and, pleased with the gracious reception which she afforded to hLs powers of conversation, had wellnigh forgotten that she was uot herself one of those high­born beauties of whom he was recounting so many stories, when this unlucky speech at once ]ilaced the most disadvan­tageous circumstances attending her lineage imder his inuuc-diate recollection. He said nothing, however. What indeed could he sayl Nothing was so natural as that a miller's daughter should be acquainted with publicans who dealt with her father for malt, and all that was to be wondered at was the concurrence of events which had rendered sucli a female the companion and guide of Sir Piercie Shaftou of Wilverton, kinsman of the gi-eat Earl of Noi-thumberland, whom piiuces and sovereigns themselves temied cousin, because of the

276 WAVERLEY ?:OTELSi

Picrcie blood.* He felt the disgrace of strolling through the country with a miller's maiden on the cropper behind hira, and was even ungrateful enough to feci some emotions of shame when he halted his horse at the door of the little inn.

But the alei-t intelligence of Mysie Happer spared him further sense of derogation, "by instantly springing from the horse, and ci'amming the ears of mine host, who came out with his mouth agape to receive a guest of the knight's appeai-auce, with an imagined tale, in which circumstance on circumstance were huddled so fast.as to astonish Sir Piercio Shafton, wliosc own invention was none of the most brilliant. She explained to the publican that this was a gi-eat English knight ti-avelling from the monastery to the coiu-t of Scotland, after ha\-ing paid his vows to St. Mary, and that she had been directed to conduct him so far on the road ; and that Ball, her palfrey, had fallen by the way, because he had been overwrought with carrying home tlie last melder of meal to the portioner of Langhope; and that she had turned in Ball to graze in the Tusker's Park, near Cripplecross, for he had stood as still as Lot's wife with very weariness; and that the knight had courteously insisted she should ride behind him; and that she had bi-ought him to her kcnn'd friend's hosteliy rather than to proud Peter Peddio's, who got his malt at the Mollerstain mills; and that he must get the best that the house afforded, and that ho must get it ready in a moment of time, and that she was ready to lielp in the kitchen.

All this ran glibly off" the tongue without pause on the part of I^Iysie Happoi-, or doubt on that of the landlord. The guest's horec was conducted to the stable, and ho himself installed in the cleanest corner and best seat which the place afforded. Mysie, ever active and officious, was at once engaged in preparing food, in spreading the table, and in making all the better arrangements which her experience could suggest for the honour and comfort of her companion. He would fain have resisted th i s ; for while it was impossible not to bo gratified with the eager and alert kindness which was so active in his service, ho felt an indefinable pain in seeing J[ysinda engaged in these menial services, and discharghig them, moreoverras one to whom they were but too familiar. Yot this jarring feeling was mixed with, and perhaps balanced by, the extreme

• Froiss.yt tellsu3somcwlicre(the rea.)orgof roinanncsave indincrent tottccnrat-r.^ference) that tl.o King of Franco caIlo<l one or tho Piercics cousin, bpcanse of tlm bloud of Nortluuiibc-rlanrt.

TIMC MONASTERY 277

, • 1 *i „ .,ont hinded maiden executed these tasks, grace with which the n e ^ ™ ^ ^ ^ "'^^.^ to the wretched corner t w e v e r mean in * ; ^ f ^^^^^jf^.f,,?of a hower, in which an of a miserable inn of f ^ P ^ " f J ^ e r d e s s of Arcadia, was dis-enamoured fairy, or at l'=^^^.^.,^'d\?ter designs on the heart of S - l ^ j S ^ n S ^ ^ ' o S i - higher thoughts and a

-^^issr^.-wit.wd.^.iyj^;^ ,ouiid table with a ^"°; ; , ;^^Si ts accompanyi.^ stoup of the hastily-roasted capon with a^ 1 ^ ^ , ^ ^ t

.BouKleaux, were but pl^^^^^^'^f ^fted by each glance. She there were very fattemgjea^^^-^^^^^^^ J^^^ ^ . ^ ,

was so very well "^^ff > " ^ f ; ^„a her face in which a smile I m n d a n d a r m a s w l u t e a s b iow a ^^^.^^ ^^^^.^^ ^ , , ,

contended with '^ .^^^.^^^J 'J .^to and were dropped at once Shafton when he l o ° ^ f j f ' J , ; ^ she was in-csistible ! In fine, ^vhen they encoxmcred Ins, that .„i„,d to the -the aficctionate fel-cacy of hej- ^ , ^^.j.^^.d, tended to

Sweet cugiigiug Grace l-ut <m some clotUe-s to como abroml,

And took a waiter's place.

1 A „„«io thp damning reflection that these Hut, on the other hand -^<^^''^^l] , , ,e",,.e the beloved only, duties were not t f S'^^, ' ' . ^ j^ ja natural habits of a miller's but arose from the oi^ ' ' J, t i.cuder the same service to

have done. . ,„«niioiis Sir Piercic Shafton forgot Amidst tliis variety of '^7';^°"''^^J^.,, ,,„d partake the good

,,ot to ask the object of t h m t o ^ d o w ^ ^ J^^ ^^^^^^ ^^

cheer which she 1>^<1 '> " \° t^^Lvi ta t ion would have been i , order. He ^^^ ' ^ f J ^ l ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ thankfvdly, accepted; but bashfully, perhaps, b ^ t t e ^ a i y the mixture of

he was im-tly fl^""";^"^itU^.vhich Mysic declined his mvita-, deference and resolutiou with Nv ^^^^^ ^ ^ apartment

^ k f e t l i ^ - a ^ r i c h he would have found it

278 WAVERLEY NO'SJELS

difficult to make up his mind, had there been any necessity for it. As there was none, he di-ank a few cups of claret, and sang (to himself) a strophe or two of the canzonettes of the divine Astrophel. But m spite both of wine and of Sir Philip Sidney, the connexion in which he now stood, and that which he was

• in futm-e to hold, with the Icjyely Molinara, or Mysiuda, as he had been pleased to denominate Mysie Happer, recnn-ed to his mind. The fashion of the times, as we have already noticed, fortunately coincided with his own nattu-al generositj' of disposi­tion, which indeed amounted almost to extravagance, in pro­hibiting, as a deadly sin, alike against gallantry, chivalry, and morality, his rewarding the good offices he had received from this poor maiden by abusing any of the advantages which her confidence in his honour had afforded. To do Sir Piercie justice, it was an idea which never entered into his head; and he would probably have dealt the most scientific imhrocata, stoccata, or 2nmto reverso, which the school of Vincent Saviola had taught him, to any man who had dared to suggest to him such selfish

- and ungrateful meanness. On the other hand, he was a man, and foresaw various circumstances which might render their journey together in this intimate fashion a scandal and a snare. More­over, he was a coxcomb and a courtiei", and felt there was something ridiculous in travelling the land with a miller's daughter behind his saddle, giving rise to suspicions not very creditable to either, and to ludicrous constructions, so far as ho himself was concerned.

' I would,' he said half-aloud, ' that, if such might be done without harm or discredit to the too-ambitious, yet too-well-distinguishing Molinara, she and I were fairy severed, and bovmd on our different courses; even as we see the goodly vessel bound for the distant seas hoist sails and bear away into the deep, while the humble flyboat can-ies to shore those friends who, with wounded hearts and Avatery eyes, have committed to their higher destinies the more daring adventui-ers by whom the fair frigate is manned.'

He had scarce uttered the wish when it was gratified; for the host entei^d to say that his worshipful knighthood's horse was ready to be brought forth as he had desired; and-on his inquiry for 'the—the—damsel—that is—the young woman •'

'My.sie Happer,' said the landlord, 'has returned to her father's; but she bade me saj^ you could not miss the road for Edinburgh, in respect it was neither far way nor foirl gate.'

I t is seldom we are exactly blessed with the precipe fulfil-

/

,. THE MONASTERY . 279

ment of our wishes at the moment when we utter thcmj per­haps because Heaven wisely withholds what, if gi\anted, would be often received with higratitude. So at least it chanced in the present instance; for, when mine host said that Mj'sie was retlu-ned homeward, the knight was tempted to reply with an ejaculation of surprise and vexation, and a hasty demand whither and when she had departed. The fii-st emotions his prudence suppressed, the second found utterance.

' Where is she gane ?' said the host, gazing on him, and repeating Iris question. ' She is gane hame to her father's, it is like; and she gaed just when she gave orders about your wor­ship's horse, and saw it weel fed—she might have tnisted me, but millers and millers' kin think a'body as thief-like as them­selves—an' she's three miles on the gate by tills time.'

' I s she gone, then? ' muttered Sir Piercie, making two or three hasty strides tlu-ough the narrow apartment—'is she gone? Well, then, let her go. She could have had but disgrace by abiding by me, and I little credit by her society. That I should have tliought there was such difficulty in shaking her off! I warrant she is bjf this time laughing with some clown she has cncouutored; and my rich chain will prove a good dowiy. And ought it not to prove so ? and has she not deserved it, were it ten time's more valuable ? Piercie Shafton! Piercie Shafton! dost thou gi'udge thy deliverer the guerdon she hath so dearly won? The selfish air of this northern hxnd hath infected thee, Piercie Shafton, and blighted the blossoms of thy generosity, even as it is said to shrivel the flowers of the mul­berry. Yet I thought,' ho added, after a moment's pause, ' that she would not so easily and voluntarily have parted from me. But it skills not thinking of it. Cast my Veckouing, mine host, and let yom- groom lead forth my nag.'

The good host seemed also to have some mental point to discuss, for he answered not instantly, debating perhaps whether his conscience would bear a double eliarge for the same guests. Apparently his conscience replied in the negative, though not without hesitation, for he at length replied—' It's daffing to lee; it winna deny that the lawing is clean paid. No'erthcless, if your worshipful knighthood pleases to give aught for mcrease of trouble '

' How !' said the knight; ' the reckoning paid ! and by whom, I pray you?'

' E'en by Mysie Happer, if t ruth mavm be spoken, as I said before,' answered the honest landlord, with as many com-

280 WAVERLEY NOVELS ,

punotious Tisitings for telling the verity as another might have felt for making a lie in the circumstances; ' and out of the monies supplied for your honour's journey by the abbot, as she tauld to me. And laith were I to surcharge any gentleman that darkens my doors.' He added, in the conMence of honesty \vhich his frank avowal entitled liim to entertain— ' Ne'ertheless, as I said before, if it pleases yoiu' knighthood ,of free good-will to" consider extraordinary trouble—•—'

. The knight cut short his argument by throwing the landlord a rose-noble, which probably doubled the value of a Scottish reckoning, though it would have defrayed but a half one at the Three Cranes or [in] the Vintry. The bounty so much delighted mine host that he I'an to fill the stiiTup-cup (for which no charge was ever made) from a butt yet charier than that which he had pierced for the foi-mer stonp. The knight paced slowly to horse, partook of his coiuiesy, and thanked him with the stiff condescension of the court of Elizabeth; then mounted and followed the noi'them path, which was pointed out as the nearest to Edinburgh, and wliich, though very vmlike a modern highway, bore yet so distinct a resemblance to a public and frequented road as not to be easily mistaken.

' I shall not need her guidance it seems,' said he to himself, as he rode slowly onward; ' and I suppose that was one reason of her abrupt departure, so different from what one might have expected. Well, I am well rid of her. Do we not pray to be libeiuted from temptation 1 Yet that she should have erred so much in estimation of her own situation and mine as to think of defraying the reckoning ! I would I saw her once more, but to explain to her the solecism of which her inexperience hath rendered her guilty. And I fear,' he added, as he emerged from some straggling trees, and looked out upon a wild moorish country, composed of a succession of swelling kunpish hills— ' I fear I shall soon want the aid of this Ariadne, who might afford me a clue through the recesses of yonder mountainous labjTinth.'

As the knight thus communed with himself, his attention was caught by' the sound of a horse's footsteps; and a lad, momited on a little grey Scottish nag, about fourteen hands high, coming along a path which led from behind the trees, joined him on the highroad, if it covild be termed such.

The dress of the lad was completely in village fashion, yet neat and handsome in appearance. He had a jerkin of grey cloth skslrcd and trimmed, with black hose of the same, Avith

THE aiONASTERy 281

deer-skin rullions or sandals, and handsome silver spurs. A cloak of a dark mulbeny colour was closely drawn round the upper part of his peraon, and the cape in part muffled his face, wliich was also obsom-ed by his bonnet of black velvet cloth, and its little plume of feathere.

Sir Piercie Shafton, foud of asociety, desirous also to have a guide, and, moreover, prepossessed in favoiir of so handsome a youth, failed not to ask him whence he came, and wliither he was going. The youth looked another way, as he answered, that he was going to Edinburgh, ' to seek service in some noble­man's family.'

' I fear me you have run away from your last master,' said Sir Piercie, ' since yo\i dare not look mo in the face while j-ou answer my question.'

'Indeed, sir, I have not,' answered the lad, bashfully, while, as if with reluctance, he turned round his face, and instantly withdrew it. I t was a glance, but the discovery was complete. There was no mistaking the dark full eye, the cheek in which much ernbarrassmeut could not altogether disguise an expres­sion of comic humour, and the wliole figiu-e at once betrayed, under her metamorphosis, the Maid of the Mill. The recogni­tion was joyfiil, and Sir Piercie Shafton was too much pleased to have regained His companion to remember the various good reasons which had consoled him for losing her.

To his questions respecting her dress, she answered that she had obtained it in the Kirktown fi-om a friend; it was the holiday suit of a sou of hers, who had taken the field w'ith his liege lord, the baron of the land. She had borrowed the suit imder pretence she meant to play in some mumming or niral masquerade. S)ie had left, she said, her own apparel in ox-change, which was better w-orth ten crowns than this was worth four..

'And the nag, my ingenious Moliuara,' said Sir Piercie— ' whence comes the nag ?'

' I bonwved him from om* host at the Gled's Nest,' she replied; and added, half-stilling a laugh, 'he has sent to get, instead of it, our Ball, which 1 left in the Tasker's Park at Cripplecross. He will be lucky if he find it there.'

' But then the poor man will lose his horse, most argute Mysmda,' said Sir Piercie Shaftou, Avhose English uotious of property were a little startled at a mode of acquisition more congenial to the ideas of a miller's daughter, and he a Border miller to boot, than with those of an EngUsh person of quality.

282 WAVBRLEY NO^rELS

'And if he docs lose his horse,' said iMysie, laughing, 'siu-ely

Z.1 1%11 "'".?, ° " ' ' ^«^°' <^^ ^ '1 ° 1 « l^^d such a mischance ? But he will be no loser, for I warrant he will stop the^valuc out of momes which he has owed my father this many

t h . ' , S ' i ? ' ° ^ ° ' " ' ^ ^ * ^ ' "^''1 ^^ ^^^ ^°«ei-'' objected yet again the pertinacious upnghtncss of Sir Piercie Shaftou.

damsel t n - ^ M ' J * " ° ' ^ *° '^^^ °^ "^^ father ?' • said the f e e W ' r . n ^ , ' then instantly changing to a tone-of deep 2 . 1 : , \ f f l ^ ' J ^ ^ r ^^* ' '" ^-^^^^'^ ^^^y lost * a t which will make him hold light the loss of all the gear he has left.'

struck with the accents of remoreeful SOITOW in which his compamon uttered these few words, the English knight felt nimselt bound both in honour and conscience to expostulate wim her as strongly as he could on the risk of the step which IT-i. , !f" ', ^'^^^' ^^^^ on the propriety of her returning n l t ? ' i ^ f ' ^ ' ' ^ ' ' - 'T^o matter of his discourse, though to h^ ^ ^ T^^ unnecessaiy floui-ishes, was honoui-able both to iiLs bead and heart.

hev^hl f""'"^ f * ° "^™ '^^^''"e'l to liis flowing periods witli thonJhf ^f ° " ^^'•' bosom as she rode, like one in deep un W .^"P^"-' '°"'o^^'- ^Vheu he had finished, she raised with^i, ? ^ "''"'=^' looked full on the knight, and replied P ercif s t i ™ ° ' ' ' - ' F ^ y o u are weary of my company Sir rin,„,lff ^^™' you have but to say so, and the miller's aaugbter will be no farther cumber to you. And do not think T l.nl •! ^^ ^° to you, if we travel together to Edinbm-gh : no rna° ^^'p^"ough and pride enough to bo a willing burden to £„.„. ,"• ., .,V^ you reject not my company a t present, and t A , V T 00 burdensome to you hereafter, speak no more to mo of returning back. All that you can say to me I have sad to myself J and that I am now here is a sign that I have endprll f"? ? ' " ^ ° ' T ^ ' * tbis subject, therefore, be for ever XM .""^ " ' • , V ' ' ' ^^ ^^'•^'^'ly' ' " ^ome small fashion, been usetui to you, and the time may come I may be more so; for

with l-t ? T " s'i'^ °^ England, where men say justice is done S r i f f ^!7°" ' ' *'' ^ ' '° ' '* '• ' ^ to ^'^''^'I; but it is a land vhere men do by the strong hand, and defend by the ready

wit and I know better tliau you the perils you are exposed to.^ dn, ;! 1 '''' i'^i''°° ' ' ' ' ' ' somewhat mortified to find that the as wPl T.?T 7 PfS'^'ice useful to him as a protectress Zufi ^ ' ''"'^ ' ^ ' ^ something of seeking protection from uought save his own arm and his good sword. Mysie answered

t THE MONASTERY 283

very quietly, that slie nothing doubted his bravery; but it was that very qualitj' of bravery which was most likely to involve him in danger. Sir Piercio Shafton, wliose head never kept very long in any continued train of thinking, acquiesced with­out much reply, resolving in his own mind that the maiden only used tliis apology to disguise her real motive of affection to his pei-sou. The romance of the situation flattered his vanity and elevated his imagination, as placing him in the situation of one of-those romantic heroes of whom he had read the histories, where similar transformations made a distinguished figure.

He took many a sidelong glance at his page, whose habits of country sport and country exercise had rendered her quite adequate to sustain the character she had assumed. She managed the little nag with de,xtei-ity, and even with graces; nor did anything appear which could have betrayed her disguise, except when a bashful consciousness of her companion's eyes being fixed on her gave lier an appearance of tcmporaiy cm-ban-assment, which greatly added to her beauty.

The couple- rode fom'ard as in the morning, pleased with themselves and with each other, until they anived at the village where they were to repose for the night, and where all the inhabitants of the little inn, both male and female, joined in extolling the good grace and handsome countenance of the English knight, and the uncommon beauty of his youthful attendant.

I t was here that Mysie Happer first made Sii- Piercie Shafton sensible of the resei-ved manner in which she proposed to live with him. She announced him as her master, and, waiting upon him with the reverent demeanour of an actual domestic, permitted not the least approach to fiimiliai-ity, not even such as the knight might with the \itmost innocence have ventured upon. For example, Sii- Piercie, who, as we know, was a gi-cat connoisseur in dress, was ^detailiug to her the advantageous change which he proposed to make in her attire so soon as they should reach Edinburgh, by aixaying her in his o\«i colours of pink and carnation. Mysie Happer listened with great complacency to the imction with which he dilated upon welts, laces, slashes, and trimmings, until, carried away by the enthusiasm with which he was asserting the superiority of the falling band over the Spanish ruff, he approached his hand, in the way of illustration, towards the collar of his page's doublet. She instantly stepped back, and gravely reminded him that she was alone, and vmder his protection.

284 WAVERLEY NOVELS'

'.You cannot but remember the cause which has brought me here,' she continued; ' make the least approach to any familiar­ity which you would not offer to a princess surrounded by her court, aud you have seen the last of the miller's daughter. She will vanish as the chaff disappeai-s from the shieliug-hill, when the west wuid blows.'

' I do protest, fair Molmara,' said Sir Piercie Shafton—but the fair Molinara had disappeared before his protest could be uttered. ' A most singular wench,' said he to himself; ' aud by this hand as discreet as she is fair-featured. Certes, shame it were to offer her scathe or dishonour! She makes similes, tgg. thquch spmowhat savoiu-ing of licr coudibiou. ITafl she but read Jiujihius, and loif^ottcu tUtvt ti<-otirRutl loili ililfl HlllOJlUJI-hill, it is my thought that her converse wo\ild bo broldcrcd with as many and as choice pearls of compliment as that of tlio moat rlictoiluia Imly in tho cour t of FoliciaUa. I tl'USt she means to retimi to bear mu company !'

But that was no part of Mysie's prudential scheme. I t was then drawing to dusk, aud ho saw her not again until the ne.xt morning, when the horses were brought to the door, that they might prosecute their journey.

But our story here necessarily leaves the English knight and his page, to return to the Tower of Glendearg.

CHAPTER XXX

You call it an ill angel—it may be so ; But sure I am, among tlie ranks which fell, 'Tia the first licnd e'er coimsellM nmn to rise, And win the blis-i tiie uj.rito liUnoclrliaU ibifoitotl.

OMFhi]).

WE must resume o\ir narrative at the period when i lary Avenel WHS conveyed to tlio apartment wliicli had been formerly occu­pied by Llio two Uloiidiiiuiuya, and when boi' fiiitbful .•iltinidnnt, Tibbie, liad exhausted herself in iiseless attempts to compose and to comfort her. Father Eustace also dealt forth with wcll-ineant kindness those apothegms and dogmata of consolation which fi-icndsliip almost always offers to grief, though they are uniformly offered in vain. She was at length left to indulge in the desolation of her owni sorrowful feelings. She felt as those who, loving for the first time, have lost what they loved, before time and repeated calamity liave taught them that every loss is to a certain extent reparable or endurable.

Such grief may be conceived better than it can be described,-as is weir known to those w ho have experienced it. But Mary Avenel had been taught by the peculiarity of her situation to regard herself as the child of destiny; and the melancholy and reflecting tm-u of her disposition gave to her SOITOWS a depth and breadth peculiar to her character. The grave—and it was a bloody grave—had closed, as she believed, over the youth to whom she was secretly, but most warmly, attached; the force and ardour of Halbert's character bearing a singular correspondence to the energy of which her own \vas capable. Her sorrow did not exhaust itself in sighs or in tears, but,.when the first shook had passed away, concentrated itself with deep and steady meditation to collect and calculate, like a banknipt debtor, the full amount of her loss. It seemed as if all that connected her with earth had vanished with this broken tie. She had never dared to anticipate the probability of an ulti-

2^^ WAVERLEY NOVELS

mate union with Halbert yet now his supposed fall seemed U at of the only tree which was to shelter her from the stom She respected the more gentle character and m^re peacef i attamments of the younger Glendinnino.. i . „ r V i^ , . escaped her (what never indeed e ™ i w . ^ ' .'""^ " ° * stances) that he was dispoTd to " E h i n S Z T^' ' 7 ^ -with what she, the daughter of apfoudand w S Ro '^""^P^tition the more manly qualities of his eWer b r o t h ^ /?f^ ' '^ '? '^ ' '^ time when a w'oman does so Uttle jusU e t f t l e'cW^^^ ' % " ° surviving lover as when compar n< him ,vilu 'H^ ' '^ '=*^: °^ ^ riv,a of whom she has been recently^deprived ^ ' ' ' ' ™ ' the^s^aeSn^s isir^L^s^"^^- '-^ kind feeling of which she fo,-mnrl t f I ' T ''^ " ° ' ^ *' e only but refleetliow litSe Eese S e t\S'^""' '' ' " 1 '''' ^°^^'^ " ° ' voted attachment of a K o u I e d v o ^ . t i r ° P ' ' ' ' . 1 ^ ' ^ * *^° d* " of lier eye coidd coinnmnd as th^ h L ? ' . ! '° ," ' *^" '" ^^^ glance by the bridle of t S e r ' It wa' l b ? f ' ^ ' ' r ' ^ is governed desolating reflections E M I * ; I'v ' f d t ' X ' ^ " T ^ - ^'"^'^ nnsing from the naiTow and biiofoH the . void of mind then educated the c h i l c i i r o f ' K t r ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ? ° " -was a ritua , and their m-ivp,-« ,..o 1 li t , " ^^^°^e religion k u o w n w o r d ; , w h i c S t n r r o f T f f l i °' ^^^^ consolation to tl.ose who from h n l l r ' SO^l'l'yiekl but little to the pi-actice of mental d e v o t t n ' l ^ ' " ^ " ^ "^ *"•"• Unused the Divine P r e s e n r r p j j e ^ r ' 2 ouk ^^T^ ''^PP'^'^'^'' ^^ in her distress, ' There'i^';;^ ^ i ' d t r me 1 t ' h L T ^ r ' " ^ ' not how to ask it from Heaven ! ' ' """' ^ ">o^

As she spoke thus in an agonv of soi-i-mv ei,^ i. i into the apartment, and saw tlie myster ous s S t ' f t ' ' ' '^''' upon the fortunes of her house s t o n r W ? '^f "* ^^''"^^ waited the midst of the room. T h e ^ m e form% t ? ' »'«°»ligbt hi had more than once offered i t S T t o he ^ H i t an':;' ' ^ . ^ " T ^ ' native boldness of mind, or some pecul aritV-.t? i''*/'"" ^"'' from her birth, made her now look nlZTS,^ \ f *° '' '^' But the White Lady of Avenel was n ^ ^ l Z v T • t"" '^ '"^-and more closely p.esent, than she a e v r ^ ' f "'=*'-^'^''^'We, be, and Mary was appalled bv her pre ence t ' " '''.T'^ '"^ ever, have, spoken; but there ran a S f \T'°"^'^ ' '^ ' '" ' -othei^ who had seen the White l.adv har n T " *''''* *''°"fe'^' received answers, yet those of the house nf A ^"'^f'°»« '^"d ventured to sjioak to her had never l o n r ! , , ^ • ^T^ '"'^^ ^'"'^ The figure, besides, as. s i t t in . ^ . ' ' I ^ ^ Z ! Z ^ ; ^

THE MONASTP.RY' 287

gazed on it inteutlj', seemed by its gestures to caution her to keep silence, and at the same time to bespealc attention.

The White Lady then seemed to press one of the planks of the floor with her foot, while, in her usual low, melancholy, and musical chant, she repeated the following verses:—

Maiden, \v)ioso sorrows wall tlic living dead, AVhose eyes shall commune with the dead alive,

Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot lies hid Tlie SVoixl, the Law, the Path, which thou dost strive

To find, and canst not find. Could spirits shed Tears for their lot, it were ray lot to weep,

Sho\ving the road which I shall never tread, Though my foot points it. Sleep, eternal sleep,

Dark, long, and cold forgetfnlncss my lot i B\it do not tlion at human ills repine,

Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot Fpr all tlie woes that w.iit frail Adam's line ;

Stoop then and make it yours—I may not make it mine !'

The phantom stooped towards the floor as she concluded, as if with the intention of laying her liand on the board on which she stood. But, ere she had completed that gesture, her fonii bcoamc indistinct, was presently oul^' like tlie shade of a. fleecy cloud which passed bctwi.xt earth and the moon, and was soon altogether invisible.

A strong impression of fear, the fii-st which she had experi­enced in her life to any agitflting extent, seized upon the mind of Uary Avenel, and for a minute she felt a disposition to faint. She repelled it, however, mustered her courage, and addressed lierself to saints and angels, as her church recoumiended. liroken slumbers at length stole on her exhausted mind and frame, and slie slept until the dawn was about to arise, when she was awakened by the cry of ' Treason ! treason ! follow— follow!' which ai'ose in the tower, when it was found that Tiercie Shafton had made his escape.

Apprehensive of some new misfortime, Jtaiy Avenel hastily an-anged the dress which she had not laid aside, and, venturing to quit her chamber, learned from Tibb, who, with her grey hairs dishevelled like those of a sibyl, was flyaig from room to room, that ' The bloody Southron villain had made his escape, and that Halbcrt Glcudiuning, poor baini, would sleep uu-revengcd and unquiet in his bloody grave." In the lower apart­ments the young men were roaring like tliimder, and venting ill oaths and exclamations against the fugitives, the rage which they experienced in finding themselves locked up within the

288 WAVERLEY NOVFJ.S

tower, and debaiTcd from their vindictive pursuit by the wily precautions of Mysie Happer. The authoritative voice of the sub-prior commanding silence was next heai-d; upon which i l a iy Avenel, whose tone of feeling did not lead her to enter into counsel or society with the rest of the party, again retired to her solitary chamber.

The rest of the family held counsel in the spence, Edwaixl almost beside himself with rage, and the sub-pi-ior in no small degree offended at the cffronteiy of Mysie Happer in attempt-inif such a scheme, as well as at the mingled boldness and dexterity with which it had been executed. But neither surprise nor anger availed aught. The endows, well secured with iron bara for keeping as.sailants out, proved now as effectual for detaining the inhabitants within. The battlements were open,-indeed; but, without ladder or ropes to act as a substitute for wings, there was no possibility of descending from them. They easily succeeded in ulamiing the inhahitauts of the cottages beyond the precincts of the court; but the men had been called in to strengthen the guard for the night, and only women and children remained, who could contribute nothing in the emer­gency, except their useless exclamations of surprise ; and there were no noiglibours for miles around. Dame Elspeth, however, though drowned in tears, was not so unmindful of external affairs but that she could find voice enough to tell the women and children without to 'leave their skirling, and look after the cows that she couldna get minded, what wi' the awfu' distraction of her mind, what wi' that fause slut having locked them up in their ain tower as fast as if they had been in the Jetldart tolbooth.' '

Meanwhile, the men, finding other modes of exit impossible, iraanimously concluded to force the doors with such tools as the house afforded for the puri>ose. These were not very proper for the occasion, and the strength of the dooi-s was great. The interior one, formed of oak, occupied them for three mortal hours, and there was little prospect of the iron door bein<' forced in double the time. °

AYhile they were engaged in this ungrateful toil, Mary Avenel had with much less laljour acquired exact knowledge of what the Spirit had intimated in her mystic rhyme. On examining the spot which the phantom had indicated by her gestures, it was not ditlicult to discover that a board had been loosened, which might be raised at pleasm-e. On removing this piece of plank, Mary Avenel was astonished to find the Black Book, well

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS DUAWX UY

JOIIN W I L L I A J I S O X

ENcr.AVKn ON W O O D nv J . IX COOl'Kl!

IlAi.iiKiiT KEScuEs CATiiEr.iNr.'s I N I A S T . . . Frotitispkii

AllllOT lioXIEAUE IN ]EVK1!1E . . . . TUlc-]HtgC

UAMEGEENOINNINO'S INTERVIEW WITH STAWAKIII BVLTON TO face). VI

T H E .\ri'.uilTiON ON T H E Jloor. . . . . ,, 20

C H U I S T I K OE T H E Cl.INTHlLI, TAUNTINO THE B A I I . I E . ., , S'J

M A K Y A^'ENEI. Ai' iiEl: LESSONS . • • • . : 9^

Sill PlEIlClE SlIAl-TON Xl Oi.ENllEVUi; . • • , I'-i^

AFARY INTEIinEDlNO WITH IJALllEIST • • ,, 190

J U L I A N A V E N E L OAur.ssiNn Titr. Go-^iivsvii • . • , .220

KSCAI'E UP Sill PlERClE SUAl-TON EIMM Gl.ENUEAlM . ., 270

T;HE ISIONASTERY 289

remembered "Ijy her as her mother's favourite study, of which she immediately took possession, with as much joy a"s her pre­sent situation rendered her capable of feeling.

Ignorant in a great measure of its contents, JMary Avencl had been taugiit from her infancy to hold this volume in sacred veneration. I t is probable tl«it tlio deceased lady of Walter Avencl only postponed initiating her daugliter into the mysteries of the Divmo ^Vord until she sliould be better able to comprehend both the. lessons which it taught and the risk at which, iu those times, they were studied. Dcatli interposed, and removed her before tlie times became favourable to the lleformers, and be­fore her daughter was so far advanced in age as to be fit to receive religious instruction of this deep import. But the aflectiouate mother had made preparations for the eai'thly work which slio had most at heart. There wore slips of paper in­serted iu the volume, in which, by an appeal to, and a com­parison of, various passages in Holy ^Vrit, the errors and human inventions with which tlio Church of Rome Iiad defaced the simple edifice of ^Christianity, as erected by its Divine architect, were pointed out. The.so controversial topics wore trcated >nth a spirit of calmness and Christiau cliarity which might have been an example to the theologians of tiio period; but they were clearly, fairly, and plainly argued, and supported by the necessary proofs and i-efereuces. Other papers there were which had no reference whatever to polemics, but were the simple efliisions of a devout mind communing with itself. Among these was one frequently used, as it seemed from the state of the manuscript, on which the mother of ^lary had transcribed and placed together those afl'ectiug texts to which the heart has recoui-se iu aflliction, and which assure us at once of the sympathy and protection aflbi-ded to the children of the promise. In Mary Avenol's state of mind, these attracted her above all the otlier lessons whicli, coming from a hand so dear, had reached her at a time so critical, and iu a manner so touching. She read tlie aflecting promise, ' I will never leave thee nor foi-sako tliee,' and the cousoling exhortation, ' Call upon me in tlie day of trouble, and I will deliver tliee.' Siie read them, and her heart acquiesced in the conclusion. Surely this is the Word of God!

There are those to whom a sense of religion has come in storm and tempest; there arc those whom it has summoned amid scenes of revelry and idle vanity; there are those, too, who have heard its ' still small voice' amid rural leisure and

290 WAVEni-,EY NOVEiS

placid contentment'. But perhaps the knowledge which causeth not to err is most frequently impressed upon the mind during seasons of affliction; and tears are the softened showers which cause the seed of Heaven to spiing and take root in the human breast. At least it was thus with Mary Avenel. She was in­sensible to the discordant noise ivhich rang below, the clang of bars and the jarring symphony of the levers which they used to force them, the measured shouts of the labouring inmates as they combined their strength for each heave, and gave time with their voices to the exertion of their arms, and then- deeply-muttered vows of revenge on the fugitives who had bequeathed them at their departure a Uisk so toilsome and difficult. Not all this din, combined in hideous concert, and expressive of aught but peace, love, and forgiveness, could divert Mary Avenel from the new course of study on which she had so singularly entered. 'The serenity of Heaven,' slie said, ' is above mo; the sounds wliich are around are but those of cart]\ and earthly passion.'

Meanwhile, the noon was passed, and little impreSsion was made on the iron gi-ate, when they who labou;-ed at it received a sudden reinforcement by the unexpected arrival of Christie of the Clinthill. He came at the head of a small party, consisting of fo\n- horsemen, ^vho bore in their caps the sprig of holly which was the badge of Avenel.

' What, ho ! my masters,' he said, ' I bring yo\i a prisoner.' ' You had better have brought us liberty,' said Dan of the

Howlethirst. Christie looked at the state of affairs with great surprise.

' An I were to be hanged for it,' he said, ' as I ma^ for as little a mattei', I could not forbear laughing at seeing men peeping through their own bars like so many rats in a rat-trap, and lie with the beard behind, like the oldest rat in the cellar!'

'Hush, thou immannered knave,' said Edward, ' i t is the sub-prior; and this is neither time, place, nor company for your ruffian jests.'

'What, ho !^is my young master malapert 1' said Christie; 'why, man, wore he my own carnal father, instead of being farther to half the world, I would have my laugh out. And now it is over, I must assist you, I reckon, for you are setting very greenly about this gear; put the pinch nearer the staple, man, and hand me an ii-on crow through the grate, for that's the fowl to fly away with a wicket on its shouldei-s. I have broke into as many grates as you have teeth in your young

CHE 2SI0NASTERY 291 •

liead; ay, and broke out of them, too, as the captain of the Castle ofLochmaben knows full well.'

Christie did not boast more skill than he really possessed; for, applying their combined strength, under the directiou of that experienced engineer, bolt and staple gave way before them, and in less than half mi hour the grate, which' had so long repelled their force, stood open before them.

'Aud'now,' said Edwaixl, ' t o horse, my mates, and pursue the villain Shafton !'

' Halt there,' said Clu-istie of the Cliuthill; ' pursue your guest, my master's friend and mj' own ! Thci-e go two words to that bargain. Wliat the foul fiend would vou pursue him fori '

' Let me pass,' said Edwaitl, vehemently, ' I will be staid bj ' no man; the villain has murdered my brotlier !'

'What says he? ' said Christie, tuming to the others; 'murdered? who is mm-dered, and by whom?'

'The Englishman, Sir Piercio Sliafton,' said Dan of the Howletliu-st, ' has murdered 3-oung Halbert Glendinning yester­day morning, and we have all risen to the inxy.'

' I t is a bedlam business, I think,' said Christie. ' First I find you all locked up iu j 'our own tower, and next I am come to prevent you revenging a murder tliat was never committed !'

' I tell you,' said Edward, ' that my brother was slain and buried yesterday morning by this false Englishman.'

'And I tell you,' answered Christie, ' tha t 1 sjiw him alive and well last night. I would I knew his trick of getting out of the grave; most men find it more hard to break through a green sod tfian a grated door.'

Everybody now paused, and looked on Christie in astonish­ment, until the sub-prior, who had hitherto avoided communi­cation with him, came up, and required earnestly to know whether he meant reiilly to maintain that Halbert (ileudinning lived.

' Father,' he said, with more respect than he usually showed to any one save his master, ' I confess I macj sometimes jest with those of your coat, but not with you; because, as you may partly recollect, I owe you a life. I t is certain as the sun is in heaven that Halbert Glendinning supped at the liouse of my master tbe liiron of Avenel last night, and that he came thither in company with an old man, of whom more anon.'

' And where is he now ?' 'The devil only can answer that question,' replied Christie,

292 WAVERLEY NOVESiS

' for the devil has possessed the whole family, I think. He took fright, the foolish lad, at something or other which our Baron did in his moody liumom-, aud so he jumped into the lake and swam ashore like a wild duck. Robin of Redcastle spoiled a good gelding in chasing him this morning.'

'And why did he chase the youth? ' said the sub^prior; ' what Imiin had he done ?'

'None that I know of,' said Christie; ' bu t such was the Baron's order, being in his mood, and all the woi'ld having gone mad, as I have said before.'

' Whither away so fast, Edward ?' said the monk. ' To Corrie-nan-Shian, father,' answered the yoxith. ' Martin

and Dan, take pickaxe and mattock, and follow me if you be m e n ! '

'Right, ' said the monk, 'and fail not to give us instant notice what you find.'

' If you find aught there like Halbert Glendinning,' said Christie, hallooing after Edward, ' I will be bound to eat him unsalted. 'Tis a sight to see now how that fellow takes the bent! I t is in the tune of action men see what lads are made of. Halbert was aye skipping iip and down like a roe, and his brother used to sit in the chimney-nook, witb his book and sic-like trash. But the lad was like a loaded hackbut, which will stand in the corner as quiet as an old crutch until ye draw the trigger, and then there is notliing but flash and smoke. But hero comes my prisoner; and, setting other matters aside, I must pray a word with you, sir sub-prior, respecting him. ' I came on before to treat about him, but I was internipted with this fasherie.'

As he spoke, two more of Aveuel's troopei-s rode into the courtyard, leaduig betwixt them a horae, on whicli, with his hands bound to his side, sate the Reformed preacher Henry Warden. ' ^

C H A P T E R XXXI

At school I knew him—a shai'ii-wittcd youth, Grave, thoughtful, aud reserved among his mates, Tuniiug the hours of sport and food to labour. Starving his body to inform liis mind.

Old Play.

THE sub-prior, at the Boixlerer's request, had not failed to return to the tower, into which he was followed by Christie of the, Cliuthill, who, shutting the door of the apartment, drew near," aud began his discourse with great confidence and familiarity.

'My master,^ he said, 'sends me with his commendations to j'ou, sir sub-prior, above all the conimuiiitj' of St. Mary's, and more specially than even to the abbot himself; for, though he bo tenned " my lord," and so forth, all the world knows that you are the tongue of the trump.'

' If you have aught to say to me.conceming the community,' said the sub-prior, ' it were well you proceeded in it without further delay. Time presses, aud the fate of young Glendinning dwells on my mind.'

' I will Sbe caution for him, body for bodj-,' said Clmstie. ' I do protest to you, as sure as I am a living man, so surely is he one.'

' Should I not tell his unhappy mother the jojiul tidings ?' said Father Eustace; ' aud yet better wait till t he j return from searching the grave. ^Vell, sir jack-man, your message to mo from your master 1'

'My lord aud master,'said Christie, 'ha th good reason to believe that, from the infoi-matiou of certain b:ick-friends, whom he will reward at more leisvu-c, yoiu- reverend community hath been led to deem him ill attached to Holy Church, allied with heretics and those who favour heresy, aud a hungerer after the spoils of your abbey.'

'Be brief, good henchman,' said the sub-prior, 'for the devil is ever most to be feared when he preacheth.'

294 WAVERLKY NO%Ti:i,S

' Briefly then—my master desires your frieudsliip; and to excuse himself from the maligncre' calumnies, he sends to your abbot that Henry Wai-deu whose sermons have turned the world upside down, to be dealt with as Holy Church directs, and as the abbot's pleasure may determine.'

The sub-prior's eyes sparkled at the intelligence ; for it had been accounted a mattei- of great importance that this man should be arrested, possessed, as he was known to be, of so much zeal and popularity that scarcely the preaching of Kuox himself had been more awakening to the people, and more formidable to the Church of Rome.

In fact, that ancient system, which so well accommodated its doctrines to the wants and wishes of a barbarotis age, had since the art of printing and the gradual diffusion of know­ledge, lain floating like some huge leviathan, into which ten thoiLSimd reforming fishera were darting their liarpoons. The Roman Church of Scotland, in particiilai-, was at her last gasp, actiially blowing blood and water, 3"et still with unremitted though animal, exertions maintaining the conflict with the assailants, who on every side were plunging their weapons into her bulky body. In many large towns the monasteries had been suppressed by the flu-y of the populace; in other places their possessions had been usurped by the power of the Re­formed nobles; but still the hierarchy made a part of the common law of the realm, and might claim both its property and its privileges wherever it had the means of assorting them. The community of St. Mary's of Kennaquhair was considered as being particularly in this situation. They liad rcttuned imdiminished, their territorial power and influence; and the gi-eat barons in the neighbourhood, partly from their attach­ment to the party in the state who still upheld the old system of religion, partly because each grudged the share of the prey which the othei-s must necessarily claim, had as yet abstained from despoiling the halidomc. The community was also under­stood to be protected by the powerful Esirls of Northumberland and AVestmoreland, wliose zealous attachment to the Catholic faith caused at a later period the great rebellion of tlic tenth of Elizabeth.

Thus happily placed it was supposed by the friends of tlie decaynig civuso of the Roman CathoUc faith that some deter-nuned example of courage and resolution, exercised where the fmnchises of the churcli were yet entire, and her jurisdiction imdisputed, might awe the progi-ess of the new opinions into

THE MONASTERY 295

activitj '; and, protected by the laws which.still existed and by the favour of the sovereign, might be the means of securing the ten-itoiy which Eome yet preserved in Scotland, and perhaps of recovering that which she had lost.

The matter had been considered more than once by the northern Catholics of Scotland>, and they had held commiuiica-tion with those of the south. Father Eustace, devoted by his public aird private vows, had caught the flame, and had eagerly advised- that they should execute the doom of heresy on the fir.st llcformed preacher, oi-, according to his sense, on the first heretic of eminence, who should vcuture within the prgciucts of the halidome. A heart natui-ally kin'd and noble wasj in this instance, as it has been in many more, deceived by its own generositj'. Father Eustace would have been a bad adminis­trator of tlic inquisitorial power of Spain, where that power was omnipotent, and where judgment was exercised without danger to those who inflicted it. In such a situation his rigom-might have releuted in favour of the criminal, whom it was at his plea'siu-e to'crush or to place at freedom. But in Scotland during this crisis the case was entirolj' diflbrcnt. The question was, whether one of the spiritualit' dared, at tlio hazard of his own life, to step forward to assert and exorcise the rights of the ch\u'ch. AVas there any one wlio would venture to wield tiie thunder in her cause, or must it remain like that iu the hand • of a painted Jupiter, the object of derision instead of ten-or? The crisis was calculated to awake the soul of Eustace; for it comprised the question, whether he dared, at all hazards to himself, to execute with stoical severity a measure which, accoi-ding fo the general opinion, was to be advantageous to the church, and, according to ancient law, and to his firm belief, was not only justifiable but meritorious.

Wliile such resolutions were agitated amongst the Catholics, chance jjlaced a victim within their grasp. Lloniy Warden had, with tiie animation proper to the enthusiastic lleformere of the age, transgressed, iu the vehemence of his zeal, the bounds of the discretional liberty allowed to his sect so far that it was thought the Queen's personal dignity was concerned in bringing him to justice. Ho fled from Edinbm-gh, with recommendations, how­ever, fi-om Lord James Stuart, after\\ards the celebrated Earl of JIurray, to some of the Border chieftains of inferior rank, who were privately conjured to pi-ocurc him safe passage into England. One of the principal persons to whom such recom­mendation was addressed was Julian Avenel; for as yet, and

29R WAVERLKY N0^^5LS t

« for a considerable time afterwards, the correspondence and interest of Lord James lay rather with the subordinate leaders than with the chiefs of great power and men of distinguished influence upon the Boixler. Julian Avenel had intrigued with­out scruple with both parties; yet, bad as he was, he certainly would not have practised aught) against the guest whom Lord James liad recommended to his hospitality, had it not been for what ho termed the preacher's ollicious intermeddling in his family affairs. But when he had determined to make Wai-den rue the lecture he had read him, and the scene of public scandal which he had caused in his hall, Julian resolved, M'itli the con­stitutional shrewdness of his disposition, to combine his venge­ance with his interest. Aiid therefore, instead of doing violence on the person of Henry AYai-dcn within his own castle, he determined to deliver iiim up to the community of St. llary's and at once make them the instrimients of liis own reveno'c and found a claim of pereonal recompense, either in money or in a grant of abbey lands at a low quit-rent, which last bewui now to be the established form in which the 'tenipoi-al nobles plundered the spirituality.

The sub-prior, therefore, of St. ^Nlaiy's unexpectedly saw the steadfast, active, and inflexible enemy of the church delivered into his hand, and felt himself called upon to make good his promises to the friends of the Catholic faith, by quenching hei-esy in the blood of one of its most zealous professore.

To the honour more of Father Eustace's heart than of jiis consistency, the communication that Henry Warden was placed within his power struck him with more sorrow than triumpli • but his next feelings were those of exultation, ' i t Is sad ' ho said to himself, ' to cause human suffering, it is awful to cause human blood to be spilled ; but the judee to wliom the sword of St. Paul as well as the keys of St. I'eter, arc confided'must not flmch from lis task. Our weapon returns into our own bosom if not wielded with a steady and unrelenting hand atrainst the irreconcilable enemies of the Holv Church. J',,-eat isle' It is the doom he has incurred, and were all the heretics in Scot'land armed and at his back they should not prevent its being pro­nounced, and, ,f possible, enforced. Bring the heretic before ne,' he said, iss.nng his commands a oud and h, a tone of authority.

Henry A\ arden was led m, h.s hands still bound, but his feet at libertv.

necessar Clear the apartment,' said the sub-prior, 'of all but tho :ssary guard on the prisoner.'

TflK MONASTERY 297 «

All retired excepting Christie of the Cliuthill, who, having dismissed the inferior troopei-s wliom he commanded, unsheathed his sword, and placed himself beside the door, as if taking upon him the character of sentinel.

The judge and the accused met face to face, and in that of both was enthroned the noble* confidence of rcctitiidc. ' The monk was about, at the utmost risk to himself and his com­munity, to exercise what in his ignorance he conceived to be his duty. The preacher, actuated by a better-in formed, yet not a more ardent, zeal, was prompt to submit to execution for God's sake, and to seal, were it necessary, his mission with his blood. Placed at sucli a distance of time as better enables lis to appreciate the tendency of the principles on which they severally acted, we camiot doubt to which tlie palm ought to be awarded. But the zciil of Father Eustace was as free from passion and personal view.'i as if it had been exerted in a better cause.

They approached each other, armed each and prepared for intellectual conflict, and each intently roganling his opjjonent, as if either hoped to spj' out some defect, some chasm in the armour of his antagonist. As they gazed on each other, old recollections began to awake in cither bosom, at the sight of fcatiires long unseen and much altered, but not forgotten. The brow of the sub-prior dismissed by dcgi-ees its frown of command, the look of calm yet stern defiance gradually van­ished from that of Wai-den, and both lost for an instant that of gloomy solemnity. They had been ancient and intimate friends in youth at a foreign university, but had been long separated from each other; and the change of name, which the preacher had adopted from motives of safety, and the monk from the common custom of the convent, had pi-evented the possibility of their liitherto recognising each other in the opposite parts which they had been ]ilaying in the great iiolcmical and political drama. But now the sub-prior exclaimed, ' Henry AVcllwoodl' and the preacher replied, 'William Allan!' and, stiiTcd by the old familiar names and nevcr-to-be-forgotlen recol­lections of college studies and college intimacy, Iheir hands were for a moment locked in each other.

' Eemovc his bonds,' said the sub-])rior, and assisted Christie in performing that office with Jiis own hands, altlioiigh tlio l>risoner scarcely would consent to be unbomid, repeating with emphasis that he rejoiced in the caiuse for which he snftercd siiame. When his hands were at liberty, however, he showed

298 WA'sn-mLEY NOVELS

his sense of the kindness" by again exchanging a grasp and a look . of affection with the sub-prior.

The salute was frank and generous "on either side, yet it was but the friendly recognition and greeting which is wont to take place betwixt adverse champions, who do nothing in hate, but all in honour. As each felt the pressm-e of the situation in which they stood, he quitted the grasp of the other's hand, and they fell back, confronting each other with looks more' calm and sorrowful than expressive of any other passion.

The sub-prior was the firet to speak. ' And is this, then, the end of that restless activity of mind, that bold and inde­fatigable love of truth, that urged investigation to its utmost limits, and seemed to take Heaven itself by storm ; is this the termination of Wellwood's career 1 And having known and loved him during the best years of our youth, do we meet in our old age as judge and criminal ?'

'Not as judge and criminal,' said Henry Warden, for to avoid confusion we describe him by his later and best-known name—' not as judge and criminal do we meet, but" as a mis­guided oppressor and his ready and devoted victim. I too may ask, arc these the harvest of the rich hopes excited by the classical learning, acute logical powers, and varied knowledge of William Allan, that he should sink to be the solitary drone of a cell, graced only above the swarm with the high com­mission of executing Eoman malice on all who oppose llonian imposture ?'

'Not to thee,' answered the sub-prior, 'be assured—not unto thee, nor unto mortal man, will I render an account of the power with which the churcii may have invested nie. Tt was granted but as a deposit for her welfare; for her welfare it shall at every risk bo exercised, \vithout fear and without favour.'

' I expected no less from yaw misguided zeal,' answered the preacher; ' and in me have you met one on whom you may fearlessly exercise your authority, secure that his mind at lca.st will defy your influence, as the snows of that Mont Blanc which we sa%V together shrink not under the heat of the hottest summer sun.

' I do believe thee,' said the sub-prior—'I do believe that thine is indeed metal unmallcabie by force. Let it yield then to persuasion. Let us debate these matters of faith as we once were wont to conduct our scholastic disputes, when iiours, nay days, glided past in the mutual exercise of our intellectual

THE MONASTERY 9

powei-s. It may be thou niayst yet hear the voice of the shep­herd, and retiu'u to the universal fold.'

'JS^O, Allan,' replied the prisoner, ' this is no vain question, devised by dreaming scholiasts, on which they may whet their

. intellectual faculties luitil the very metal be wasted away. The errors which I combat arc lilce tkose fiends which arc only cast out by fastuig and pi-aycr. Alas ! not many wise, not many learned arc chosen ; the cottage and the hamlet .shall in cm-days bear-witness against the schools and their disciples. Thy very wisdom, which is foolishness, hath made thee, as the CIreeks of old, hold as foolishness that which is the only true wisdom.'

'This, ' said the sub-j)rior, sternly, ' is the more cant of ignorant enthusiasm, which appcaleth from learning and from authority', from the sure guidance of that lamp which God hath aflbrded us in the councils and in the fathers of the church, to a rash, self-willed, and arbitrarj' interpretation of the Scriptures, wrested accoixliug to the private opinion of each speculating heretic'

' I disdain to r^jply to the charge,' replied Warden. ' The question at issue between your church and mine is, whether we will bo judged by the Holy Scriptures, or by the devices and decisions of meu liot loss subject to error than ourselves, and who have defaced our holy religion witli vain devices, i-eared up idols of stone and wood, in form of those wiio, when thej' lived, were but sinful creatures, to share the worship due only to the Creator; established a toll-house betwixt Heaven and llell, that pi-ofitablc purgatory of which the Pope keeps the keys, like"an iniquitous judge commutes punishment for bribes, and '

' Silence, blasphemer,' said the sub-prior, sternly, ' or I will have thy blatant obloquy stopped with a gag !'

' Ay,' replied Warden, ' such is the freedom of the Christian conference to which Homo's priests so kindly invite lis !—the gag—the rack—the axe—is tlie ratio ultima Romw. But know thou, mine ancient friend, that the character of thy farmer companion is not so changed by age but that he still dares to endure for the cause of truth all ' that thy proud hierarchy shall dare to inflict.'

' Of that,' said the monk, ' I nothing doubt. Thou wert ever a lion to tuni against the sijear of the hunter, not a stag to be dismayed at the sound of his bugle.' He walked through the i-oorn ill silence.' 'Wellwood,' he said at length, 'we can no

TEtE SIONASTERY

main here unharmed and unsecui-ed, a prisoner at large, subjec only to appear before our court when called upon.'

The preacher paused. ' I am unwilling,' he said, ' to fetter my native liberty by any self-adopted engagement. But I am alreiidy in j^our power, and you may bind me to my answer. By sucli pi-omisc, to abide withigi a certain limit and to appear when called upon, I renounce not any liberty which I at present possess and am free to exercise; but, on the conti~.u-y, being in bonds, and at your mercy, 1 acquire thereby a liberty which I at present possess not. I will therefore accept of thy proffer, as what is courteously ofTered on thy part, and may bo honour­ably accepted ou mine.'

' Stay yet,' said the sub-prior, ' one important part of thy engagement is forgotten: thou ai-t farther to i^romise that, while thus left at liberty, thou wilt not preach or teach, directly or indirectly, any of those pestilent heresies by which so raany souls have laecn in this our day won over from the kingdom of light to the kingdom of darkness.'

' There'we break oiT our treaty,' said Warden, iirmly. ' Woe unto me if I preach not the Gosijcl!'

The sub-prioi-'s countenance became clouded, and lie again paced the apartment, and muttei-ed, 'A plague upon the self-willed fool!' then* stopped short in his walk, and proceeded in his argument. 'Why, by thine own reasoning, Henry, thy refusal here is but peevish obstinacy. I t is in my power to place you where your preaching can reach no human ear; in., promising therefore to abstain from it, you grant nothing whicli you have it in your power to refuse.'

' I know flot that, ' replied Henry Warden; ' thou mayst indeed cast me into a dungeon, but can I foretell that my Master hath not task-work for me to pci-form even in that, dreary mansion ? The chains of saints have, ere now, been the means of breaking the bonds of Satan. In a prison, holy Paul found the jiiilor whom he brought to believe the ivord of salvation, he and all his house.'

' Nay,' said the s\ib-prior, in a tone betwixt anger and scorn, ' if you match yourself with the blessed Apostie, it were time we had done; prepare to endiu-e what thy folly, as well as thy heresy, desei-ves. Bind him, soldier.'

With proud submission to his fate, and regarding the sub-prior with sometliing which almost amounted to a smile of supeinority, the preacher placed his arms so that the bonds could be again fastened roxuid him.

300 • WAVERLEY NOVELS

longer be friends. Our faith, our hope, our anchor on futurity is no longer the same.'

' Deep is my SOITOW that tho\i speakest trath. May God so judge me,' said the Reformer, 'as I would buy the conversion of a soul like thine with my dearest heart's blood.'

'To thee, and with better reason, do I return the wish,' replied the sub-prior; ' it is such an arm as thine that should defend-the bulwarks of the church, and it is now directin'' the battering-ram against them, and rendering practicable the breach through which all that is greedy, and all that is base, and all that is mutable and hot-headed in this innovating age already hope to advance to destruction and to spoil. But since such is our fate, that we can no longer fight side by side as friends, let us at least act as generous enemies. You cannot have forgotten,

0 gi-an bonta tlei cavaliori antiqui! Erano uemici, eran' de fedo diversa

Although, perhaps,' he added, stopping short in his quotation 'your new faith forbids you to reserve a place hi your- memory even for what high poets have recorded of loyal faith and generous sentiment.'

'The faith of Buclianan,'replied.the preacher—'the faith of Buchanan and of Beza cannot be unfriendly to literature But the poet you have quoted affords strains fitter for a dissolute court than for a convent.'

' I might retort on your Theodore Beza,' said the sub-prior smiling; ' bu t I hate the judgment that, like the flesh-fly' skims over whatever is sound, to detect and selule upon some spot which is tainted. But to the purpose. If I conduct thee or send thee a prisoner to St. Mary's, thou art to-night a tenant of the dungeon, to-mon-ow a burden to the gibbet-tree If I yel•e to let thee go hence at large, I were thereby wrongiiiK the Holy Chm'ch, and breaking mine own soleimi vow Other resolutions may be adopted in the capital, or better times may speedily ensue. Wilt thou remain a true prisoner upon thy parole, rescue or no rescue, as is the phrase amongst the warriora of this country ? Wilt thou solemnly promise that thou wilt do so, and that at my summons thou wilt present thyself before the abbot and chapter of St. Mary's, and that thou wilt not stir from this house above a quarter of a mile in any direction 1 Wilt thou, I say, engage me thy word for this ? and such is the sure tnist which I repose in thy good faith, that thou shalt re-

302 WAVERLEY NOAJELS

'Spare me not,' he said to Christie; for even that iiifBan hesitated to draw the cord straitly.

The sub-prior, meanwhile, looked at him from under his cowl, which he had drawn over his head, and partly over his face, as if he wished to shade his own emotions. They were those of a huntsman within point-blank shot of a noble stag, who is yet too much struck with his majesty of front and of antler to take aim at him. They were those of a fowler, M'ho, levelling his gun at a magnificent eagle, is yet reluctant to use his advantage when ho sees the noble sovereign of the birds pruning himself ui proud deiiance of whatever may be attempted against him. The heart of the sub-prior, bigoted a.s he was, relented, and he doubted if he ought to purchase, by a rigorous discharge of what he deemed his duty, the remorse he might afterwards feel for the death of one so nobly independent in thought and character, the friend, besides, of his own happiest years, during which they had, side by side, striven in the noble race of knowledge, and indulged their intervals of repose in tlie lighter studies of classical and general letters;

The sub-prior's hand pressed his half-o'ershadowed check, and his eye, more completely obscured, was bent on the groimd] as if to hide the workings of his relenting nature.

'Were but Edward safe from the infection,'ho thought to hunself—'Edward, whose eager and enthusiastic mind presses forward in the chase of all that hath even the shadow of know­ledge, I might trust this enthusiast with the women, after due caution to them that they cannot, without guilt, attend to his reveries.'

As the sub-prior revolved these tlioughts, aiVd delayed the definitive order which was to detemine the fate of the prisoner a sudden noise at the entrance of the tower diverted his atten­tion for an instant; and, his cheek and brow inflamed with all the glow of heat and determination, Edward Glendinninc^ rushed into the room. * "

C H A P T E R XXXII

Then in my gown of sober grey Along the mountain path I'll wander,

And wind my solitary way To the sad shrine that coiu-ts me yonder.

There, in the calm monastic shade, All injuries may be forgiven ;

And there for thee, obdurate maid, My orisons shall rise to heaven.

TTic Cntcl Lady of the Mountains.

THE first words which Edward uttered were—' My brother is safe, reverend father—he is safe, thank God, and lives ! There is not in Corrie-uan-Shian a grave, nor a vestige of a grave. The turf around the .fountain has neither been disturbed by pick­axe, spade, or mattock since the deer's-hair first sprang there. He lives as surely as I l ive! '

The earnestness of the youth—the -vivacity with which he looked and moved—the springy step, outstretched hand, and ardent eye, reminded Henry Warden of Halbert, so lately his guide. The 'brothers had indeed a strong family resemblance, though Halbert was far more athletic and active in his pei-son, taller and better knit in the limbs, and though Edward had, on ordinary occasions, a look of more habitual acuteness and more profound reflection. The preacher \Vas interested as well as the sub-prior.

'Of whom do you speak, my son?' he said, in a tone as unconcerned as if his own fate had not been at the same instant trembling in the balance, and as if a dungeon and death did,not appear to be his instant doom—' of whom, I say, speak you •? If of a youth somewhat older than you seem to be, brown-haired, open-featured, taller and stronger than you appear, yet having much of the same air, and of the same tone of voice—if such a one is the brother whom you seek, it may be I can tell yoxi news of him.'

30i WAVERLEY NO^'^LS

' Speak, then, for Heaven's sake,' said Edward f ' life or death lies on thj- tongue.'

The sub-prior joiued.eagerly in the same request, and, with­out waiting to be urged, the preacher gave a minute account of the circumstimces under which he met tlie elder Glcn-dinniug, with so exact a description of his person tluit there remained no doubt as to his identity. When he mentioned that Halbert Glendinning had conducted him to the dell, in which

• they found the grass bloody, and a grave newly closed, and told how the youth accused himself of the slaughter of Sir Piercic Shafton, tiio sub-prior looked on lixlward vnth astonishment.

' Didst thou not say, even now,' lie said, ' that there was no vestige of a grave m that spot 1'

' No more vestige of the earth having been removed than if the turf liad grown there suico the days of Adam,' replied Edward Glendinning. ' It is true," he added, ' tliat the adjacent grass was trampled and bloody.'

'These are delusions of the Enemy,' said the sub-prior, crossmg lum.self. Christian men may no longer doubt of i t '

' B u t an It be so,' said Wardei,; 'Christian men might better guard themselves by the swoixl of prayer than by the idle form of a cabahstical spell. "

'The badge of our salvation,' said the sub-prior, 'cannot be so termed : the sign of the cross disarmeth all evil spirits '

'Ay,' answered Henry AVarden, apt and armed for' con­troversy, ' bu t It should be home in the heart, not scored with the fingei^ iii the air. That very impassive air, through which your hand passes, shall as soon bear the imprint of your action as the extenial action shaU avail the fond bigot wko substitutes yam motions of the body idle genuflections and signs of the cross, for the hvmg and heart-born duties of faitii and trood works. b'J"''

Thou mayst as well w J n o l forth a ^ i ^ f c ^ S : wiui a sieve as mete out the power of holy wonls, deed^ 'nd J<^ns by the errmg gcge of thine own reason ' ' °

„„.. path,,, »„., Jd .„ ;LM, c"rsil x ; ! f ;;!;„'; ascrihiiKrtirhiP tn«nn>. „„; • ^ ocnpture warrant for asciibmg vutue to such vam signs and motions.'

TJIE MOXASTERY 305

' 1 ofl'ered thee- a fair field of debate,' said the sub-prior, ' which thou didst refuse. 1 will not at present resume the controversy.'

' \\'ere these my last accents,' said the Reformer, 'and were they uttered at the stake, half-choked with smoke, and as the fagots kindled into a blaze aipund mc, with that last utter­ance 1 would testify against the supei-stitious devices of Rome.'

The .sub-prior suppressed with paiu the coiitrovei-sial answer which arose to his lips, and turning to Edward Gleudinning, he Siiid, ' There could be now no doubt that his mother ought presentlj' to be iufoi-med that her son lived.'

' I told 3'ou that two hours since,' said Christie of the Clint-hill, 'an you would have believed me. But it seems you are more willing to take the word of au old grey sorner, whose life has been spent in pattering heresj', than mine, though I never rode a foray in my life without duly saj-iiig my paternoster.'

'("Jo, then,'said Father ICustace to Edwaixl; ' let thj'soiTOw-ing mother kucav that her son is restored to her from the gmve, like the child of the widow of Zarephath; at the inter­cession,' he added, looking at Hem-y "Waixlcn, ' of the blessed saint whom 1 invoked in his liehalf.'

' Deceived thyself,' said Warden, instantly, ' thou . art a deceiver of others. It was no dead mau, no creature of clay, whom the blessed Tishbitc invoked, when, stung by the reproach of the Shunainmitc woman, lie prayed that her sou's soul might come into him again.'

' It was by his intercession, however,' repeated the sub-prior; ' for what saj^ the Vidgate 1 Thus is it written : " £t exaudivit Dominus vocem Jlelie ; H rcvcrsa est anima pncri intra eiim, et revixit"; and thinkest thou the iutercessioi\ of a glorified saint is more feeble than when he walks on eartii, slu-oudcd in a tabernacle of clay, and seeing but with the eye of flesh ?'

During this controversy, Edwai-d Gleudinning appeared rest­less and impatient, agitated by some strong internal feeling, but whether of joy, grief, or expectation his comitenance did not expressly declare. He took now the unusual freedom to break in upon the discoui-se of the sub-prior, who, notwithstand­ing hfs resolution to the contrary, was obviously kindling in the spirit of controversy, which Edwaixl diverted by conjuring his reverence to allow him to speak a few words with him in private.

' i'Jemove the prisoner,' said the sub-prior to Christie ; 'look .X 20

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T HE MONASTERY 307 0

could urge thee to such odioiis ingi'atitude 1 In your h u n y of spirits you have mistaken tlie confused tenor of your feelings. Go, my son, pray and compose thy mind; we will speak of this another time.'

' No, father—no,' said Edward, vehemently, ' now or never! I will find the means to tame .this rebellious heai-t of mine, or I will tear it out of mj^ bosom. Mistake its passions! No, father, gi-ief can ill be mistaken for joy. All wept, all shrieked around me—my mother—the menials—she too, the cause of my crime—all wept; and I—I could hardly disguise my brutal and insane joy under the appearance of revenge. "Bi-other," I said, " I cannot give thee tears, but I will give thee blood." Yes, father, as I counted hoiu' after hour, while I kept watch upon the English prisoner, and said, " I am an hour nearer to hope and to happiness " '

' I undei-stand thee not, Edward,' said the monk, 'nor can I conceive in what waj' thy brother's supposed murder should have aftccted thee with such unnatural joy. Surely the soi-did desire to'succeed him in his small possessions '

'Perish the paltiy ti-ash!' said Edward, with the same emotion. ' No, fathei-, it was rivalry—it was jealous rage—it was the love of Mary Avenel, that rendered me the unnatural wretch I confess Tnyself!'

'Of Mary Avenel!' said the priest—'of a lady so high above either of you in name and in rank? How dared Hal­bert—how dared you, presume to lift your eye to her but in honour and respect, as to a superior of another degree from yours?'

' When did love wait for the sanction of heraldry ?' replied Edward; ' and in what but a line of dead ancestors was Maiy, oiu- mother's guest and foster-child, different from us, with whom she was broi:ght up 1 Enough, we loved—we both loved her! But the passion of Halbert was i-equited. He knew it not. he saw it not ; but I was sharper-eyed. I saw that, even when I was more approved, Halbert was more beloved. With me she would sit for hours at om- common task, with the cold simplicity and indifference of a sister, but with Halbert she trusted not herself. She changed colour, she was fluttered when he approached her; and when he left her she was sad, pensive, and solitary. I bore all this—I saw my rival's ad­vancing progi'css in her affections—I bore it, father, and yet I hated him not—I could not hate him !'

'And well for thee that thou didst not, 'said the father;

308 WAVEELEY NOAi^^LS '

' -wild and headstrong as thovi art, wouldst thou hate thy brother for partaking in thine own foUy 1'

' Father,' replied Edwaixt, ' the world esteems thee wise, and holds thy Icnowledge of mankind high; but thy question shows that thou hast never loved. It was by an effort that I saved mj'self from hating my kind and afFectiouate brother, who, all unsuspicious of my rivalry, was pei-petually loading me with kindness. Nay, there were moods of my mind in w hi ch I could retm'n that kindness for a time with "enei^etic enthusiasm. Never did I feel this so strongly as on the night Avhich parted us. But I could not help rejoicing when he was swept from my track; could not help soiTowing when he was again re­stored to be a stumbling-block in my paths.'

' May God be gi-acioiis to thee, my son!' said the monk ; ' this is an avdnl stiite of mind. Even in such evil mood did the first murderer rise up against his brother, because Abel's was the more acceptable sacrifice.'

' I will wrestle with the demon which has haunted me, father,' replied the youth, fii-mly—' I will wrestle with him, and I will subdue him. But first I must remove from .the scenes which are to follow here. I cannot endure that I should see ilary Avenel's eyes agam flash with joy at the restoration of her lover. It were a sight to make indeed a second Cain of me ! My fierce, turbid, and ti-ausitory joy discharged itself in a thirst to com­mit homicide, and how can I estimate the frenzy of my despair 1'

' Madman !' said the sub-piior, ' at what dreadful crime does thy fury drive ?'

' My lot is determined, father,' said Edward, in a resolute tone; ' I will embrace the spiritual state which y&a have so oft recommended. It is my piu-pose to return with you to St. Mai7's, and, with the pel-mission of the Holy Virgin and of St. Benedict, to offer my profession to the abbot.'

'Not now, my sou,'said the sub-prior—'not in this dis-temperatm-e of mind. The wi.se and good accept not gifts which are made in heat of blood, and which may be after repented of; and shall we make our offerings to wisdom and to goodness itself with less of solemn resolution and deep devotion of mind than is necessaiy to make them acceptable to our own frail companions iu this valley of darkness ? This I say to thee, my son, not as meaning to deter thee from the good path thou art now inclined to prefer, but that thou msxjst make thy vocation and thine election sure.'

' There are actions, father,' returned Edward, ' which brook

TIHE MONASTERY 309 c

no delay, and tliiS is one. I t must bo douQ this very noiv, or it may never be done. Let me go with you.; let me not behold the retm-u of Halbert into this house. Shame, and the sense of tlio injustice I have already done him, will jom with these dreadful passions which urge me to do him yet farther "wrong. Let me then go with you,' •

' With me, my son,' said the sub-prior, ' thou shalt surely go; bvit our rule, as well as reason and good Order, require that you should dwell a space with us as a probationer, or novice, before

•taking upon thee those final vows which, sequestering thee for ever from the world, dedicate thee to the service of Heaven.'

' And when shall wo set forth, father 1' said the yoiith, as eagerly as if the journey which he was now uudertaking led to. the pleasures of a suinmer holiday.

'Even now, if thou wilt,' said the sub-prior, yielding to his impetuosity ; ' go, then, and command them to prepare for am departure. Yet stay,' he said, as Edward, with all the awakened enthusiasm of his character, hastened from his presence, ' come hither, niy sou, and kneel down.'

Edward obeyed, and kneeled dow'n before hira. Notwith-staudiug Ills slight figure and thin features, the sub-prior coidd, from the energy of his tone and the earnestness of his devotioual. manner, impress' his pupils and his penitents with no ordinary feelings of personal reverence. His heart always was, as w-ell as seemed to be, iu the duty which he was immediately performing; and the spmtual guide who thus shows a deep conviction of the importance of his office seldom fails to impress a similar feeling \ipou his hearers. Upon such occasions as the j)reseut his puny body seemed\o assume more majestic s ta ture; his spare and emaciated coimtenance bore a bolder, loftier, and more com­manding por t ; his voice, always beautiful, trembled as labour­ing under the immediate impulse of the Divinity; and his whole demeanour seemed to bespeak, not the mere oi'dinai-y man, but the organ of the church, in which she had vested her liigh power for delivering sinners from their load of iniqviity.

' Hast thou, my fair son,' said he, ' faithfully recounted the circumstances which have thus suddenly determined thee to a rehgious hfe?'

'The sins I have confessed, my father,'answered Edward; ' b u t I have not yet told of a strange appearance which, acting on my mind, hath, I (-.hink, aided to detenuine my resolution.'

310 WAVERLEY NOVELS t

' Tell it, then, now,' retmiied the sub-prior; ' it is thy duty to leave mo uniustrueted in nought, so that thereby I may understand the temptation that besets thee.'

' I tell it with unwillingness,' said Edward ; ' for although, God wot, I speak but the mere truth, yet even while ray tongue speaks it as truth, my own eai-s-receive it as fable.'

' Yet say the whole,' said Father Eustace; ' neither fear rebuke from me, seeing I may know reasons for receiving as true that which others might regard as fabulous.'

'Know, then, father,' replied Edward, ' t ha t betwixt hope and despair—aud. Heavens ! what a hope !—the hope to find the corpse mangled and crushed hastily in amongst the bloody clay which the foot of the scornful victor had trod down upon my good, my gentle, my com-agcous brother—I sped to the gleu called Corrie-nan-Shian; but, as your reverence has been already informed, neither the grave, which my unhallow^ed wishes had, in spite of my better self, longed to see, nor any appearance of the earth having been opened, was visible in the solitary spot whei-c Martin had, at morning yesterday, seen the fatal hillock. You know our dalesmen, father.- The place hath an evil name, and this deception of the sight inclined them to leave it. My companions became aifrighted, and hastened down the glen as men caught in trespass. My hopes were too much blighted, my mind'too much agitated, to fear either the living or the dead. I descended the glen more slowly than they, often looking back, and not ill pleased with the poltroonery of my companions, which left me to my o\vn perplexed and moody humour, and induced them to hasten into the broader dale. They were already out of sight aud lost amongst the windings of the glen, when, looking back, I saw a female form standin<' beside the fountain ' °

' How, my fair son ?' said the sub-prior, ' beware you jest not with your pi-esent situation !'

' I jest not, father,' answered the youth; ' i t may be I shall never jest again—surely not for many a day. I saw, I say the form of a femalp„clad in whit«, such—such as the spirit which haunts the house of Avenel is supposed to be. Believe me,' my father, for, by Heaven and earth, I say nought but what 1 saw with these eyes !'

' I believe thee, my son,' said the monk; 'proceed in thy strange stoiy.

'The apparition,' said Edward Glendinning, 'sung, and thus ran her lay; for, strange as it may seem to you, her words abide

THE MONASTERY 311 f

by my remembraflce as if thej' had been sung to me from infancy upward :•

" Tliou wlio seek'st my fountam lone, With thoughts and hopes thou darest not own ; AVliosc heart within leap'd wildly glad AVhen most his brow seem'd dark and sad ; Hie thee hack, tho9 flnd'st not here Corpse or coilin, grave or bier. The dead alive is gone and Hed ; Go tliou, and join the living dead !

The Uving dead, whoso sober brow Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now, Whose hearts witliin arc seldom cured Of passions by their vows abjured ; Whore, under sad and solemn show. Vain hopes arc nursed, wild wishes glow. Seek the convent's vaulted room. Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; Dotf the green, and don the grey, To the cloister hence away I

"Tia 'a wild''laj',' said the sub-prior, 'and chanted, I fear me, witli no good cud. But we liave power to turn the machin­ations of Satan to his shame. Edward, thou shalt go with me as thou desirest; thou shalt prove the life for which.I have long thought thee best fitted: thou shalt aid, my sou, this trembling hand of mine to sustixin the Holy Ark, which bold nnhallow-ed men press rashly forward to touch and to profane. Wilt thou not first see thy mother 1'

' I will see no one,'said Edward, hastily, ' I will^risk no­thing that may shake the pui-poso of my heart. From St. Mar3''s they'>shall leam my destination—all of them shall learn it. My mothei-—Mary Avcncl—my restored and happy brother —they shall all know that Edward lives no longer to the world to be a clog on their happiness. Mary shall no longer need to constrain her looks and expressions to coldness because I am nigh. She shall no longer '

'My son,' said the sub-i5rior, interrupting him, ' i t is not by looking back on the vanities and vexations of this world that we fit om-selvcs for the discharge of duties which are not of it. Go, get our horses ready, and, as we descend the glen together, I will teach thee the truths through which the fathers and wise men of old had that precious alchemy which can convert sufter-nig into happiness,'

C H A P T E R XXXIIl

Kow, on luy fuiUi, this gear is all cntaiigletl, Like to the yarn-clue of the drowsy knitter, Dragg'd by the frolic kitten through the cabin, •\Vhile the good danio sits nodding o'er the fire ! Musters attend ; 'twill crave some skill to clear it.

Old Plcnj.

EDWARD, with the speed ot one wlio doubts the steadiness of his own' resolution, hastened to prepare the horses for their departure, and at the same time thanked and dismissed tlic uci'dibours who had come to Ids assisUince, and who were not a itttle surprised both at the suddenness of his proposed de­parture and at the tuni affairs had tjiken.

' llcre's cold hospitality,' ipioth Dan of the llowlethirst to his comrades ; ' I trow the Gleudiuuiugs may die and come alive right oft ere 1 put foot in stirmp again for the matter.'

Jlartiu sootlied them by placing food and liquor before them. They ate sullenly, however, and departed in bad humour.

'i'hc joyful news that Halbert CUendinnhig lived was quickly communicated through the sorrowing family. The mother wept and thanked Heaven alternately; until, her habits of domestic economy awakening as her feelings became calmer, she ol>-ser\-ed,"'It would be an nnco task to mend the yctts, and what were tlicj' to do while they were broken in that fashion ? At open doors dogs come in.'

Tibb remarked, 'She aye thought Halbert was owor gleg at his weapon to be killed sae easily by ony Sir I'iercie of them a'. They miglit say of tliese Southrons as they liked ; but they had not the pith and wind of a canny Scot wlicn it came to close grips.'

On Wai7 Avenel the impression was inconceivably deeper. She had but newly learned to pray, and it seemed to' hor that her prayers had been instantly answered : that the compassion of Heaven, which she had learned to implore in the words of

THE MONASTERY 313

Scripture, had-descended upon lier after a manner almost miraculous, and recalled the dead from the gmvc at the sound of-her lamentations. There was a da;n'!;crous defirrce of enthusi-asm in this strain of feelhig, "but it originated in the purest •devotion.

A silken and embroidered iiRifiler, one of the few articles of more costl- attire which she possessed, was devoted to the pur­pose of wi'appiug up and concealing the sicred volume, which henceforth she was to regard as her chiefest treasure, lamenting only that, for want of a fitting interpreter, much must remain to her a book closed and a fountain sealed. She was miawarc of the yet greater danger she incurred, of putting an imperfect or even false sense upon some of the doctrines which appeared most comprehensible. But Heaven had provided agauist both these hazards.

^Vhile Edward was preparing the horses, Christie of the Clinthill- again solicited his ordere respecting the lleforuied preacher, Henry Warden, and again the worthy monk laboiii'cd to reconcile in his own mind the compassion and esteem which, almost in spite of- him, ho could not hel]) feeling for liis former companion with the duty which he owed to the cluu-clu Tiie unexpected resolution of IJdwai'd had removed, bo thought, tlie chief objection to'his being left at (ilendearg.

' If I cjUTy this ^\'ellwood, or AVarden, to the monastci-y,' ho thought, ' he must die—die in his heresy—perish body and soul. And though such a measure wiis once thought advisable, to strike terror into the heretics, yet such is now their dail--increasing strength that it may ra'ther ro»ise them to fury and to revenge, 'frue, he refuses to pledge himself to abstain from sowing his tares among the wheat; but the ground here is too barren to receive them. I fear not his making impression on these poor women, the vassals of the church, and bred up in due obedience to her behests. The keen, searching, inquiring, and bold disposition of I'klward might have aflbi-ded fuel to the fire; but that is removed, and there is nothing left which the flame may catch to. Thus shall ho have no power to spread his evil doctrines abroad, and yet his life shall be presen'ed, and it may bo his soul resoicd as a prey from the fowler's net. I will myself contend with him in ai-gument; for when we studied in common 1 yielded not to him, and surely the cause for which 1 straggle will support me, were 1 yet more weak than I deem myself. Were this man reclaimed from his errors, an hundred-fold more advantage would arise to the

314 WAVERLEY NOVSLS

church from his spiritual regencnvtiou than from his temporal death.'

Having finished these meditations, in which there was at once goodness of disposition and narrowness of principle, a con­siderable portion of self-opinion, and no small degree of self-delusion, the sub-prior commaiidcd the prisoner to be brought into his presence.

' Henry,' he said, ' whatever a rigid sense of duty may de­mand of me, ancient friendship and Chiistian compassion for­bid me to lead thee to assured death. Thou wert wont ta be generous, though stern and stubborn in thy resolves; let not thy sense of what thine own thoughts term duty draw thee farther than n\iue have done. Remember, that every sheep whoni thou shalt here lead astmy from the fold will be de­manded in time and through eternity of him wlio hath left thee the liberty of doing such evil. 1 ask no engagement of thee, save that thou remain a piisoner ou thy woixl at this tower, and wilt appear when summoned.'

' Tliou hast found an invention to biiid my hands,' replied the preacher, ' more siu'c than would have teen the heaviest shackles in the prison of thy convent. I will' not rashly do what may endanger thee with thy unhappy superiors, and 1 will be the more cautious because, if we had farther opportunity of conference, 1 trust thine own soul may yet be rescued as a brand from the burning, and that, casting from thee the livery of Anti-Christ, that trader in human sins and human souls, I may yet assist thee to lay hold ou the Rock of Ages.'

The sub-prior heard the sentiment, so similar to that which had occurred to himself, with the saino kindling' feelings with which the game-cock hears and replies to the challenge of his rival. ^ ' 1 bless God and Oiu- Lady,' said he, drawing himself up, ' t ha t my faith is already anchored on that Rock on which St. Peter founded his church.'

' I t is a pcn-ersion of the t«xt,' said tiic eager Ilenry Warden, ' groimded on a vain play upon words—a most idle paronomasia.'

The controversy would have been rekindled, and in all prob­ability—for what can ensure the good temper and moderation of polemics •!—might have ended in the preacher's bein-' trans­ported a captive to the monastery, had not Christie of tlfe Clint-hill observed that it was growing late, and that he, having to descend the glen, which had no good reputation, cared not

T5E MONASTERY 315

grejitly for ti-avellilig there after sunset. The sub-prior, there­fore, stifled his desire of argument, and again telling the preacher that he trusted to his gratitude and generosity, he bade him farcwell.

' Be assin-cd, mine old friend,' replied Wai-deu, ' that no willing act of mine shall bo to tl»y prejudice. But if my Master shall place work before me, I must obey God mther than man.'

These f \•o men, both excellent from natin-al disposition and acquired' knowledge, had more points of similarity than thej' tlicmselves would have admitted. In truth, the chief distinc­tion betwixt them was that the Catholic, defending a religion which afforded littlo interest to the feelings, had, in his devotion to the cause he espoused, more of the head than of the heart, and Avas politic, ciiutious, and artful; while the Pi-otestaut, acting imder the strong impulse of more lately adopted con­viction, and feeling, as ho justly miglit, a more animated con­fidence in his cause, was enthusiastic, eager, and precipitate in Jiis desire to advance it. I'he pi-iest would have been contented to defend, the preacher aspired to conquer; and, of course, tlio impulse by which the latter was governed was more active and more decisive. They could not part fix)m cacli other without a second pressure of liands, and each looked in tlio face of his old companion, as h(5 bade him adieu, with a countenance strongly expressive of sorrow, affection, and pity.

Father Eustace then explained briefly to Dame Glendinning that this pereon was to be her.gucst for some days, forbidding her and her whole household, imder liigli spiritual censures, to hold any convei-sation with him on religious subjects, but com­manding her'to attend to his wants in all other particulars.

' May Our Lady forgive me, reverend father,', said Dame Glendinning, somewhat dismayed at this intelligence, ' bu t I must needs say that ower mony guests have been the ruin of mony a house, and I trow thej^ will bring down CJlendearg. First came the Lady of Avenel—her soul bo at rest!—she mumit uao ill, but she brought with her as mony bogles and fairies as hae kept the house in care ever since, sac that we hao been living as it were in a dream. And then came that English knight, if it please you, and if he hasna killed my son outright, he has chased him aff the gate, and it may be laug enough ere I see him again—forbye the damage done to outer door and inner door. And now your reverence has given me the charge of a heretic, who, it is like, may bring the great horned devil himself down upon us all ; and they say that it is

316 WAVERLEY NOVJILS • 1

neither door nor window will serve him, but he will take away the side of the auld tower aloajj with him. Nevertheless, reverend father, your pleasure is doubtless to be done to em­power.'

' Go to, woman,' said the sub-prior ; ' scud for workmen from the olachan, and let them charge the expense of their repairs to the comnimiitv, and I will give the treasurer warrant to allow them. Moreover, in settling tho rental-mail's and feu-duties, thou shalt have allowance for the trouble and charges to which thou art now p u t ; and I will cause strict search to be made after thy son.'

The dame courtesied deep and low at each favourable expres­sion ; and when the sub-prior had done speaking, she added her farther hope, that the sub-prior would hold some communing with her gossip the miller conceming the fate of his daughter, and expound to him that the chance had by no means hapi^euod thi-ough any negligence on her part.

' I sair doubt mc, father,' she said, ' whether Mysie finds her way back to the mill in a hun-y; but it was all her father's own fault that let her vm\ lamping about the countrj-, riding on bare-backed naigs, aud never settling to do a turn "of wark within dooi-s, milcss it were to dress dainties at dinnei'-timc for his ain ky ta '

' You "remind me, dame, of another matter of urgency,' said Father I'aistace; ' aud, God knows, too many of them press on mo at tills moment. This Enghsh knight must bo sought out, and explanation given to him of these most strange chances. The giddy girl must also be recovered. If she hath sufTercd in rcinitatio'u by this unhappy mistake, I will nob hold myself innocent of the disgrace. Yet how to find them out I know not.'

' So ]jlease you,' said Christie of tho Clinthill, ' I am willing to take the chase, and bring them back by fair means or foul; for though you have always looked as black as night at me, whenever we have forgathered, yet I have not forgotten that, had it not been for yon, " my neck would have kenn'd the weight of my four quaiters." If any man can track the tread of them, I will sjiy in the face of both .Morse and Tcviotdale, and take the Forest to boot, 1 am that man. But first 1 have mattci-s to treat of on my master's score, if you will pemi t mo to ride down the glen with you.'

'isay, but, my friend,'said the sub-prior, ' thou shouldst remember I have but slender cause to trust thee for a com­panion through a place so solitary.'

T I ; E ^[o^^\STERY • 317

'Tush ! tvish ! '-said the jack-man, 'fear me not ; I had the worst too surely to begin that sport again. Besides, have I not said a dozen of times I owe you a life? and wlieu I owe a man either a good turn or a bad I never fail to pay it sooner or later. Moreover, bcshrcw me if I care to go alone down the glen, or even with my troopci-s,»who are, every loon of them, as much devil's bairns as myself ; whereas, if your reverence, since that is the- woixl, take beads and psalter, anil I come along with jack and-spear, you will make the dc^^ls take the air, and I will make all human enemies take the earth.'

i' dwaixl lierc entered, and told his reverence that his hoi-se was prepared. At this instant his eye caught his mother's, and the resolution whicli he had so strongly formed was staggered when he recollected the necessity of bidding her farewell. 'Hie sub-prior saw his embarrassment, and came to his relief.

, ' Dame,' .said he, ' I foi^ot to mention that your sou Edward goes with mo to St. Mary's, and will not retiu-u for two or tlu-ee days.'

' You'll be wisliing to help him to recover his brother 1 !May the saints reward, your kindness !'

The sub-prior returned the benediction, which, in this instance, he had not very well deserved, and he and Edward sot forth on their route. They were presently followed by Christie, who came up with his foUowei-s at such a speedy pace as intimated sufficiently that his wish to obtain spiritual convoy through the glen was e.vtremely sincere. He had, however, other matters to stimulate his speed, for he was desirous to comuumicate to the sub-jn-ior a message from hi.s master Julian, connected with the delivery of the prisoner Wai-den ; and having requested the sul)-]]rior to ride with him a few yards before Pxhvard and the troopei-s of his own party, he thus addressed him, sometimes interrn])ting his discourse iu a manner testifying that his fear of supernatural beings was not altogether lulled to rest by his conlidence iu the sanctity of his fellow-traveller.

' My master,' .said the rider, ' deemed he had sent you an acceptable gift in that old heretic preacher; but it seems, from the slight care you have taken of him, that you make small account of the boon.'

'Nay, ' said the sub-prior, 'do not thus judge of it. The comnuuiity must account highly of the service, and will reward it to thy nia.ster in goodly fashion. But this man and T are old friends, and I trust to bring him back from the paths of perdition.'

318 WAVERLEY NO"\g^LS

• 'Nay, ' said the moss-trooper, 'when I saw you shake hands . at the beginning, I counted that you would fight it all out in love and honour, and that there would be no extreme dealings betwixt y e ; however, it is all one to my master. St. Mary ! what call you yon, sir monk t'

' 'I'lio brancli of a willow st?eaming across the path betwixt us and the sky.'

' Beshrew me,' said Christie, ' if it looked not like a man's hand liolding a sword. But toucliing my master, ho, like a prudent man, hath kept himself aloof in these broken times, until he could see with precision what footing ho was to stand upon Eight tempting oflei-s he hath had from the Loi-ds of ConKi-e^ation, whom you call heretics; and at one time he was minded" to be plain with you, to have taken then; way ; for he was assured that the Lord James was comuig this road at the liead of a roimd body of cavalry. And accordingly Lord James did so far reckon upon him that he sent this man A\ arden, or whatsoever be his name, to my masters protection as an assured friend; and, moreover, with tidings, that ho himself ^4s inarching hitherward at the head of a strong body of horse.' . . , , 1

' .Vow, Our Lady forefcnd ! said the sub-prior. 'Amen! ' answered Gluistie, in soinc trepidation, did your

reverence see aught ?' !Nothing whatever,' replied the monk; ' i t was thy talc

which wrested from me that exclaraa.tiou.' ' And it was some cause,' replied he of the blintlnll, lor il

Lord James should come hither, your halidomc would smoke for it. But be of good cheer, that expedition is' ended before it was be<^un. The Baron of Aveuel had sure news that Lord James has been fain to march westwaixl with his merry men, to protect LOKI Semplo against Cassilis and the Ivennedies. By my faith, it will cost him a brush; for wot ye what they siiy of that name—

'T\rixt Wigton and the town of AJT, Portpatiick and the ciuivcs of Ciee,

<JNO man need thmk for to bide there, Unless he conrt St. ICennedie.'

'Then,' said the sub-prior, 'tlie Loixl James's pui-pose of coming southwards being broken cost this person, Henry Warden, a cold reception at Avenel Castle.'

' I t would not have been altogether so rough a one,' said the moss-trooper, ' for my master was in heavy thought what to

THK MONASTERY 319

do in these unsettled times, and would scarce have hazareled misusing a man sent to him bj- so terrible a leader as the Lord James; but, to speak the truth, some busy devil tempted the old man to meddle with 1113- master's Christian liberty of hand-fasting with Catlierine of Newport. So that broke the wand of peace between them, and now y e may have my master, and all the force he can make, at your devotion, for Lord James never forgave wrong done to him; and if he come by the upper hand lie will have Julian's head if there were never another of the name, as it is like there is not, excepting the bit slip of a lassie yonder. And now I have told you more of my master's affairs than he woiild thank me for; but you have done me a fi-ank turn once, and I may need one at your hands again.'

'Thy frankness,' said the sub-prior, 'shall surely advantage thee; for much it concerns the church in these broken times to know the purposes aud motives of those around us. But what is it that thy master expects from us in rewai-d of good serv'ice ; for I esteem him one of those who are not willing to work with­out their -hire 1' .

' Nay, that I can tell you flatly; for Lord James had promised him, in case he would be of his faction in these parts, an easy tack of the teind-sheaves of his own baronj* of Avencl, together with the lands of Cranbeny Moor, whicii lie intersected with his own. And he will look for no less at your hand.'

' 15ut there is Old Gilbert of Ci-anberry Jfoor,' said the sub-prior, ' what arc we to make of liim 1 The heretic Lonl James niiiy take on him to dispone upon the goods and lands of the halidome at his pleasure, because, doubtless, but for the pro­tection of Gcsl, and the baronage which yet remain faithful to their creed, he may despoil us of them bj- force; but while they are the property of the community we may not take steadings from ancient and faithful vassals to gratify the covetousness of those who serve God only from the lucre of gain.'

' By the mass,' said Christie, ' it is well talking, sir priest; but when j-e consider that Gilbert has but two half-staiTcd cowardly peasants to follow him, and only an aJld jaded aver to ride upon, fitter for the plough than for manly service; and that tliC' Baron of Aveuel never rides with fewer than ten jack-men at his back, and oftener with fifty, bodiu in all tliat effoii-s to war as if they wore to do battle for a kingdom, and mounted on nags that nicker at the clash of a SWOKI as if it were the clank of the lid of a corn-chest—I say, when ye have computed

320 WAVERLF.Y NOVELS

all this, you may guess which course wiU best serve your monastery.'

' Friend,' said the monk, ' I would willingly pxu-chase thy master's assistance on his own terms, since times leave us no better means of defence against the sacrilegious spoliation of heresy; but to take from a po(jf- man his patrimony '

' For tha t matter, ' said the rider, ' his seat would scarce be a soft one if my master thought thsit Gilbert's interest stood betwixt him and what he wishes. The halidome has land enough, and (Jilbert may be quartered elsewhere.'

' We will consider the possibility of so disposing the matter,' said the monk, ' and will expect iia consequence yoiu- master's most active assistance, with all the foUowei's he can make, to join in the defence of the halidome against any force by which it may be threatened.'

'A man's liand and a mailed glove ou tha t , ' * said the jack-man. 'They call us marauders, thieves, and what not ; but the side wo faxke we hold by. And I will be blythe when my Baron comes to a point which side he will ta^c, for the castle is a kind of hell—Our Lady forgive me for naming such a word in this place !—while he is in his mood, studjing how he may best advantage hiniself. And now. Heaven bo praised ! we are in the open valley, and I may swear a I'ound oftth, should aught happen to provoke it.'

'iMy friend,'said the sub-prior, ' thou hast little merit in abstaining from oaths or blasphemy if it be only out of fear of evil spirits.'

' Nay, I am not quite a church vassal yet,' said the jack-mau, ' and if you link the curb too tight on a young hi»rso, 1 promise you he will rear. AVhy, it is much for me to forbear old customs on any account whatever.'

Tlic night being fine, they foixled the river a t the spot where the sacristan met with his uuhappy encomiter with the spirit-As soon as they arrived at the gate of the monastery, the poi-tcr in waiting eagerly exclaimed, ' Reverend father, the loi^ abbot is most anxious for your presence.' _ l

'Le t these Strangers be carried to the great hall,' said tnc sub-prior, ' and be treated with the best by the celkii'^ij reminding them, however, of that modesty and decency conduct which becometh guests ui a house like this.' ^ j ^

' But the lord abbot demands you instantly, my ' ' ".' 'i'j'j ye brother, ' said Father Philip, airiving in great haste.

* See Good Faith of Uie Borderers. • N'otc 21.

THE MONASTERY 321

not seen him more^liscom-aged or desolate of counsel since the field of Pinkie Cleuch was stricken.'

' I come, my good brother—I come,'said Father Eustace. ' I pray thee, good brother, let this youth, Edward Glendirming, be conveyed to the chamber of the novices, and placed under their instructor. God hath touc^ied his heart, and he proposeth laying aside the vanities of the world to become a brother of our holy oi-der; which, if his good parts be matched with fitting docility and humility, he maj' one day live to adorn.'

'My veiy venerable brother,' exclaimed old Father Nicolas, who came hobbling with a thu-d summons to the sub-prior, ' I pray thee to hasten to our worehipful loi-d abbot. The holy patroness be with u s ! never saw I abbot of the house of fSt. Mary's in such consternation; and yet I remember me well when Father Iiigelram had the news of Flodden field.'

' 1 come—I come, venerable brother,' siiid Father Eustace. And having repeatedly ejaculated, ' I come !' he at last went to the abbot in good earnest.

C H A P T E R X X X I V

It is not texts will do it. Cliurcli artillery Arc silenced soon by real ordnance, And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. Go, coin your crosier, melt your clunch plate down, Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, And quaff your long-saved liogsheads. Turn tliem out Thus primed with your good cheer, to gmird yom- wall. And thev will venture for't.

Old FUui.

TEffi abbot received his counsellor with a tremulous eagerness of welcome which announced to the sub-prior an extretuc agitation of spirits and the utmost need of good counsel. There was neither mazer-dish nor stauding-ctlp upon the little table at the elbow of his huge chair of state; his beads alone lay there, and it seemed as if he had been telling them in his extremity of distress. Beside the beads was placed the mitre of the abbot, of an antique form and blazing with precious stones, and the rich and highly-embossed crosier rested against the same table. '

The sacristan and old Father Nicolas had followed the sub-prior into the abbot's apartment, perhaps with the hope of learning something of the impoi-t«uit matter which seemed to be in hand. They were not mistaken; for, after having ushered in the sub-prior, and being themselves in the act of retiring, the abbot made them a signal to remain.

' My broth-^en,' he said, ' i t is well known to you with what painful zeal we have overseen the weighty aflfairs of this house committed to our unworthy hand; your bread hath been given to you, and yom- water hath been sure; I have not wasted the revenues of the convent on vain pleasui-cs, as hunting or hawk­ing, or in change of rich cope or alb, or in feasting idle bards and jesters, savmg tliose who, according to old wont, wore received in time of Christmas and Easter. Neither iuive I

Tgr; J T O X A S T E R Y 323

enriched cither iniifc own rcliitions nor strange women at the expense of tlio patrimony.'

'There luath not been «uch a lord abbot,' said Father Nicolas, ' to my knowledge, since the days of Abbot Ingelram, who '

At that portentous word, whidi always preluded a long stor', the abbot broke in.

' May God have mercy on his soul 1—wo talk not of him now. What [ would know of j-e, my brethren, is, whether T have, in your mind, faithfully discharged the duties of mine office?'

' There has never been subject of complaint,' answered the sub-prior.

The sacristan, more difluse, oiunnei'ated the various acta of indulgence and kiuduess which the mild government of Abbot Boniface had conferred on the brotherhood of St. Slaiy's—the indttlffentice, thb i/nitias, the hiberes, the weekly mess of boiled almonds, the enlarged accommodation of the rcfectoiy, the better arrangemeiit of the celiai-age, the improvement of the revenue of the monastery, the diminution of the privations of the brethren.

'You might have added, my brother,' said the abbot, listen­ing with melancholy acquiescence to the detail of his own nierits, ' tha t I cjiused to be built that curious sci-een which secureth the cloisters from the north-cast wind. But all these things avail nothing. As we read in holy ilaccabee, CajHa est civitmper voluntatem Dei. I t jiath cost me no little thought, no common toil, to keep these weighty matters in such order as you have adbxi them; there was both barn and biun to bo Icopt full; infirmary, dormitory, giiest-hall, and refectory to be looked to ; processions to be made, confessions to be heard, strangers to be entertained, reniw to be granted or refused; and I wai-raut me, when eveiy one of you was asleep in your cell, the abbot hath lain awake for a full hour by the bell, thinking how these^ matters might be oitlered seemly and suitably.'

'May wo ask, reverend my lord,'said the sub-prior, 'what additional care has now been thrown upon you, since yoiu' dis- • coxirse seems to point that way t'

' Marry, this it is,' said the abbot. ' The talk is not now of hiberes or of caritas, or of boiled almonds,* but of an English baud coming against us from Hexham, commanded by Sir John

• See Inclulgenco-t of tlio Monks. Note 'ii.

324 WAVERLEY NOVELS

Fostei-; nor is it of the screening us from the cast wind, but how to escape Lord Janaes Stuart, wlio couieth to lay waste and destroy with his heretic soldiers.'

' I thought that purpose had been broken by the feud be­tween Semple and the Kennedies,' said the sub-prior, hastily.

'They have accorded that matter at the expense of the church as usual,' said the abbot: ' t he Earl of Cassilis is to have the teind-shejives of his lands, which were given to the house of Crossraguol, and lio has striclien hands with Stuart, who is now called Murray. Principes coiivenerunt in •iinuin adversus Domiinim. There are the letters '

The sub -prior took the letters, which had come by an express messenger from the Primate of Scotland, who still laboured to uphold tlic tottering fabric of tiic system under which he was at lertgth buried, and, stepping towaixls the lamp, read them with an air of deep and settled attention; the sacristan and Father Nicolas looked as helplessly at each otiier as the denizens of the poultry-yard when the hawk soai-s over it. The abbot seemed bowed down with the extremity of soiTowful apprehension, but kept his eye timorously iixed on the stib-prior, as if striving to catch some comfort from the expression of his countenance. When at length he beheld that, after a second intent penisjil of the letters, he remained still silent and full of thought, he asked him in an anxious tone, ' What is to be done ?'

'Our duty must be done,'answered the sub-prior, 'and the rcJst is in the hands of God.'

'Our duty—our du ty ! ' answered the abbot, impatiently; 'doubtless we are to do our duty ; but what is that duty? or how will it servo us? Will bell, book, and candle drive back the English heretics? or will Murray care for psalms and antiphouars ? or can I fight for the halidome like Judas ilaccabeus against those profane Nicanors? or send the sac­ristan against this new IToIofernes, to brhig back his head in u ba.sketl'

'Tmc , inyjoi-d abbot,'said the sub-prior, 'we canuot fight with carnal weapons, it is alike contrary to our liabit and vow; brit we can die for our convent and for om- order. Besides, wc am arm tliose who will and can tight. The Knglish arc l)iit iovi ill number, trusting, as it would seem, that they will

I S ' i l S-la..d to „ill.ge audd^poil ou, h.u.o, . - ' •

THE MONASTERY 825

levy our vassals, and, I trust, shall be found strong enough to give him battle.'

' I n the blessed name of Our Ludy,' said the abbot, ' think you that I am Petrus Eremita, to go forth the leader of an host? '

'Nay, ' said the sub-prior, 'lc4 some man skilled in war lead our people : there is Jiiliau Avenel, an approved soldier.'

' But a scoffer, a debauched pei-sou, and, in brief, a man of Belial,' quoth the abbot.

' Still,' said the monk, ' we mu.st use his ministry in that to which he has been brought up. We can guerdon him richly, and indeed I already know the price of his service. The English, it is expected, will presently set forth, hoping here to seize upon Piercie Shafton, whose refuge being taken with us, they make the pretext of this unheard-of inroad.'

' I s it even so? ' said the abbot; ' I never judged that his body of satin and his brain of feathera boded us much good.'

' Yet we must have his assistance, if possible,' said the sub-prior ; ' he Hiay -interest in our behalf the gi'eat Piorcie, of whose frioudshij), he boasts, and that good and faithful lord may break Fostei-'s pm-pose. I Avill despatch the jack-man after him with all speed. Chiefly, however, I tnist to the military spirit of the land; which will not sufler peace to be easily broken on the frontier. Ci'edit me, my lord, it will bring to our side the hands of many whose hearts may have gone asti-aj^ after strange doctrines. The great chiefs and barons will be ashamed to let the vassals of peaceful monks fight unaided against the old enemies of Scotland.'

' I t may be,' said the abbot, ' tha t Foster will wait for Murray, whose purpose hitherward is but delayed for a short space.'

' By the iX)od, he will not,' said the sub-prior; ' we know this Sir John Foster—a pestilent heretic, he will long to destroy the church; born a Boixlerer, ho will thirst to plunder her of her wealth; a Border warden, he \ I1 be eager to ride in Scotland. There are too many causes to urge him on. If he joins with Mun-ay, ho will have at best but an auxiliary's share of the spoil; if he comes hither before him, he will reckon on the whole harvest of depredation as his own. Julian Avenel also has, as I have heard, some spite against Sir John Foster; they will fight, when they meet, with double determination. Sacristan, send for our bailiff. Where is the roll of fencible men liable to do suit and sen'ice to the lialidome 1 Send oH' to the Baron of

326 WAVERLEY NOVELS

Meigallot; he caji raise tliroescorc hoi-se mid better. Say to him the monastery will compound with him for the customs of his bridge, which have been in controveray, if lie will show himself a friend at such a point. And now, my lord, let us compute our possible numbei-s and those of the enemy, tha t human blood be not spUled in vain. Let us therefore calculate '

' M y bi-ain is dizzied with the emergency,' said the poor abbot. ' I am not, I think, more a coward than others, so far as my own person is concerned; but speak to me of marchin<' and collecting soldiers, and calculating forces, and you may as well tell of it to the youngest novice of a nunnery. But my re­solution is taken. Brethren,' he said, rising up, and coming forward with tha t dignity which his comely person enabled him to assume, ' hear for the last time the voice of your Abbot Boniface. I have done for j 'ou the best that I could; in quieter times I had perhaps done better, for it was for quiet that I sought the cloister, which has been to me a place of turmoil, as much as if I had sate in the receipt of custorw, or ridden forth as leader of an anned host. But now mattei:i> turn woi-se and worse, and I, as I gi-ow old, am less able to struggle with them. Also, it becomes me not to Jiold a place whereof the duties, through my default or misfortune, may be but; imperfectly filled by me. Wherefore I have resolved to demit this mine high office, so that the oixler of these matters may presently' devolve upon Father Eustatius here present, our well-beloved 8ul)-prior; and I now rejoice that lie liath not been provided according to his merits elsewhere, seeing that I well hope he will succeed to the mitre and staft' which it is my present ]«u'pose to lay down,'

' In the name of Our Lady, do nothing hastily, my lord !' said Father Kicolas. ' I do remember that when the worthy Abbot Ingelram, being in his ninetieth year—for I warrant you he could remember when Benedict tlie Thirteenth was deposed —and being ill a t ease and bed-rid, the brethren rounded in his ear that ho were better resign his office. And what said he, being a pleasaTit man 1 marry, that while he could crook his little finger he would keep hold of the crosier with it.' • The sacristan also strongly remonstrated against the resolu­tion of his superior, and set down the insufficiency he pleaded to the native modesty of his disposition. The abbot listened in downcast silence; even flattery could not win his ear.

Father Eustace took a nobler tone with his disconcerted and

THE MONASTERY 327

dejected superior.- ' My lord abbot,' he said, ' if I liave been silent conceruiug the virtues with which you have governed this house, do not think that I am unaware of them. I know that no man ever brought to your high office a more sincere wish to do well to all mankind; and if j-our rule has not been marked with the bold lines whjph sometimes distinguished j 'our spiritual predecessoi-s, their faults have equally been strangere to your character.'

' I did uot believe,' said the abbot, turning his looks to Father Eustace with some siirprise, ' that you, father, of all men, would have done me this justice.'

' I n your absence,' said the sub-prior, ' I have even done it more fully. Do not lose the good opinion which all men enter­tain of you by renouncing your office when your care is most needed.'

' But, my brothoi',' said the abbot, ' I leave a more able in my place.'

' That you do not,' said Eustace : ' because it is uot necessarv you should resign in oi-der to possess the use of whatever ex-])c;rience or taleijt I may be accounted master of. I have been long enough in this profession to know that the individual qualities which any of us may ha^•e are not his own, but the property of the'community, and only so far useful when they ])ix)mote the general advantage. If you care not in person, my lord, to deal with this troublesome matter, let me implore you to go instantly to likJinburgh, and make what friends you can in our behalf, while I in yoiir absence will, as suli-prior, do my duty in defence of the halidonie. If I succeed, may the honour and" praise bo yours, and if I fail, lot the disgrace and shame be mine own.'

The abbot mused for a space, and then replied, ' No, Father Kustatins, you shall not conquer me by your generosity. lu. times like these, this house nnist have a stronger pilotage than my weak hands afford; and he who steel's the vessel must be chief of the crew. Shame were it to accept the praise of other men's labours; and, in my poor mind, all the praise which can he bestowed on him who undeitakes a task so perilous and per-]>lexing is a mee<l beneath his merits. Misfortune to him would deprive him of an iota of it'. Assun\e, therefore, your authority to-night, and proceed in the preparations you judge necessary. Let the chapter be summoned to-morrow aft^r we have heard mass, and all shall be ordered as I have told you. Beiiedieite, my brethren 1—jieace be with you ! May the new

328 WAVERLEY NOVJILS

abbot-expectant sleep as sound as he who is .'ibout to resign his mitre.'

They retired, affected oven to tears. The good abbot had shown a jjoint of his character to which they wore stmngera. Even Father Eustace had held his spiritual superior hitherto as a good-humoured, indolent, iislf-iudulgent man, whose chief merit was the absence of gross faxdts ; so that this sacrifice of power to a sense of duty, even if a little alloyed by the meaner motives of fear and apprehended difficulties, raised him con­siderably in the sub-prior's estimation. He even felt an aver­sion to profit by the resignatiou of the Abbot Boniface, and in a maimer to rise on his ruins ; but this sentiment did not loii" contend with those whicii led him to recollect higher consider­ations. It could not be denied that Boniface was entirely unlit for his situation n» the present crisis; and the sub-prior felt tha t he himself, acting merely as a delegate, could not well take the decisive measures which the time required; the weal of the community therefore demanded his elevation. If, be­sides, there crept in a feeling of au liigh dignity obtaiiied, and the native cxidtation of a haughty spirit called.to contend with the imminent dangere attached to a posi; of such distinction, these sentiments were so cimniugly blended and amalgamated with others of a more disinterested nature that," as the sul)-prior himself was unconscious of their agency, we, who have a regard for him, arc not solicitous to detect it.

The abbot elect carried himself with more dignity than formerly, when giving such directions as the pressing circum­stances of the times required; and those who approached him could perceive an unusual kindling of liis falcoif eye and an umisual flush upon his pale and faded cheek. With briefness and precision he wrote and dictated various lettei-s to different barons, acquainting them with the meditated invasion of the halidome by the Eiigli.sh, and conjuring them to lend aid and assistance as in a conmion cause. The temi)tation of advantage was held out to those whom he judged less sensible of the cause of honour, and all were urged by the motives of patriotism and ancient animosity to the English. Tiic time had been when no such exhortations would have been necessary. But so essential was Elizabeth's aid to the Reformed party in Scotland, and so strong was that party almost everywiiere, that there was reason to believe a great many would observe neutrality on the present occasion, even if they did not go the length of uniting with the English against the Catholics.

THE MONASTERY 329

When Father ftustace considered the number of the'imme­diate vassals of the church whose aid he might legally com­mand, his heart sunk at the thoughts of ranking them under the banner of the fierce and profligate Julian Avenel.

' Were the young enthusiast Halbert Glendinuing to be foimd,' thought PVther EusUicB in his anxiety, ' 1 would have risked the battle under his leading, j'ouug as he is, and with better hope of God's blessing. Hut the bailiff" is now too infirm, nor know I a chief of name whom I might trust in this im­portant matter better than this Avenel.' Ho touched a bell which stood on the table, and connuanded Christie of the Clint-hill to be brought before him. ' Thou owe.st me a life,' said ho to that pei-son on his entrance, ' and I may do thee another good turn if thou be'st sincere with n\e.'

Christie had already drained two standing-cu])s of wine, which would, on another occasion, have added to the insolence of his familiarity. But at j)rcsent there was something in the augmented dignity of manner of Father ]']ustace which imposed a restramt on him. Yet his answci-s ])artook of his usual character of midaunted assurance. He pixjfessed himself willing to retm-n a true answer to all inquiries.

' Has the Baron, so styled, of Avenel any friendship with Sir John Foster, warden of the West Marches of iMigland 1'

'Such friendship as is between the wild-cat and the terrier,' replied the rider.

' Will he do battle with him should they meet 1' 'As surely,' answered Christie, 'as ever cock fought ou

Slnxjvetide even.' ' And would he fight with I'osler in the chiirch's quarrel ?' ' On any quarrel, or upon no quarrel whatever,' replied the

jack-man. ' \Ye will thou write to him, letting him know that if, upon

occasion of an apprehended incursion by Sir John Foster, he will agree to join his force with oui-s, he shall lead our men, and be gratified for doing so to the extent of his wish. Yet one word move, 'i'hou didst say thou couldst find out where the English knight Picrcio Shafton has this day lied t o? '

' That 1 can, and bring him back too, by fair means or force, as best likes your reverence.'

' No force nuist be used ujion him. Within what time wilt thou find him out V

' Within tliirty houi-s, so he have not crossed the Lothian lirth. If it is to do you a pleasure, I will set oil" directly, and

330 W A \ T : R L E Y NOVELS

wind him as a sleuth-dog tracks the moss-£i-ooper,' answered C'ijristie.

' Bring liim hither, then, and thou wilt deserve good at our hands, which I may soon have free means of bestowing on thee.'

' Thanks to your reverence, I^put myself in your reverence's hands. We of the spear and snafBe walk something recklessly through life; but if a man were worse than he is, your i*ever-ence knows ho must live, and that's not to be done'without shifting, I trow.'

' Peace, sir, and begone on thine errand; thou shalt have a letter from us to Sir Piercie.'

Christie made two steps towards the door; then tumuig back and hesitating, like one who would make an impertinent pleasantry if he dared, he asked what he was to do with the wench, Mysie Happer, whom the Southron knight had carried off with him.

' Am I to bring her hither, please your i-everence 1' 'Hither, you malapert knave?' said the (IJhurchnian; 're­

member you to whom you speak 1' 'No offence meant,' replied Christie; 'but if such is not

your will, I could carry her to Avenel Castle, where a well-favoured wench was never unwelcome.'

' Bi-ing the unfortunate girl to her father's, and break no scurril jests here,' said the sub-prior. 'Sec that thou gmde her in all safety and honour.'

' I n safety, surely,'said the rider, 'and m such honour as her outbreak 1ms left her. I bid your reverence farewell, I must be on horse before cock-crow.

Ih'i?tmck turn to the northward, tie is tor jiamoiugij, x >>..-nt vou so soon as daylight comes I will be on the roiid

: " a h r It i s ^ ken^^eclde Lof-mark, for the shoe was made iw old Eckic rf Canonbie~I would swear to the curve of tl.c „,„i-n..' So savino', he departed. , ._

'''•"; H-;tefu'ne?essSy,' said%ather Eustace, looking after ^r^-<.i f nhli<res us to use such implements as these: mh

that obi ges us t ^^J ^^^^ conditions of men,

X t ^ ' l t e r n ^ t i ^ r i s left us? But n^w let me to my most

' " l ^ " a l t t elect accordingly sate down to write letters,

T^r. MONASTERY 331

arrange orders, and take Tipon him the whole cliarge of an institution which" tottered to its fall, with the same spirit of proud and devoted fortitude wherewith the commander of a forti-ess, reduced nciirly to the last extremity, calculates what means remain to him to protract the fatal hour of successful storm. In the meanwhile xibbot Boniface, having given a few natural sighs to the downfall of the pre-eminence ho had so long enjoyed amongst his bretlu'cu, fell fast asleep, leaving the whole cares and toils of office to his assistant and successor.

C H A P T E R XXXV

Aud when lie came to broken briggs, Ho slack'd his bow and swam ;

And when he came to giuss growing, Set down his feet and ran.

Oil Morrice.

We return to Halbert Glondinning, who, as our readers may remember, took the highroad to Edinburgli. His intercourse with the preacher, Henry Warden, from wliom he received a letter at the moment of his deliverance, had been so brief that he had not even learned the name of the nobleman to whose care he was recommended. Something like a name had been spoken indeed, but he had only comprehended that he was to meet the chief advancing towards the south, at the head of a party of horse. When day dawned on his journey, he was iu the same micertainty. A better scholar would have been informed by the address of the letter, but Halbert had not so far profited by Father Eustace's lessons as to be able to decipher it. His mother-wit taught him that he must not, in such imcertain times, be too hasty in asking information of liuy one • and when, after a long day's journey, night surprised him near a little village, he began to be dubious and anxious concernin.^ the issue of his journey. °

In a poor country, hospitiility is generally exercised freely, and Ha bert, when he requested a night's quarter , did nothin<r either degrading or extraordinary. The old woman to whom he made this -equest granted it the more readily that she thought she siw some resemblance between Halbert and' her son Saunders, who had been killed in one of the frays so common m the time. I t is true, Saunders was a short, square-made fellow with red hair and a freckled face, and somewhat bandy-legged, \yhereas the stranger was of a brown complexion, tall, aud remarkably well made. Nevertheless, the widow was clear that there existed a genend resemblance betwixt her

TIIK MONASTERY . 333

guest and Saunders, and kindly pressed him to share of her evening cheer. A pedlar, a man of about forty years old, was also her guest, who talked with great feeling of the misery-of pui-suing such a profession as his in the time of war and tumult.

' We think much of knightsiand soldiers,' said h e ; ' bu t the pedder-cofl'e who travels the land has need of more coiu~agc than them all. I am sure he maun fsice mair risk, God help him. Here have I come this length, trusting the godly Earl of Miu-ray would be on his march to the Borders, for he was to have guesteued with the Baron of Avenel; and instead of that comes news that he has gone westlandways about some tuilzie in Ayrshire. And what to do I wot hot; for if I go to the south witiiout a safeguard, the next boiniy rider 1 meet might case me of sack and pack, and maybe of my life to boot; and then, if 1 try to strike across the moors, I may be as ill of!" before J can join myself to that good lord's company.'

No one was quicker at catching a hint than Halbert Glen-dinning, lie said he himself had a desire to go westward. The pedlar looked at him with a verj' doubtful air, when the old dame, who perhaps tliought her young guest resembled the uniquhilc Saunders not only in his looks, but in a certain pretty turn to sliglit-of-hand, which the defmict was supposed to have possessed, tipped him the wink, and assured the pedlar he need have no doubt that her yovuig cousin was a true man.

' Cousin !' said the pedlar, ' I thought you said this youth had been a stranger.'

' 111 hearing makes ill rehearsing,' said the landlady; ' he is a stranger t.j mc by eyesight, but that does not make him a sti-auger to me by blood, more especially seeing his likeness to my son Siiunders, poor bairn.'

The pedlar's scruples and jealousies being thus removed, or at least silenced, the travellers agreed that they would proceed in companj- together the next moniing by daybreak, the pedlar acting as a guide to Gleudinning, and the youth as a guai-d to the pedlar, until they should fall in with Murray's detachment of hoi-se. I t woidd a])pcar that the landladj- never doubted what .was to be the event of this compact, for, taking Glen-dinning aside, she charged him ' t o be moderate with the puir body, but at all events not to forget to take a piece of black say, to make the auld wife a new rokelay.' Halbert laughed, and took his leave.

I t did not a little appal the pedlar, when, in the midst of a

334 WAVRRLKY NOVELS. .

black heath, the young num told him the iiat\n-c of the com­mission with which their hostess had charged him. He took heart, however, upon seeing the open, frank, and friendly demeanour of the youtii, and vented his exclamations on the ungrateful old traitress. ' I gave her,' he said, ' yestere'en, nac farther gane, a yanl of that.very black say, to make her a coum-e-chef; but I see it is ill done to teach the cat the way to the kirn.' •'

- Thus set at ease on the intentions of his companion (for in those happy days the worst was always to be expected from a stranger), the pedlar acted as Halbert's guide over moss and moor, over hill and many a dale, iu such a direction as might best lead them towaixls the route of Murray's party. At length they an-ivcd upon the side of an eminence, which com-miiuded a distant prospect over a tra'ct of sjivage and desolate moorland, _marshy and waste—an nlternate change of shingly hill and level morass, only varied by blue stagnant pools of water. A road sciircely marked wiiidod like a sei-pout through this wilderness, and the pedlar, pointing to it, swd—'The road from Edinburgh to Glasgow. Hero we must wait, and if Murray and his train bo not already passed by, wo shall soon sec trace of them, unless some new purpose sliall have altered their resolution ; for in these blessed days no m.in, were he the nearest the throne, as the Earl of Murray may be, knows when he lays his head on his pillow at night whore it is to lie upon the following even.'

They paused accordiugly, and sat down, the pedlar cautiously using for a seat the bo.x which contained his treasures, and not concealing from his companion tliat he wo:,o under his cloak a pistolet hanging at his belt in case of need. He was coni-teous, however, and offered Halbert a share of the pro­visions which he carried about him for rofreshmcnt. They were of the co;irsest kind—oat-bread baked into cakes, oatmeal slaked with cold water, an onion or two, and a morsel of smoked ham, completed the feast. But s\ich as it was no Scotsman, of the time, had his i-ank been nuich hi.dier than that of Olendinning, would have refused to share in it especially as the pedlar produced, with a mysterious air a t ups horn, which he earned slung from his shoulders, and' which when its contents were examined, produced to each party a clam-shellful of excellent usquebaugh—a liquor strange to Halbert, for the strong waters known in the south of Scotland came from France, and in fact such were but rarely used.

TUK MONASTERY 335

The pedlar recommended it as excellent, said he had procured it in. his last visit to the braes of Doiuie, where he had-securely traded under the safe-conduct of the Laird of Buchanan. He also set an example to Hulbert, by devoutly emptying the cup ' to the speedy downfall of Anti-Christ.'

Their conviviality was scame ended ere a rising dust was seen ou the road of which tbej' commanded the prospect, and half a score of horsemen were dimly descried advancing at con­siderable speed, their casques glancing, and the points of their spears twinkling, as they caught a glimpse of the sun.

' These,' said the pedlar, 'must be the oiitscourci-s of Murray's par ty; let us lie down in the peat-hag and keep ourselves out of sight.'

' And why so 1' said Hulbert; ' let us rather go down aud make a signal to them.'

' God forbid !' replied the pedlar; ' do you ken so ill the customs of our Scottish nation 1 That plump of spears that are spiuring on so fast are doubtless commanded by some wild kinsman of Jlorton, or some such during fear-uothing as neither regards God nor. man. I t is their business, if they meet with any enemies, to pick quarrels and clear the way of them; aud the chief knows nothing of what happens, coming up with his more discreet and moderate friends, it may bo a full mile in the rear. Were wo to go near these lads of the laird's belt, your letter would do you little good, and my pack would do jne muckle black ill; tlioy would tirl every steek of claithes from our backs, fling us into a moss-hag with a stone at our heels, naked as the hour that brought us into this cumbei-ed and sinful world, ?.nd neither Murray nor any other man ever the wiser. But if ho did come to ken of it, what might he help it ? —it wcmld bo accounted a mere mistake, and there were all the moan made. 0 credit me, youth, that, when men draw cold steel on each other in their native country, they neither can

-nor may dwell deeply ou the offences of those whose swords are useful to them.'

They suffered, therefore, the vanguard, as it might be termed, of the Earl of .Murray's host to pass forward; and it was not long until a denser cloud of dust began to arise to the northward.

' Now,' said the pedlar, ' let us hm-iy down the hi l l ; for to tell the tnith, ' said he, dragging Halbert along eamestlv, ' a Scottish noble's march is like a serpent: the head is furnished with fangs, and the tail hath its sting; the only harmless point of access is the main body.'

336 WAVERLEY NOVELS

' I will hasten as fast as you,' siiid the youth; ' but tell nic why the rearward of such an army should be as dangerous as the van V

'Becavise, as the vanguard consists of their picked wild desperates, resolute for mischief, such as neither fear God nor regard their fellow-creatures, but understand themselves bound to hurry from the road whatever is displeasing to themselves, so the rear-guard consists of misproud serving-men, who, being in charge of the baggage, take care to amend by their exactions upon travelling-merchants and others their own thefts on their master's propcrtj*. You will hear the advanced enfans pcrdux, as the I'rench call them, and so they arc indeed, namely, children of the fall, singing unclean and fulsome ballads of sin and har-lotrie. And then will come on the middle-ward, when you will hear the canticles and psalms sung by the Refonning nobles, and the gentry, and honest and pious clergy, by whom they aie accom])anicd. And last of all, you will find in the rear a legion of godless lackeys, and palfreniei-s, and horse-boys, talking of nothing but dicing, drinking, and drabbing.' ,

As the pedlar spoke, they had reached the side of the liigh-road, and Murray's main body was in sight, consisting of about tlii-ee hmidred horee, marching with great regularity, and in a closely compacted body. Some of the troopers jvore the liveries of their mastei-s, but this was not common. Most of them were dressed in such colours as chance dictated. But the majority being clad in blue cloth, and the whole armed with cuirass and back-plate, with sleeves of mail, gaimtlets, and poldroons, and either mailed hose or strong jack-boots, they had something of a uniform appearance. Many of the leaders werf, clad in com­plete armour, and all in a certain half-military dress, which no man of quality in those disturbed times ever felt himself sufli-ciently safe to abandon.

The foremost of this party iimnediately rode up to the pedlar and to Halbert Glendiuning, and demanded of them who they were. The pedlar told his story, the yoimg Gleudinning ex­hibited his letter, which a gentleman carried to Murray, hi an instant after the word ' H a l t ! ' was given through the squad­ron; and at once the onward heavy tramp, which seemed the most distinctive attribute of the body, ceased, and was heart no more. The conmiand was anuomiced tiiat the troop should halt here for an hour to refresh themselves and their hoi-sos. The pedlar was assured of safe protection, and accommodated with the use of a baggage horse. But at the same time he was

THE jrONASTERY 337

ordered into the rt'ai-—a command which he reluctantly obeyed, and not without wringing pathetically the hand of Halbert as he separated from him.

The young heir of Glendcarg was in the meanwhile con­ducted to a plot of ground more mised, and therefore drier, than the rest of the moor. Here a carpet was flung on the gix)und by waj' of tablecloth, and around it sat the leaders of the party, partaking of an entcitainment as coarse, with i-clation to their rank, as that which Glendinning liad so lately shared. Murray himself rose as he came forward, and advanced a step to meet him.

This celebrated pei-sou had in his appearance, as well a.s in his mind, much of the admirable qualities of James V., his father. Had not the stahi of illegitimacy rested upon his birth, he would have filled the Scottish throne with as much honour as any of the Stuart i-ace. But histoiy, while she acknow­ledges his high talents, and much that was princely, nay, roj'al, in his conduct, cannot forget that ambition led him farther than honoiu- or loyalty wan-anted. Brave amongst the bravest, fair in presence and in favour, skilful to manage the most intricate atliiirs, to attach to himself those who were doubtful, to stun and overwhelm, by the suddenness and intrepidity of his enter­prises, those who were resolute iu resistance, he attained, and as to personal merit certainly deserved, tho highest place iu the kingdom. tJut he abused, Tinder the influence of strong tempta­tion, the opportunities which his sister Mary's misfortunes and imprudence throw in his way : he snppilanted his sovereign and benefactress in her power, and his histoiy aflbrds us one of those mixed c'..aracters in which principle was so often isacri-(iccd to policy that we must condemn the statesman while we pity and regi'ct the individual. Many events in his life give likelihood to the charge that ho liimself aimed at the crown; and it is too true that he co'untenanced the fatal expedient of establishing an Knglisb, that is, a foreign and a hostile, interest in the councils of Scotland. But his death may be received as an atonement for his oft'enccs, and may serve to shoAv how nuich more safe is the person of a real patriot than that of the mere head of a faction, who is accounted answerable for the offences of his meanest attendants.

When MuiTay approached, tho young mstic was natm-ally abashed at the dignity of his presence. ITie commanding form, and the countenance to which high and important thoughts were familiar, tho features w^hich bore the resemblance of Scotr

338 . WAVERLKY XOAT^LS F e

land's long line of kings, were well calculatTcd to impress awe and reverence. His dress had little to distinguish him from the high-bom nobles and barous by whom he was attended. A buff-coat, richly embroidered with silken lace, supplied the place of armour; and a massive gold chain, with its medal, hung round his neck. His blsvak velvet bonnet was docomted with a string of largo and fair pearls, and with a small tufted feather; a long heavy sword was girt to his side, as the familiar companion of his hand. lie woi-e gilded spurs on l.is boots, and these completed his equipment.

' This letter,' he said, ' is from the godly preacher of the Word, Henry Warden, young man, is it not sol' Halbcrt answered in the affirmative, 'And he writes to us, it would seem, in some strait, and refers us to you for the circumstances. Let us know, I pray you, how things stand with him.'

In some perturbation, Halbert Glendinning gave an accoinit of the circumstances whicli had accompmied the preacher's imprisonment. When he came to tlie discussion of the hand-fasting engagement, he was struck with the ominous and dis­pleased expression of MuiTay's brows, and, contrary to all prudential and politic rule, seeing sometliing was wrong, yet not well aware what that something was, had almost stopped short in his narrative.

' What ails the fool ?' said the Earl, di-awing his dark-red eyebrows together, while the same dusky glow kindled on his brow. 'Has t thou not learned to tell a true tale without stammering ?'

' So please you,' answered Halbert, with considemblo address, ' I have iiovcr before spoken in such a presence.'"

'Ho seems a modest youth,' said Murray, turning to Ins next attendant, 'and yet one who in a good cause will neither fear friend nor foe. Speak on, friend, and speak freely.'

Halbert then gave an account of the quarrel betwixt Julian Avenol and the preacher, which the Earl, biting his lip the while, compelled himself to listen to as a thing of indiflercnce. At first ho appeared even to take the part of the Baron.

' Henry Warden,' ho said, ' is too hot in his zeal. The law both of God and man maketh allowance for certain alliances, though not strictly formal, and the issue of such may succeed.'

This general declaration he expressed, accompanying it with a glance around upon tlio few followei-s who were" present at this interview. The most of them answered—' Tlierc is no contravening t h a t ' ; but one or two looked on the ground, and

THE .AfOXASTERY 33!)

were silent. Murray then turned again to Glondinuiug, com­manding him to say what next clianced, and not to omit any iwrticular. When he mentioned the manner in wliich JuHan had cast from liim liis concubine, ilim-ay drcw a deep breath, ~ set his teetli hard, and laid his iiand on the hilt of his dagger. Casting his eyes once more around the circle, which was now augmented by one or two ol tlic Reformed preaci>oi-s, he seemed to devour liis rage in silence, and again commanded Halbert to proceed. AVIieu he came to describe how 'W'aixlen had been dragged to a dungeon, the Earl seemed to have foxmd the point at which lie miglit give vent to his own resentment, sccm-e of the sj'mpathy and approbation of all who were present. ' Judge you,' he .said, looking to tho.sc aroiuid him—'judge you, my jieer.s and noble gentlemen of Scotland, betwixt me and this Julian Avenel—lie liath broken liis own word, and hath violated my safe-conduct; and judge you also, my reverend brethren— he hath put his hand forth upon a preacher of the Gospel, and pei-chance may sell his blood to the woi-shippoi's of Anti-("'hrist! •

'Let him die the deatli of a tmitor,' said tlic secular chiff.s, 'and let liis tongue be struck through with the hangman'sfierj' iron, to avenge his perjuiy !'

' Let him go down to his place with Baal's priests,' said the preachers, ' and be his ashes cast into Tophct I'

Murray heard them with the smile of expected revenge; yet it is probable that the brutal treatment of the femalej whose circumstances somewhat resembled those of the Earl's own mother, had its share in the grim smile which curled his sun-burnt cheek and Ins haughty lip. To Halbert Glendinning, when his narrative was finislied, he spoke with great kindness.

' He is a bold and gallant youth,' said he to tliose aroiuid, • and formed of the stuft' which becomes a bustling time. There are periods when men's spirits shine bravely thixjugh them. 1 will know something more of him.'

He questioned him more particularly concerning the Baron of Avenel's ])robablo forces, the strength of his castle, the dispositions of his next heir, and tiiis brought necessarily for­ward the sad history of his brother's daughter, Mary Avenel, which was told with an embarrassment that did not escape Murray.

' Ha! Julian Avenel,' ho said, ' and do yo\i provoke my resentment, wlicn you have so much more reason to deprecate my justice! I knew Walter Avenel, a true Scotsman and a

840 WAVEELEY N0VJ5LS

good soldier. Our sister, the Queen, must right his daughter ; aud were her land restored, she would be a fitting bride to some brave man who may better merit our favoiir than the traitor Julian.' Then looking at Halbert, he said, ' Art tliou of gentle blood, young man 1'

Halbert, with a faltering and uncertain voice, began to speak of his distant pretensions to claim a descent from the ancient Glendonwynes of Galloway, when Murray interrupted him with a smile.

' Nay—nay, leave pedigrees to bards and heralds. In o\u-days, each man is the son of his own deeds. The glorious light of Reformation hath shone alike on prince aud peasant; and peasant as well as prince may be illustrated by fighting in its defence. I t is a stui-ing world, where all may advance them­selves who have stout hearts and strong arms. Tell me frankly why thou hast left thy father's house.'

Halbert Glendinniug made a frank confession of his duel with Piercio Sliaftou, and mentioned his supposed death.

•' By my hand,' said Mun-ay, ' thou art a bold spaiTOw-hawk, to match thee so early witli sixch a kite as Piercie Shafton. Queen Elizabeth would give her glove filled with gold crowns to know that meddling coxcomb to be under the sod. Would she not, Morton 1'

' Ay, by my word, and esteem iier glove a better gift than the crowns,'replied Moi+on, 'which few Border lads like this fellow will esteem just valuation.'

' But what siiall we do with this young liomicidc ?' add j\hnTay; 'what will oiu- preachers say?'

' Tell them of .Moses and of Benaiah,' s;ud Moi'tion ; ' it is but the smiting of uu Egyptian when all is Sfiid out.'

' Let it be so,' said .Murray, laughing; ' but wo will bury the tale, as tlic prophet did the body, in the sand. 1 will take" care of this Kwankic. Be near to us, (51oudiiniing, since that is thy name. We retain tlicc as a s(piire of our household. Tlie master of our horse will see thee fully equipped and armed.'

During the-expedition which lie was now engaged in, .Murray found several opportunities of putting Glendinning's courage and presence of mind to the test, and ho began to rise so rapidly in his esteem tliat those who knew the Earl considered the youth's fortune as certain. One step only was wanting to raise

. him to a still higher degree of confidence and favour: it was the abjuration of the Popish religion. The ministei-s who attended upon Murray, and formed his chief support amongst the people.

THE -MOXASTERY 341

found an easy convert in Halbert Glendinning, who, from his earliest days, had never felt much devotion towards the Catholic faith, and who listened eagerly to more reasonable views of religion. By thus adopting the faith of his master, he rose higher in his favour, and was constantlj' about his pei-son during his prolonged stay in the west, of Scotland, which the intract­ability of those whom the Earl had to deal with protracted from day to day and week to weelc.

C H A P T E R XXXVI

Faint the (UH of battle bray'd

War and terror lied before, W ounds and deatli were left behind.

PENKOSK. iHE autumn of the vo'ii- «-,>! „. ii i of llorton one n.ondig" . £ m ' " ' j ; : ^ " ' ' T ' ' " ? ^ ' - J ' - ' chamber of Mim-ay, in wW cl. m n . ) ' • '"f"'""' "'<' '^"te-waiting. ^' " - " ^f'-ill-ort Gleudinuing was i„

'Call yom- master, Halbert ' said +i,„ f / . forhin^frourTeviotdale; aud for'^ou too c t ' r ^ '•' ' "' "•' - n e w s ! my Loi-d of Murmy > ' h e Jipln"' J "^'"""^S- No^vs! Karl's bedroom; 'come forth instiintlv' " ' " " '^'^' "^ '"^

h i s i l L g l " ' ^ ^ ' " " " ' ' " ' '^ ^"•^^^'^ ' - ' "^"y. den^anding eagerly

important tidings.' ^ Monastery, and brings

'Of yhut complexion?' said Murrar Snd n„ bearer ?' ^'^'luay, and cair.you trust the

'He is faithful, on my life ' R.iid \r„,.* your lordship may provi ecpmlh ,! , ' ^""^' ^ ^ ''• '' ' ' ^™""d

'At what, and whom, do vou nnii,)- 9' i ' Icre is the E g y p t k of t . i r U . t r ^ ' ^ ^ ;^f-n.y.

Kennaquhair 1 - ^ * ^ * i H j \Jl

'• What mean you, my loixl ?' said .Mur™,-

THE MONASTERY 343

frowu, ' thou bast- not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy moutli, iu order to win my confidence ! '

'My lord,' said Halbort, ' I am incapable of a lie. I should choke on one were my life to require that I pronounced it. - I say, that this sword of my father was through the body: the point came out behiud his b^ck, the hilt pressed upon his breastbone. And I will plunge it as deep in the body of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood.'

' How, fellow!' said Morton, ' wouldst thou bcaixl a noble­man? '

' Bo silent, Halbert,' said Murray, ' and you, my Lord of Morton, forbear liim. I see truth written on his brow.'

' I wish the inside of the manuscript may correspond with the superecription,' replied his more suspicious ally. ' Look to it, my loi"d, you will one day lose your life by too nnicli con­fidence.'

' And you will lose yoiu- friends by being too readily sus­picious,' answered Jlun-iy. ' Enough of this—let me hear thv tidings.' • .

'Sir John Fpster,' said Morton, ' i s about to send a partv into Scotland to waste the halidorao.'

' How ! without waiting my presence and pemiission ?' said Murray; ' he is mad. Will he come as an enemj' into the Queen's couutrj' 1'

'He has Elizabeth's express orders,' answered Morton, 'and they are not to be trifled witli. Indeed, his march has been more than once projected and laid aside dxiring the time we have been here, and has caused much alarm at Kennaquhair. Boniface, thqj old abbot, has I'csigned, and whom think you they have chosen in his place 1'

' No one surely,' said Murray; ' they would presume to hold no election imtil the Queen's pleasure and mine were known V

Morton shrugged his shoulders. 'They have chosen the pupil of old Cardinal Beatoun, that wily, determined champion of Home, the bosom-friend of our busy Primate of St. Andrews. Eustace, late the sub-prior of Kennaquhair, is now its abbot, and, like a second Pope Julius, is levying men and making musters to fight with Foster if he comes forward.'

'We must i)reveut that meeting,' said lilurray, hastily; ' whichever party wins the day, it were a fatal encomiter for us. AVho commands the troop of the abbot ?'

'Our faithful old friend, Julian Avcnel, nothing less,' answered Morton.

3H WAVERLEY NOVELS

'Glendinning,' said MuiTay, 'sound tnimpets to horse directly, and let all who love us get on horseback without delay. Yes, my loi-d, this were indeed a fatal dilemma. If wo take part with our English friends, the country will cry shame on us—the very old wives will attack us with their rocks and spindles—the very stones of' thg street will rise up against u s ; we cannot set our face to such a deed of infamy. And my sister, whose confidence I already have such difticulty in pre­serving, will altogether withdraw it from me. Then, .were we to oppose the English warden, Elizaboth woiild cjill it a pro­tecting of her enemies and what not, and we should lose hex-.'

' The she-di-agon,' said i[oi-ton, ' is the best card in our pack ; and yet 1 would not willingly stand still and sec English blades carve Scots' flesh. What say you to loitering by the way, marching fair and easj' for fear of spoiling our horses ? They might then figlit dog fight bull, fight abbot fight archer, aud no one could blanio us for what chanced when we were not present.'

' All would blame us, James Douglas,' replied Miu-ray; ' we • should lose both sides. We had better advance with the

utmost celerity, aud do what wo can to keep the peace betwi.xt them. I would the nag that brought Piercie Shafton hither had broken his neck over the highest heuch in Northumber­land ! He is a proper coxcomb to make all this bustle about, and to occasion perhaps a national war! '

' Had we known in time,' siiid Douglas, ' wo might have had him privily waited upon as ho entered the Borders; there are strapping lads enough would have rid us of him for the lucre of his spur-whang. But to the saddle, James Stuart, since so the phrase goes. I hear your trumpets sound, to liorse and away; wo shall soon see which nag is host breathed.'

Followed by a train of about three hundred well-mounted mon-at-anus, those two powerful barons directed their course to Dumfries, and from thence eastward to Teviotdale, marching at a rate which, as ilortou had foretold, soon disabled a good many of their horses, so that, when they approached the scene of expected action, there were not above two hundred of their train remaining'in a body, and of those most were mounted on steeds which had been sorely jaded.

They had hitherto been amused and agitated by various reports concerning the advance of the English soldiers, and the degree of resistance which the abbot was able to oppose to them. But when they were si.'i or seven miles from St. ilary's of Ken-uaquhair, a gentleman of the country, whom Murray h a t

THK MONASTERY 315

summoned to attmid him, and on whose intelligence he knew he could rely, arrived at the head of two or three sen-auts, ' bloody with spuning, dery red with haste.' Accoixling to his report. Sir John Foster, after scveml times amiouncing, and as often delaj-ing, his intended incursion, liad at last been so stung with tlie news that Piercie Shaiton was openly residing withiu the halidome that he determined to execute the conunands of his mistress, which directed him, at every risk, to make himself master of the luiphuist's person. The abbot's unceasing exer­tions had collected a body of men almost equal in number to those of the English warden, but less practised in arms. They were united under the command of Julian Avenel, and it was apprehended tliey would join battle upon the banks of a small stream which forms the verge of the hiilidome.

'Who knows the place?' sjiid Murmy. ' I do, my lord,' answered Glendinning. "Tis well,' said the Earl ; ' take a score of the best-mounted

hoi-se; make wliat haste thou canst, and announce to them that I am conling iip instantly with a strong power, and will cut to pieces, M'ithout mercy, whichever party strikes the firet blow. Davidson,' said lie to the gentleman who brought the intelli­gence, ' thou shalt bo my guide. Hie thee on, Glendinning. Say to Foster, I oonjuro him, as he respects his mistress's service, that he will leave the matter in my liands. Say to the abbot, I will burn the monastery over his head, if he strikes a stroke till I come. Tell the dog, Julian Avenel, that he hath already one deep score to settle with me, I will set his head on the top of the liighest pinnacle of St. Maiy's if he presume to o])cn another. MahiC haste, and spare not the spur for fear of spoiling iiorse-flcsh.'

'Your bidding shall be obeyed, my lord,' said Glendinning; aud choosing those whose horses were in best plight to bo his attendants, he went off as fast as the jaded state of their cavalry peniiittcd. Hill and hollow vanished from under the feet of tlic chargers.

They had not ridden above half the way \\;hen they met sti"i^glcrs coming oft" from the field, whose appearance an­nounced that the conflict was begun. Two supported in their arms a third, their elder brother, who was pierced with an arrow through the body. Halbert, who kuew them to belong to *;lie halidome, called them by their names, and questioned theni litthe state of the aifi-ay; but just then, in spite of their eftbrts tiiyctain him in the saddle, their brother dropped from the

346 WAVERLEY NOVELS

horse, and they dismounted in haste to receite his last breath. From men thus engaged no information was to be obtained. Glendinning, therefore, pushed on with liis little troop, the more anxiously as he perceived other stragglei-s, bearing St. Andrew's cross upon their caps and corslets, flying apparently from the field of battle. Most gf these, \Ylien they were awai'e of a body of liorsenien approaching on tlie road, held to the one hand or the other, at such a distance as precluded coming to speech of them. Othei-s, wliose fear was more intense, kept the onward road, galloping wildly as fast as their horses could carry them, and when questioned, only glared without reply on those who spoke to them, and rode on without drawing bridle. Several of these were also known to Halbert, who hud therefore no doubt, fi-om the circimistiuices in which he met them, that the men of the halidome were defeated. Ho became now \m-speakably anxious concerning the fate of his brotlier, wlio, he could not doubt, must have been engaged in the atfi'ay. He therefore increased tlie speed of liis liorse, so that not above five or six of his followers could keep up with liim. At length he reached a little hill, at the descent of wliich,"surrounded by a semicircular sweep of a small stream, lay the plain wliich had been the scene of the skirmisli.

I t was a melanclioly spectacle. War and terror, to use the expression of the poet, had rnslicd on to tlie field, and left only wounds and death behind them. Tlie battle liad been stoutly contested, as was almost always the case with these Border skirmishes, wbore ancient hatred and mutual injuries made men stubborn in maintaining the cause of their conflict. To-wai-ds the middle of the plain there Jay the bpdie.s of several • men who had fallen in the very net of grappling with the enemy; and there were seen countenances which still bore the stem expression of imextinguishable hate and defiance, hands which clasped the hilt of tlie broken falchion, or strove in vain to pluck the deadly aiTow from the wound. Some were wounded, and, cowed of the courage they had hitely shown, were begging aid and cravi^ig water in a tone of melancholy depression, while othere tried to teach the faltering tongue to pronounce some half-forgotten prayer, whicli, oven wlieu fii-st learned, they had but half-undei-stoo<l. Halbert, uncertain what course he was next to pui-sue, rode through the plain to see if, among the ^ dead or wounded, he could discover any traces of his brother '^ Edward. He experienced no interruption from the English.^'*^ distant cloud of dust announced that they were still pui-si

THE MONASTERY 347

the scattered fugitives, and he guessed that to approach them with his followers, until they were again under some command, would be to throw away his own life and that of his men, whom the victors would instantly confound with the Scots against whom they had been successful. He resolved, there­fore, to pause until Murray ca«ie up with his forces, to which he was the more readily moved as he heai-d the trumpets of-the English warden sounding the retreat, and recallmg from the pm-suit. He drew his men together, and made a stand iu an advantageous spot of ground, which had been occupied by the Scots iu the beginning of the action, and most fiercely dis­puted while the skirmish lasted.

^Miile he stood here, Hulbert's ear.was asstiiled by the feeble moan of a woman, which he had not expected to hear amid that scene, until the retreat of the foes had pennitted the relations of the slain to approach, for the purpose of paymg them the last duties. He looked with an.xicty, and a t length observed that by the l)ody of a knight iu bright armour, whose crest, though soiled and broken, still showed the marks of rank and birth, there sat a female, wrapt in a horseman's cloak, and holding something pressed against her bosom, which he soon discovered to be a child. He glanced towards the English. They advanced not, and tlic continued and prolonged sound of their trumpets, with the shouts of the leaders, announced that their powers would not be instantly reassembled. He had, therefore, a moment to look after this unfortunate woman. He gave his horse to a spearman as he dismounted, and approaching the unhappy female, asked her, iu the niost sooth­ing tone he lould assume, whether he could assist her in her distress. The mourner made him no direct answer,; but endeavouring, with a trembling and luiskilful hand, to luido the springs of the visor and gorget, .sjiid, in a tone of impatient grief, ' 0, he would recover instantly could I but give him air —land and living, life and honom-, would 1 give for the power of imdoing these cruel iron j)latings that suftbcate him ' ' He that would soothe sorrow must not argue on the, vanity of the most deceitful hopes. The body lay as that of one whose last draught of vital air had been drawn, and who must nevermore have concern with the nether sky. But Halbert Glendinning failed not to raise the visor and cast loose the gorget, when, to his great siu-prise, he recognised the ]ia\e face of Juliim Avenel. lit? last tight was over: the fierce and turbid spirit had departed thJie stiifc in which it had so long delighted.

348 WAVERI-EY NOVELS

'A las ! he is gone,' sjiid Halbert, speaking to the young woman, in whom he had now no difficulty of knowing the unhappy Catherine.

' 0 , no, no, n o ! ' she reiterated, 'do not say so; he is not dead, he is but in a swoon. I have lain as long in one myself ; and then his voice would rouso me, when he spoke kindly, and said, " Catherine, look up for my sake." And look up, Julian, for mine !' she said, addressing the senseless corpse.' ' I know vou do but counterfeit to frighten nie, but I am not frightened,' she added, with an hysterical attempt to laugh ; and then in­stantly changing her tone, entreated him to 'Speak, were it but to cui-se my folly. 0, the rudest woi-d you ever said to me would now sound like the dearest you wasted on me before I gave you all. Lift him up,' she said—' lift him up, for God's sake 1 have you no compassion ? He promised to wed me if 1 bore Iiim a boy, and this child is so like to its father! How shall he keep his woixl, if you do not help me to awaken him t Clmstie of the Cliuthill—Rowley—Hutcheou ! ye were con­stant at his feast, but ye fled from him at the fi-ay, falbe villains as ye are I' •

' Not I, by Heaven!' said a dying man, who made some shift to raise himself on his elbow, and discovered to Halbei-t the well-known featui-es of Christie ; ' I fled not a foot, and a mau can but fight while his breatli lusts; mine is going fast. So, youngster,' said he, looking at Glendinning, and seeing his military dress, ' thou hast ta'cn the basnet at last 1 I t is a better cap to live in than die in. I would chance had sent thy brother here instead, there was good in him ; but thou art as wild, aud wilt soon be as wicked, as myself.' o

' God forbid !' said Halbert, hastily. 'Marry, aud amen, with all my heart,' said the wounded

man; ' there will be company enow without thee where I am going. But God be praised 1 had no hand in that wickedness,' said he, looking to poor Catherine ; and with some exclamation in his mouth that sounded betwixt a prayer aud a curee, the soul of Christie of the Cliuthill took whig to the last account.

Deeply wrapt in the painful interest which these shocking events had excited, Glendinning forgot for a moment his own situation aud diities, aud was firet recalled to them by a t r a m p . Hug of horse, aud the cry of ' St. George for England,' whicli'''^ the English soldiers still continued to use. His handful/N men, for most of the stragglers had waited for Mun-ay's comf

THE MOXASTEKY • 349

up, remained on horseback, holding their lances upright, having no connnand cither to submit or resist.

'There stands our captain,' said one of them, as a strong party of English came up, the vanguard of Foster's troop.

' Your captain ! with iiis sword sheathed, and on foot in the presence of his enemy ? a raw soldier, I warrant him,' said the English leader. ' So ho I young man, is your dream out, and will you now answer me if you will fight or fly ?'

' Neither,' answered' Halbert Glendinning, with great tran­quillity.

' Then throw down thy sword and yield thee,' answered the Knglishman.

' Xot till I can help myself no otherwise,' said Halbert, with the same moderation of tone and manner.

' Art thou for tiiine own hand, friend, or to wliom dost thou owe service?' demanded the English captain.

'To the noble Earl of Murray.' 'Then thou servest,' said the Southron, ' the most dislojml

noblomaii who breathes—false both to l']ngland and Scotland.' 'Thou bes t ! ' said ttlendinning, regardless of all conse­

quences. ' Ha! art thou so hot now, and wert so cold but a minute

since ? I lio, do I ? AVilt thou do battle with mo on that quarrel ?'

' With one to one—one to two—or two to five, as you list,' said Halbert Glendinning; ' grant mc but a fair field.'

'Tha t thou shalt have. Stand back, my mates,' said the brave Englishman. 'If I fall, give him fair play, and let him go off free witVi his people'

' Long life to the noble captain !' cried the soldiers, as im­patient to see tiie duel as if it had been a bull-baiting.

' He will have a short life of it, though,' -said the sergeant, ' if he, an old man of sixty, is to fight for any reason, or for no reason, with every man he meets, and especially the young fellows he might be father to. And here comes the wanlen besides, to see the swoixl-play.'

In fact, Sir John Foster came up with a considerable body of his horsemen, just as his captain, whose age rendered him unequal to the combat with so strong and active a youth as Glendinning, was deprived of his swoixl.

' Take it up for shame, old Stawarth Bolton,' said the Eng­lish warden; 'and thou, young man, tell me who and what thou art ?'

350 WAVERLRY NOVELS

' A,follower of the Eiirl of Murray, who bol-e.his will to your honour, answeredGlendinuiug; ' b u t here he comes to say it hiniself, I see the van of Ins horsemen come over the hills.'

'Get into order, my mastera,' Sixid Sir Jolin Foster to liia followers; 'you that have broken your spears, di-aw your swords. We are something unprovided for a second field, but if yonder dark cloud on the hill-edge bring us foul weather we must bear as bravely as our broken cloaks will bide it. ileanwhile, Stawarth, wo have got the deer wo have hunted for : here is Pioroie Shafton hard and fast betwixt two troopers.'

' Who, that lad ?' said Bolton; ' he is no more Piercio Shafton than I am. He hath his gay cloak indeed ; but Picrcie Shafton is a round dozen of yeare older than that slip of. roguery. I have known him since he was thus high. Did you never see liim in the tilt-yard or in the presence ?'

' To the devil with such vanities!' said Sir John Foster; 'when had I leisure for them or anything elsel During my whole life has she kept me to this hangman's office, chasing

_thieves one day and traitoi-s another, in daily fear of my life" Christie-a never hung up in the liall, the foot never out of the stant at his .saddles never off my nags' backs; and now, because

the ianc>. „ „ ' " ' ' i" the person of a man I'ucver saw, I stirrup, t h e . iieaven ^ f,,, ^ ^^^ privy council will rate

• I have been n istaKC^ ^ gi,,i8tibqtter dead than thus slaved warrant me the ne.\t lottci.- . ^ ^^^^^ mc as I wore a dog. A man were D _. _.^g^ ^^_ " ^ ^ ^ e t interrupted Foster's complaint^. a « H: ^^ . . .

A ttumpet 1 1 declared, 'Tha t the noble Eari of C n H s i S iu d l t n o u r and kfety, a personal couferonco S h I v John Foster, midway between their pari.es, with six of

n,„r in each and ten free minutes to come and go. ' ^ " " B i ^ ^ i i d t i e Englishman, ' comes another plague. I

fir. 1^.., - with Yonder false Scot, and he knows how to f t i . dev ces o cast dust in the eyes of a plain man, as X a vex a i ™ iu the north. I a^i no match for hhn m

nvdf and for hard blows we are but too ill provided. Ptir-^ l a i U we grant the conference; and you, sir swordsman / neakhi- to voung Glendinning), draw off with your troopers ? v o u own par ty^mafch~a t tend your End's trumpet. &ta-

^ r Bo ton put our troop in order, and bo ready to move S w a r d at t h ; wagging of a finger - Get yougone to your own \. • i„ r I-PII von sir sqmre, and loiter not here, ^"'^ntwithstandi^g this peremptory order, Halbert Glendinnmg

could not C s ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ - ' ^ - 1 - ^ - P - * ^ - ^ " ' ^ ^ " ^ ' ^

THK MONASTERY 351

Catherine, who lay insensible of the danger and of the trampling of so many horses around her—insensible, as the second glance assured him, of all aud for ever. Glcndinning almost rejoiced when he saw that the last misery of life was over, aud that the hoofs of the war-horses, amongst which he was compelled to leave her, could only injure anci deface a senseless corpse. He caught the infant from her arms, half-ashamed of the shout of laughter which rose on all sides at seeing an armed man in such a situation assume such an unwonted and inconvenient burden.

' Shoulder your infant! ' cried a harquebusier. ' Port your iMaut! ' said a pikeman. 'Peace, ye biiites,' said Stawarth Bolton, ' aud respect-

himianity in others, if yon have none youi-selves. I pardon the lad having done some discredit to my grey haii-s, when I see liim take care of that helpless creature, which ye would have trampled upon as if ye had been littered of bitch-wolves, not bom of women.'

While' this passed, the leadei-s on either side met in the neutral space betwixt the forces of either, aud the Earl accosted the English warden: ' Is this fair or honest usage. Sir Jolm, or for whom do you hold the Earl of Moi'ton and myself, that you ride iu Scotland with arrayed banner, fight, slay, and make prisonei-s at your own pleasure! Is it well done, think you, to spoil our land aud shed our Blood, after the many proofs we have given to your mistress of o\ir devotion due to her will, saving always the allegiance due to our own sovereign 'i'

'My Lord,of Murray,' answered Foster, 'all the world kuo^vs -ou to be a m-yi of quick ingino and deep wisdom, aud these several weeks have you held me in hand Avith promising "to aiTcst my sovereign misti-ess's rebel, this Piercie Shaftou of AVilvertou, and you have never kept your word, alleging tur­moils in the west and I wot not what other causes of hinder-ance. Now, since he has had the insolence to rctm-n hither, and live openly within ten miles of England, I could no longer, in plain duty to my mistress and queen, tarry upon yoiur suc­cessive delays, and therefore I have used her force to take her rebel, by the strong hand, wherever I can find him.'

'And is Piercie Shafton iu your hands, then? ' said the Earl of Murray. ' Be aware that I may not, without my own great shame, suffer you to remove him hence without doing battle.'

'V/iW you, Lord Earl, after all the a'dvantages you have

352 WA"\rERLF.Y XO\T .LS

received at the hands of the Queen of England, do battle in the cause of her rebel 1' said Sir John Foster.

' Not so. Sir John,' answered the lav\, ' but I will fight to the death in defence of the liberties of our free kingdom of Scotland.'

' By niy faith,' said Sir John .Foster, ' I am well content; my sword is not blunted with all it has done yet this day.'

' By my honour. Sir John,' said Sir George Heron of Chip-chase ' there is but little reason we should figlit these Scottish lords e'en now, for I hold opinion with old Stawarth Bolton, and believe yonder prisoner to be no more Piercie Shaftou than he is the Earl of Northumberland ; and you were but ill advised to break the peace betwixt the countries for a prisoner of less consequence than that gay mischief-maker.'

' Sir George,' replied Foster, ' I have often heard you herons are afraid of hawks. Nay, lay not hand on sword, man— 'l did but jest ; and for this prisoner, let him he brought up hither, that we may see who or what ho is—always under assurance, my lords,' he continued, addressing .the Scots.

'Upon our word and honour,' said :Morton,>'we will offer no violence'

The laugh turned against Sir John I'oster considerably when the pHsoner, being brought up, proved not only a diflcreut person from Sir riercie Shafton, but a female in man's attire.

' Pluck the mantle from the quean's face, and cast her to the hoi-se-boys,' Siiid Foster; ' she has kept such company ere now, I warrant.'

Even MuiTay was moved to laughter, no common thing with him, at the disappointment of the English wgj-den; but ho would not permit any violence to be offered to the fair Molinara, who had thus a second time rescued Sir Piercie Shafton at her own personal I'isk.

' You have already done more mischief than 3-011 can w'ell answer,' said the I'larl to the I'lnglish warden, ' ancl it were dis­honour to me should I peiiuit you to harm a hair of this young woman's head,'

' My lord,' said Morton, ' if Sir John will ride apart with mo but for one moment, I will show him such reasons as shall make liim content to depart, and to refer this unhappy day's work to the judgment of the commissionei-s nominated to try offences on the Boixler.'

He then led Sir John Foster aside, and spoke to him in this manner: 'Sir John Foster, I much man-el that a man who

THE JIONASTEKY 353

knows yonr Queen* Elizabeth as you do sliould not know that, if you hope anything from her, it must he for doing her useful service, not for involving her in quarrels with her neighboure without any advantage. Sir knight, I will speak frankly what I know to be true. Had you seized the true Piercie Sliafton by this ill-advised inroad; and,had j-our deed threatened, as most likelj' it might, a breach betwixt the countries, your politic princess and her politic coiuicil would rather have disgraced Sir Jolm Poster than entered into war in liis behalf. But now that you have stricken short of your aim, you may rely ou it you will have little thauks for can-ying tlie matter farther. I will work thus far on the Earl of Muri-ay that he will under­take to dismiss Sir Piercie Shafton from the realm of Scotland., Be well advised, and let the matter now pass off; you will gain nothing by farther violence, for if we fight, you, as the fewer and the weaker thi-ough j-our fonaer action, will needs have the woi-sc.'

Sir Jolm Foster listened with liis head declining on his breast­plate. • •

' I t is a cureed chance,' he said, ' and I shall have little thanks for my day's work.'

He then rode up to ilurray, and said that, in deference to his lordship's presence and that of my Lord of Morton, he had come to the resolution of withdrawing liimself, with his power, without farther proceedings.

' Stoj) there, Sir John Foster,' said Murray, ' I cannot permit .you to retire in safety, unless you leave some one who may be surety to Scotland that the injuries you have at present done us maj 'be fully accounted for; you will reflect that, by per­mitting yoiu- retreat, I become accountable to my Sovereign, who will demand a reckoning of me for the blood of her subjects, if I suffer those who shed it to depart so easily.'

' I t shall never be told in England,' said the warden, ' that John Foster gave pledges like a subdued man, and tliat on the very field on which he stands victorious. But,' he added, after a moment's pause, ' if Stawarth Bolton wills to abide with yon Oil liis own free choice, I will say nothing against i t ; and, as 1 bethink me, it were better he should stay to see the dismissal of this same Piercie Shafton.'

' I receive him as j'our hostage, nevertheless, and shall treat him as sucli,' said the Earl of Mim-ay. But Foster, turning awiiy as if to give directions to Bolton and his men, afl'ected not to hear this observation.

X --J

354 WAVERLEY NOVELS ° , '

' Tliere rides a faithf\il servant of his most beautiful and sovereign lady,' said Murray aside to Morton. ' Happy man ! he knows not whether the execution of her commands may not cost him his head; and yet he is most certain tluit to leave them luiexecuted will bring disgrace and death without i-eprieve. Happy are they who are not ^nly subjected to the caprices of Dame Fortune, but held bound to account and be responsible for them, and that to a sovereign as moody and fickle as her humorous ladysiiip herself !'

' We also liavo a female .sovereign, my loixl,' said J^forton,, ' AVo have so, Douglas,' said the Earl,- with a suppressed

sigh ; ' but it remains to be seen how long a female hand can hold the reins of power in a realm so wild as om-s. We will now go on to St. .Mar''s, and see oui-selves after the stato of that liousc. (Jlcndinniiig, look to that l^•omau, and protect her. WJiat the fiend, man, hast thou got in thine arms? An infant, as I live! Where couldst thou find such a charge, at such a place and moment 1'

Halbert Glendimiing briefly told the story. The Karl rode forward to the place where the body of Julian Avenel laj', with liis unhappy companion's ai-ms wrapt around him, like the trunk of an uprooted oak homo down by the tempest with all its ivy garlands. Both were cold dead. Jliyray was touched in an unwonted degree, remembering, perhaps, his own birth. ' What have they to answer foi', Douglas,' he said, ' who thus abuse tlie sweetest gifts of affection ?'

The Earl of Morton, \mhappy in his mari-iage, was a liber-thio in his amours.

' You must ask that question of Henry AVarden, my loixl, or of Jolm Kno.x : I am but a wild counsellor in women's mattere.'

'Forward to St. Mary's,' said tl>c Earl; 'pass the word on. Glcnditming, give the infant to this same female cavalier, and let it be taken charge of. Let no dishonour be done to the dead bodies, and call on the country to bury or remove them. Forward, I say, my masters !'

C H A P T E R XXXVII

Gone to be luanicd ?—Gone to swear a peace I King John.

THE news of tlio lost battle, so quickly carried by the fii<»itives to the village and convent, had spread the greatest alarm among the inhabitants. The sacristan and other monks coiuiselled Higlit; the treasurer reconnnendcd that the chxu-ch plate should be ofl'urcd as a tribute to bribe the English officer; the abbot alone was unmoved and imdauuted.

' My brethren,^ he said, ' since tiod has not given our people victory in the combat, it must bo because Hofequircs of us His spiritual soldiers, to light the good fight of martvrdom a conflict in which nothing but our own faint-hearted "cowardice can make us fail of victor'. Let us assume, then, the armour of faith, and prepare, if it be neces.sary, to die under the ruin of these shrines, to the service of whicli we have devoted ourselves. Highly iionoured are we all in this distinguished summons from oiu' dear bi-other Nicolas, whose grey hairs have been 2)rescrved imtil they should be surrounded by the crown of martyrdom, dovsn to my beloved son Edward, who, arriving at the vineyard at the latest hour of the day, is yet permitted to share its toils with those who have laboured from the niorniug. Be of good courage, my children. I dare not, like my samted pretlecessors, promise to you that you shall be pi-cserved by miracle; I and you are alike unworthy of that especial mter-position, which, in earlier times, turned the sword of sacrilege against the bosom of tyrants by whom it was wiel?led, daimted the haixleued hearts of heretics with prodigies, and called down hosts of augels to defend the shrine of God and of the Vii-gin. Yet, by Heavenly aid, you shall this day see that your fatlier and abbot will not disgrace the mitre which sits upon his brow. Go to your cells, my children, and exercise vour ]irivate de­votions. An-ay yom-selves also in alb and cope, as for our most solemn festivals, and be ready, when the tolling of the

356 WAVERLEY NOVELS

largest bell announces the approaclx of the enemy, to mnvch forth to meet them iu solemn procession. Let the church be opened to aiFord such refuge as may be to those of our vassals who, from then- exertion in this day's unhappy battle or other cause, are particularly apprehensive of the rage of the euemy. Tell Sir Piercie Shafton, if he has escaped, the fight '

' I am here, most venerable abbot,' replied Sir Picrcic; 'and if it so seemeth meet to you, I will presently assemble such of the men as have escaped this escaramouche, and will renew the resistance, oven raito the death. Certes, you will learn from all that I did my part in this uuliappy matter. Had it pleased Julian Avenel to have attended to my comisel, specially iu some­what Avithdrawing of his main battle, even as you may have marked the herou eschew the stoop of the falcon, receiving him rather upon his beak than upon his wing, affairs, as I do con­ceive, might have had a diflcrcnt face,, and we might then, in a moro'bellTcose manner, have maintained that affray. Neverthe­less, I would not be understood to speak anything in disregard of Julian Avenol, whom I saw fall fighting maufidly with his face to his enemy, which hath banished from my memoiy the unseemly term of "meddling coxcomb," with which itpleased him something rashly to qualify my advice, and for which, had it pleased Heaven and the saints to have prolonged the life of that excellent person, I had it bound upon my .soul to have put him to death with my own hand.'

'Sir Piercie,' said the abbot, at length interrupting liim, 'our time allows brief leisure to speak what might have been.'

' You are right, most venerable lord and father,' replied the incorrigible Euphuist; ' the preterite, as granxaarians have it, concerns frail mortality less than the future mood, and indeed our cogitations respect chiefly the present. In a word, I am willing to head all who will follow me, and offer such opposition us manhood and mortality nmy permit to the advance of the English, though they be my own countrymen; and be assured, Piercie Shafton will measure his length, being five feet ten inches, ou the gi-ound as he stands, rather than give two yards ill retreat, according to the usual motion in which we re­trograde.'

' I tliaiik you, sir knight,' said the abbot, ' and I doubt not that you would make your words good ; but it is not the 'will of Heaven tliat carnal weapons should rescue us. We are called to endure, not to resist, and may not waste the blood of our innocent commons in vain. Fruitless opposition becomes

THE J N I O N A S T E R Y 357

not men of our profession : they have my commands to resign the sword and the spear. God and Our Lady have not blessed our banner.'

'Bethink you, reverend lord,' said Piercie Shafton, very eagerly, ' ere you resign the defence that is iu your power. There are many posts near the ^utry of this village where brave men xuight live or die to the advantage; and I have this addi­tional motive to make defence—the safety, namelj', of a fair friend, who, I liope, hath escaped the hands of the heretics.'

' I undcrstandyou, Sir Piercie,' said the abbot; ' you metvu the daughter of our conveut's miller 1'

'Eeverend my lord,' said Sir Piercie, not without hesita­tion, ' the fau- Mysinda is, as may be in some sort alleged, the daughter of one who mechanically prepareth corn to be manipulated into bread, without which we could not exist, and which is therefore an employment in itself honourable, nay, necessary. Nevertheless, if the purest sentiments of a generous mind, streaming forth like the rays of the sun reflected by a diamond, "may ennoble one who is in some sort the daughter of a molondinary^ mechanic '

' I have no time for all this, su- knight,' said the abbot; ' be it enough to answer, that with oiu- will we^var no longer with carnal weapons. We of the spirituality will teach you of the temporality how to die in cold blood, our hands not clenched for resistance, but folded for prayer; our minds not filled with jealous hatred, but with Christian meekness and forgiveness ; our eara not deafened, nor our senses coufiised, by the sound of clamorous instiimaents of war; but, on the contrary, our voices compose^ to Halleluiah, Kyrie Eleison, and Salve Eegina, and our blood temperate and cold, as those who think upon reconciling themselves with God, not of avengmg themselves of their fellow-mortals.'

'Lord abbot,'said Sir Piercie, ' this is nothing to the fate of my Molinara, whom, I beseech you to observe, I will not abandon, while golden hilt and steel blade bide together on my falchion. I commanded her not to follow us to the field, and yet methought I saw her in her page's attire' amongst the rear of the combatants.'

' You must seek elsewhere for the person in whoso fate j-ou are so deeply interested,' said the abbot; 'and at present I will pray of your knighthood to inquire conccraing her at the church, in which all our more defenceless vassals have taken refuge. I t is my advice to you, that you also abide by the

358 WAVERLEY NOVELS

horns of the altiir; and, Sir Piercio ShaftOn,' he added, 'be of one thing secure, that if you come to harm, it will involve the whole of this brotherhood; for never, I trust, will the meanest of us buy safety at the expense of surrendering a friend or a guest. Leave us, my son, and may God bo your a i d ! ' . . . •

\\nien Sir Picrcie Shaftou liad departed, and the abbot was about to betake himself to his own cell, he was surpvised by an unknown person anxiously requiring a conference, who, being admitted, proved to be no otlier than Henry Warden, 'i'iic abbot started as he entered, and exclaimed augrilj'—' Ha ! arc th.e few hours that fate allows him wlio may last wear tlic miti-e of this liouse not to be excused from the intrusion of heresy 1 Dost tliou come,' ho said, ' to enjoy the hopes which fate holds out to thy demented and accursed sect, to see the besom of destruction sweep away the pride of old religion—to deface our sln-ines—to mutilate and lay waste the bodies of our benefactore, as well as their sepulchres—to destroy the pinnacles and carved work of God's house and Our Lady's ?'

' Peace, \Villiam Allan ! ' said tlio Protestant preacher, with dignified composure ; ' for none of these pui-poses do 1 come. I would have these stately shrines deprived of the idols wliiuh, no longer simply regarded as the effigies of tlie good and the wise, have become the objects of foul idolatry. I would other­wise have its ornaments subsist, unless as they are, or may be, a snare to the souls of men ; and especially do I condemn tlioso ravages whicli have been made by tlie heady fury of the people, stung into zeal against will-woi-ship by bloody pereecutiou. Against such wanton devastations 1 lift my test-nnony.'

' Idle distinguisher that thou a r t ! ' said tlie Abbot Kustacc, interrupting liim ; ' what signifies the pretext under which thou dost dcsijoil the house of God ? and why at this present emer­gence wilt thou insult the master of it by thy ill-omened presence 1'

'Thou art unjust, William Allan,' .yiid "Warden; ' bu t I am not the loss settled in my resolution. Tiiou hast protected me some time since at the liazard of tliy rank, aud what I Icnow thou boldest still dearer, at the risk of thy reputation with thine own sect. Our party is now uppermost, and, believe me, I have come down the valley, in which thou didst quarter mo for sequestiution's sake, simply with the wish to keep my en­gagements to til CO.'

' Ay,' answei-ed the abbot, ' and it may be that my listening

TIIK MONASTERY 350

to that worldly aild inlirni compassion which pleaded with me for thy life is now avenged by this imi)endiiig jndgmeut. Heavou hath smitten, it may be, the erring shepherd and scattered the flock.'

' Think better of the Divine judgments,' said Warden. ' Not for th' sins, which are tli^jseof thy blinded ediication and circumstixnces—not for thine own sins, William Allan, art thou stricken, but for the accumulated guilt which thy misuamed church iKith accumulate<l on her head, and those of iicr votaries, by the erroi-s and coiTuptions of ages.'

' Now, by my siiro belief in the Kock of Peter,' said the abbot, ' thou dost rekiudle the last spark of human indignation for which my bosom has fuel I 1 thought I might not again have felt the impulse of earthly passion, and it is tliy voice which once more calls me to the o.xprossion of human anger !—yes, it is thy voice that comcst to insult nic in my hour of sorrow, with these blasphemous accusations of that church which hath kept the light of Christianity alive from the times of the Apostles till now.'' o

' From the times of the Apostles ?' said the preacher, eagerly. ' JVef/atur, Gidielme Allan, the primitive church difl'ered as much from that of Eomo as did light from darkness, which, did time permit, I should speedily prove. And worse dost thou judge in saying I come to insult thee in thy hour of affliction, being here, God wot, with the Christian wish of fulfilling an engagement I had made to my host, and of rendering myself to thy will while it had yet |)ower to exercise aught upon me, and, if it might so be, to mitigate in thy behalf the rage of the victoi-s whom ( lod hath sent as a scourge to thy obstinacy.'

' I will none of thy intercession,' ^ aid the abbot, stenily; ' the dignity to which the church has exalted me never should have swelled my bosom more proudly in the time of the highest prosperity than it doth at this crisis. 1 ask nothing of thee, but the assurance that my lenity to thee hath been the means of perverting no soul to &xtan—that 1 have not given to the wolf any of the stray lamb.s whom the Gitat Shepherd of souls had entrusted to my charge.'

' William Allan,' answered the I'rotestaut, ' I will be sincere with thee. What I promised I have kept: I have withheld my voice from speaking even good tluu<'s. But it has pleased Meaven to call the maiden Mary Aveiiel to a lictter sense of faith than thou and all the disciples of Rouie can leach. Her I have aided with my humble power : I have extricated her from

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the machinations of evil spirits, to which she and her house were exposed during the blindness of their Romish superstition, and, praise be to my Master ! I have not reason to fear she will again be caught in thj ' snares.'

'Wretched man! ' stiid the abbot, unable to suppress his rising indignation, ' i s it to tlip. abbot of St. Maiy's that 3-ou boast having misled the soul of a dweller in Our I^ady's hali-dome into the paths of foul error and damning hci'csy? Thou dost nrge me, Wcllwood, beyond what it becomes mc to bear, and movest me to employ the few moments of power I may yet possess in removing from the face of the earth one whose qualities, given by GCKI, have been so utterly perverted as thine to the service of Satan.'

'Do thy pleasure,' said tlic preacher ; ' thy vain wratli shall not prevent my doing my duty to advantage thee, where it may be done without neglecting my higlier call. I go to the Earl of MuiTay.'

Their conference, which was advancing fast into bitter dis­putation, was here interrupted by the deep and sullen toll of the largest and heaviest bell of the convent—a .sound famous in the cln-onicles of the community for dispelling of tempests and putting to flight demons, but which now only announced danger, without aflbrding any means of warding agaijist it. Hastily repeating his orders that all the brethren should attend in the choir, ari-ayed for solonm procession, the abbot ascended to the battlements of the lofty monastery by liis own private staircase, and there met the sacristan, who had been in the act of directing the tolling of the huge hell, which fell uuder his duty.

' I t is the last time I shall discharge mine office, most vener­able father and lord,' said he to the al)bot, ' for yonder come the Philistines; but 1 would not that the large bell of St. Mary's should sound for the last time otherwise tlian in true and full tone. I have been a sinful man for one of our holy profession,' added lie, looking upwaixl, 'yet may I presume to say, not a bell hath sounded out of tunc from the tower of the iiouse while Fiither I'hilip had the superintendence of the chime and the belfry.'

The abbot, without reply, cast his eves towards the path which, winding around the mountain, descends upon Kenna-quhair from the south-east. He beheld at a distance a cloud of dust, and lieard the neighing of many horses, while the occasional sparkle of the long line of spears, as they came

THE MONASTERY S61

downwards into 'the valley, announced that the band Cixme thither in arms.

' Shame on my weakness !' said Abbot Eusbice, dashing the . tears from his eyes; ' mj' sight is too much dimmed to obser\-e their motions. Look, my son lulward,' for his favomite novice had again joined him, ' and toli me what ensigns they bear.'

' Thej- are Scottish men when all is done,' exclaimed Edward. 'I see the'white crosses: it may be the Western lk)rderers, or FeiTiiehei'st and his clan.'

' Look at the banner,', said the abbot; ' tell me what are the blazonries 1'

'The arms of Scotland,' sjiid Mwai-d—'the lion and its tressure, quartered, as I think, with three cushions. Can it be the royal stiindard 1',

'Alas ! no,' Sixid the abbot, ' i t is that of the Earl of MuiTd-. He hath assumed with his new conquest the badge of the valiant Randolph, and hath dropped from his hereditaiy coat the bend which indicates his own base birth : would to (Jod he may not have blotted it also from his memory, and aim as well at possessing tho name as the ]DOwer of a king !'

'A t least, my father,' said Edward, 'he will secure us from the violence of the Southron.'

' Ay, my sou; ns the shepherd secures a silly lamb from the wolf, which he destines in dtic time to his own lianquet. Oh, my sou, evil days arc on us ! A breach has been made in the walls of our sanctuary : thy brother hath fallen from the faith. Such news brought my last secret intelligence. Murray has already spoken of rewarding his services with the hand of jMaiy Avenel.' -,

' Of Marj' Avenel !' said the no;'ice, tottering towaixls and grasping hold of one of the carved pinnacles which adorned the proud battlement.

' Ay, of Maij Avenel, my son, who has also abjui-ed the faith of her fathers. AVeep not, my Edwai-d—weep not, my beloved son ! or weep for their apostii.sy, and not for their union. Bless God, who hath called thee to Himself out of the tents of wicked­ness ; but for the grace of Our Lady aud St. Benedict, thou also hadst been a castaway.'

' I endeavour, my fatlicr,' said Edward—'I endeavour to forget; but what I would now blot from my memon* has been tlie thought of all my former life. Mun-ay'dare not forward a match so unequal in birth.'

' He dares do what suits his purpose. The Castle of Avenel

362 -WAA'ERLEY NOVELS

is strong, and needs a good castellan, devoted'to his service; as for the difference of their birth, he will mind it no more than he would mind defacing the natural regularity of the ground, were it necessary he should erect upon it military lines and iutrenchments. But do not droop for tha t : awaken thy soul within thee, my son. Think you part with a vain vision, an idle dream, nm-sed in solitude and inaction. I weep not^ yet what am I now like to lose? Look at these towers, where samts dwelt, and where heroes have been buried. Think that I, so briefly called to preside over the pious flock, which has dwelt here smce the first light of Chiistianity, may be thisday wa-itten down the last fathe^- of this holy community. Come let us descend and meet our fate. I see them approach near to the village.'

Thc'abbot descended. The novice cast a glance around him; yet the sense of the danger impending over the stately structure, with which he was now united, was unable to banish the re­collection of Mary Aveuel. ' His brother's bride !' he pulled the cowl over his face, and followed his superioi-.

The whole bells of the abbey now added tiieir peal to the death-toll of the largest, which had so long sounded. The monks wept and prayed as they got themselves into the order of their procession for the last time, as seemed but too probable.

' It is well our lAithor Boniface hath retired to the inland,' said Father Philip; 'lie could never have put over tins day, it would have broken his hear t ! '

•God be with the soul of Abbot Ingelram !' said old Father Nicolas, ' there were no such doings in his days.- Thev sav we are to be put forth of the cloisters; and how-1 am to live "any­where else than where I have U^Td for these seventy years I wot no t : the best is, that I have not long to live anywhere' '

A few moments after this the great gate of the abbey was flung open, and the procession moved slowly fonvard from beneath its huge and richly adorned gateway. Cross and banner, pix aiid chalico, shrmes containing relics, and censers steaming with incense, preceded and were intermingled with the long and so cnm array of the brotherhood, in their long black gowns and cowls, with their wliite scapularies hanging over them, the various oflicers of the convent each displayini his proper badge of ofhce. In the centre of the procession came the abbot, surrounded and supported by his chief assistants. He was dressed in his habit of high solemnity, and appeared

THE JIOISrASTERY 363

as much nnconcerned as if he had been taking his usual part in some ordinary ceremony. After him came the inferior persons of the convent—the novices in their albs or white dresses, and the lay brethren distiiiguished by their beards, which were seldom worn b y the fathers. Women and children, niixedwith a few men, came in the roar', bewailing the appre­hended desolation of their ancient sanctnary. They moved, however," in order, and restrained the marks of their SOITOW to a low wailing sound, which rather mingled with than intcwupted the measured chant of the monks.

In this order the procession entered the market-place of the village of Kennaquhair, wliich was then, as now, distinguished by an ancient cross of curioiis workmanship, the gift of some fomier monarch of Scotland. Close by the cross, of much greater antiquity, and scarcely less honoured, was an immensely large oak-tree,* which perhaps had witnessed the worship of the Druids, ere the stately monastery to which it adjoined had raised its spires in honour of the Christian faitli. liike the bentaug-tree t>f the African villages, or the Plaistow oak mentioned in 'White's Watural History of Se/bo7'ne, this tree was the rendezvous of the villagers, and regarded witli peculiar veneration; a feeling common to most nations, and which jierhaps may be traced up to the remote period when the patriarch feasted the angels xmder the oak at Mamre.

The monks formed themselves each in their due place around the cross, while \inder the ruins of the aged tree crowded the old

, and the feeble, with others who felt the common alarm. AVhen they had thus arranged themselves, there was a deep and solemn pauso.i The monks stilled tlicir chant, the lay populace hushed their lamentations, and all awaited in teiTor and silence the an-ival of those heretical forces whom they had been so long taught to regard with fear and trembling.

A distant trampling was at length heard, and the glance of spears was seen to shine through the trees above the village. The sounds increased, and became more thick, one close con­tinuous rushing sound, in which the tread of hqrjfs was mingled witlv the ringing of anuour. The horsemen soon appeared at the principal entrance which leads into the irregular square or market-place which fonns. the centre of the village. They entered two by two, slowly, and in the gi-eatest order. The van continued to move on, riding round the open space, until

•• U is scarcely lu-cessary to sny tli.-it in Melrose, the prototype of KomwqHhiur, no such oak over existed.

364 WAVKRnm' XOVKLS

they hud attained the utmost point, and the'n turning their horses' heads to the street, stood fast; their companions fol­lowed in the Sivme order, uutil tlie wjiole market-place, was closely surro\UKled with soldiers; and the files who followed, making tlio same manoeuvre, formed an inner Hue within those who had first arrived, until the .place was begirt with a quad-rux)le file of horsemen closely drawn up. There was now a pause, of whicli the abbot availed himself, by commanding the brotherhood to raise the solemn chant De profundis cfamaol. He looked around the ai-med mnks, to see what impression tlie solemn sounds made on them. All were silent; but the brows of some had an expression of contempt, and almost all the rest bore a look of indifference : their course had been too long decided to permit past feelings of enthusiasm to be anew awakened by a procession or by a liynui.

' Their hearts are hardened,' said the abbot to liimself in dejection, but not in despair; ' it remains to see whether those of their leaders are equally obdurate.'

The leadere, in the meanwhile, were advancing slowly, and Murray, with Morton, ixxie in deep conversation before a cliosen band of their most distinguished followers, amongst whom came Halbert Glendiimiug. But the ])reacher, Heury AA 'ai-dcn, who \ipon leaving the monastery, had instantly joined* them, was the only peraon admitted to their conference.

' You are determined then,' said Morton to lilurray, ' to give the heiress of Avenel, with all her pretensions, to this name­less and obscm-e J'oung man ?'

'Ha th not Waixlcn told you,' s<iid .Murray, ' t ha t they have been bred together, and are lovers from their yoi-th upwai-d ?'

'And that they are both,'said AVardcu, '.by means wliich may bo almost termed miraculous, rescued from the dclu.sions of Rome, and brought within the pale of the tnie church My residence at Glendcarg hath made mo well acquainted with these thnigs. Ill would it beseem my habit and my calling to thrust myself into match-making and giving in marriage but worse were it i;, me to see your loixlships do needless wroiU to tlie feelings which are proper to our nature, and wliicli, being indulged honestly and under the restraints of religion, become a pledge o domestic quiet here and future happiness in a better world I say, that you will do ill to rend those ties asunder, and to give this rnaiden to the kinsman of Lord Morton, though Lord Alorton s kinsman he be.'

'These arc fair reasons, my Lord of .Murray,' said Morton,

THE MONASTERY 365 • •

' why j'Ou should refuse me so simple a boon as to bestow this silly damsel upon yoiuig Bennygask. Speak out plainly, my lord : say you would rather see the Castle of Avenel in the hands of one who owes his name and existence solely to your favour thai? in the power of a Douglas, and of m^' kinsman.'

' !My Lord of Morton,' said MtUTay, ' 1 have done nothing in this matter which should aggrieve you. Tills young man Glen-dimiiiig has done mc good service, and may do me more. My ])romise was in some degree passed to him, and that while Julian Aveijel was alive, when aught beside the maiden's lily hand would have been hard to come by ; whereas j-ou never thought of such an alliance for your kinsman till you saw Julian lie dead yonder on the field, and knew his land to be a waif free to the first who could seize it. Come—come, my lord, you do less than justice to your gallant kinsman in wishing iiiiu a bride bred up under the milk-pail; for this girl is a peasant wench in all but the accident of birth. I thought you liad more deep respect for the honour of the Douglasses.'

' The honour of the Douglasses is safe in my keeping,' answered Moi jton, haughtily; ' that of other ancient families may Slitter as well as the name of Avenel if rustics are to be matched with the blood of our ancient barons.'

' This is b^t idle talking,' answered Lord Murray ; ' in times like these we must look to men and not to pedigrees. Hay was but a rustic before the battle of Luucarty : the bloody yoke actually dragged the plougli ere it was blazoned on a crest by the herald. Times of action niixke princes into peasants, and boons into barons. All families have spning from some one mean man; and it is well if they have never degenerated from his virtue who i;aised them first from obscurit'.'

'My Lord of Murray will please to except the house of Douglas,' said Morton, haughtily: 'men have seen it in the tree, but never in the sapling ; have seen it in the stream, but never in the fountain.* In the earliest of our Scottish annals, the Black Douglas was powerful and distinguished as now.'

' I bend to the honoui-s of the house of Douglas,' said MuiTa\', somewhat ironically ; ' I am conscious we of the royal house have little right to compete with them in dignity. What though we have worn crowns and carried sceptres for a few genera­tions, if our genealogy moves no farther back than to the humble Alamis Dapifir! ' t

• .Seo Ppdi^'ri'O of tlio Douglas FamiU'. Nuto "'•>• t SCO IV.ligi-L-o of tUo S tua r t Family.' Not" '21.

306 WAVKRLRY NOVELS

ilorton's cbeek reddened as be was about to reply; but Henry Warden availed bimself of tbe libertv wbicb tl)C Pro­testant clergy long possessed, and exerted it to uiterrupt a discus sion wbicb was becoming too eager and personal to bo friendly.

' My loi-ds,' be said, ' I must be bold in discbarging tbe duty of my Master. I t is a sbamo and scandal to bear two nobles, wbose bands bave been so forwarcl in tbe work of reformation, fall into discord about sucb vain follies as now occujjj' your tbougbta. Betbink you bow long you bavo tbougbt wi.tb one mind, seen witb one eye, beard witb one ear, confirpied by j'our union tbo congregation of tbo cb^^vcb, appalled by your joint autbority the congregation of Anti-Christ; and will you now fall into discord about an old decayed castle and a few barren bills, about the loves and likings of a humble spearsman and a damsel bred in the tmmo obscurity, or about the still vainer questions of idle genealogy 1'

'The good man hatli spoken right, noble Douglas,' said ilurniy, reaching him his haud, 'our iniion is too essential to tbe good cause to be broken ofT upon sucb idle t^rms of -dissen­sion. I am fixed to gratify Glendinning in this matter : my promise is passed. Tbe wars, in wbicb I have liad mj' share, liave made many a family miserable; I will at least try if I may not make one happy. Tliere arc maids and mauor.s enow in Scotland: I promise you, my noble ally, that young Benny-gask shall be richly wived.'

' J l y lord,' said Warden, 'you speak nobly, and like a Christian. Alas ! this is a land of hatred and bloodshed • let us not chase from tlience the few traces that remain of gentle and domestic love. And be not too eager for wealth to thy noblo kinsman, my Lord of Morton, seeing contentment in the iruirriage state no way depends on it.' '

' If you allude to my family misfortune,' said Morton, whose countess, wedded by him for her estate and honours, was insane in her mind, ' the liabit you wear, and the libertv, or rather license, of your profession, protect you from my resent­ment.'

'A las ! my b id , ' replied Warden, 'how quick and sensitive IS our self-love! AVbeu, pressing forward in oiu- high calling, we point out the errors of the sovereign, who pi-aises our bold­ness more than the noble Morton? But toucli wo upon bis own sore, which most needs lancing, and he .shrinks from the faithful chii-urgeon in fear and impatient ancer !'

' Enough of this, good and reverend sir,' Lid Murray; ' yon

THE MONASTERY 367 •

transgress the pwidenco yourself I'ocoinmeiKled even now. We are now close upon the village, and the proud abbot is come forth at the liead of his hive. Thou hast pleaded well for him, ^\'•ardell, otherwise I had taken this occasion to pull down the nest ;uid chase away the i"ooks.'

'Nay, but do not so,'said 'Wardeu; ' this AVilliam Allan, whom tliey call the Abbot Eustatius, is a man whose mis­fortunes would more prejudice our cause than his prosperity. You ciUinot inflict more than he will endure; and the more that ho is made to bear, the higher will be the influence of his talents and his courage. In his conventual throne he will be but coldly looked on—disliked, it may be, and envied. But turn his crucifix of gold into a crucifix of wood; let him travel through the land, an oppressed and impoverished man, and liis patience, his eloquence, and Icaniiiig will win more hearts from the good oiuise than all the mitred abbots of Scotland have been able to make prey of during the last hundred ycai's.'

'Tush!—tush! man,' said Morton, 'the revenues of the hali-doiue will bring more men, spears, and hoi'ses into tlio field in one day than .his preaching in a whole lifetime. These are not the days of I'eter the Mcrmit, when monks could march armies from England to Jerusalem; but gold and good deeds will still do aii much or more than ever. Had Julian Avenel liad but a score or two more men this moraing. Sir John Foster had not missed a worse welcome. I say, confiscating the monk's revenues is drawing his fang-teeth.'

'Wo will surely lay liim under contribution,'said Murmy; 'and, moreover, if ho desires to remain in his abbey, he will do well to produce Picrcie Shafton.'

As he thus .sjioke, they entered the market-place, dis­tinguished by their complete annour and their lofty plumes,'as well as by tlie number of followers bearing their colours and badges. Both these powerful nobles, but more especially Muri-ay, so nearly allied to the crown, had at that time a retinue and household not much inferior to that of Scottish royalty. As they advanced into the market-place, a pur­suivant, pressing fonvard from their tniin, addressed the monks in these words: 'The abbot of St. iMary's is conmiandod to appear before the Earl of Aluri-ay.'

'The abbot of St. Mary's,' said Eustace, 'is, in the patri­mony of his couvent, superior to every temporal lord. Let the p]arl of Mun-aj', if he seeks him, come himself to Iiis presence.'

On receiving this answer, Murray smiled scorafnlly, and

368 WAVHRLEY NOVELS

dlsmoiinting from his lofty saddlo, he advauced, accompanied by Morton, and followed by others, to the body of monks assembled around the cross. There was an appearance of shriuking amoug them at the approach of the heretic lord, so dreaded and so powerful. But the abbot, casting on them a glance of rebuke and encoiimgcment, stepped forth from their ranks like a courageous leader, when he sees that las personal valour must be displayed to revive the drooping courage of his followei-s. 'Loixl James Stuart,' he said, 'or Earl of Jlui-nxy, if that be thy title, I, Eustatins, abbot of St. ^Mary's, demand by what right you have filled our peacefixl village, and sur­rounded our brethren, with these bauds of armed men? If hospitivlity is sought, we have never refused it to com-teous asking; if violence be meant against peaceful churchmen, let us know at once the pretext and tiie object?'

' Sir abbot,' said Jlurray, ' your language would better have become another ago, and a presence inferior to ours. We come not hero to reply to your interrogations, but to demand of you why you have broken the peace, collectiijg your vassals in arms, and convocatiiig the Queen's lieges, .wliercby manv men have been slain, and much trouble, perchance l)reach ut amity with England, is likely to arise 1'

' f^iptis in fabula,' answered the abbot, scornfully. ' The wolf accused the sheep of muddying the stream when he di-ank in it above her; but it served as a pretext for devouring her. Convocate the Queen's lieges 1 I did so to defend the Queen's land against foreigners. I did but my du ty ; and I regret I had not the means to do it more cfl'cctually.'

'And was it also a part of your duty to receive and harbour the Quecu of England's rebel and traitor; and to'inflame a war betwixt England and Scotland 1' said Murray.

' In my younger days, my lord,' answered the abbot, with the same intrepidity, ' a war with England was no such dreaded matter; and not merely a mitred abbot, bound by Jiis rule to show hospitality and afford sanctuary to all, but th(j poorest Scottish peasant, would have been ashamed to have pleaded fear of England as the reason for shutting his door against a persecuted exile. i\it in those olden days the English°seldom saw the face of a Scottish nobleman, savo through the bars of his visor.'

' i lonk !' said tl>e li arl of Morton, sternly, ' this insolence wU little avail thee; the days are gone by when Rome's priests were pennitted to brave noblemen with impunitv. Give us up

TTIE JTONASTKKY 369 •

this Piercie Shafton, or by nij father's crest I will set thy abbey in a bright flame !'

'And if thou dost. Lord of ^lorton, its ruius will tumble above the tombs of thine own ancestors. Be the issue as God wills, tRe abbot of St. Mary's gives up no one whom he hath promised to protect.'

'Abbot,' said Murray, 'bethink thee ere wo are driven to deal roughly. The hands of these men,' he said, pointing to the soldiers, '.will make wild work among shrines and cells, if we ai-c compelled tfi undertake ii search for this Englishman.'

' Ye shall not need,' said a voice from the crowd; and, advancing gracefully boforo the earls, the Euphuist flung from him the mantle in which he was muffled. ' Via the cloud that .shadowed Shafton !' said he : 'behold, my loixls, the knight of \\''ilverton, who spares you the guilt of violence and s^icrilege.'

' I protest before God and man against any infraction of the privileges of this house,' said the abbot, 'by an attempt to impose violent hands upon the pei-son of this noble knight. If there be yet spirit in a Scottish Parliament, we will make you hear of this elsewhere, my lords !'

' Spare your threats,' said Miuray ; ' i t may be my pm-pose with Sir Piercie Shafton is not such as thou dost suppose. Attach him, pursuivant, as our prisoner, rescue or no rescue.'

* I yield myself,' said the Euphuist, ' reserving my inght to defy my Lord of Mun-ay and my Loixl of Morton to single duel, even as one gentleman may demand satisfaction of another.'

' You shall not want those who will inswer yoiu- challenge, sir knight,' replied ilorton, 'without aspiring to men above thine own degree.'

' And wlierc iim I to find these superlative champions,' said tiie ICnglish knight, ' whose blood runs more pure tluxu that of Piercie Shafton ?'

' Hero is a flight for you, my lord !' said Murmy. 'As ever was flown by a wild goose,' said Stawarth Bolton,

who had now approached to the front of the party. 'Who dared to Siiy that woi-d?' said the Euphuist, his face

crimson with rage. ' Tu t ! man,' said Bolton, 'make the best of it, thy mother's

father was but a tailor, old Overstitch of Holdcrness. Why, what! because thou art a misjwoud bird, and desjjisest tliino own natural lineage, and rufflest in unpaid silks and velvets, and keepest company with gallants and cuttei-s, must we lose our memory for that? Thy mother, Moll Overstitch, was the

X 24

370 WAVERLEY NOVELS 0

C

l)rettiest wench in those pa r t s ; she was wed^lod by wild Shafton of Wilverton, who, men .say, was akin ^o the Piercie on the wrong .sid6 of the blanket.'

' Help the kniglit to some strong waters,' said Morton ; ' he hath fallen from such a height that he is- stunned ?vitli tlic tumble.'

In fact, Sir Piorcic Shafton looked like a man stricken by a thunderbolt, while, notwithstanding the seriousness of tli'c .scene hitherto, no one of those present, not even .the abbot liimself, could refi-ain from laughing at the n i e M and mortified exj)ression of his face.

'Laugh on,' he said at length—'laugh on, my mastei'K,' shrugging his shoulders; ' it is not for me to be offended; yet would I know full fain from that squire who is laughing with the loudest how he had discovered this unhappy blot in an otherwise spotless lineage, and for what purpose he hath made it known ?'

' / make it known ?' said Halbert Glendinning, in astonish­ment, for to him this pathetic appeal was .made. ' ' I never heard the thing till this moment. '*

'Why, did not that old rude soldier learn it from thee? said the knight, in increasing amazement.

' Not I, by Heaven !' said Bolton; ' I uevpr saw the youth in my life before.'

' B u t you have seen him ere now, mj; worthy master,' said Dame Glendinning, bursting in her turn from the crowd. ' My son, this is Stawarth Bolton, he to whom we owe life and the means of preserving i t ; if he be prisoner, as seems most likely, use thine interest with these noble lords to be kind to the widow's friend.'

' AVliat, my Dame of the Glen! ' said Bolton, ' thy brow is more withei'ed, as well as mine, since we met last, but thy tongue holds the touch better than my arm. This boy of thine gave me the foil sorely this morning. The brown varlet has turned as stout a trooper as I prophesied; and where is white head? ' .

' Alas !' said the mother, looking down, ' Edwai-d has taken orders, and become a monk of this abbey.'

' A monk and a soldier! Evil trades both, my good dame-Better have made one a good master fashioner, like old Over-stitch of Holderncss. I sighed when J envied you the two bonny children, but I sigh not now to call either the monk or

• Seo The White Spirit. Note 25,

THTE MONASTli^lY 371 m

the soldier mine ofrn. The solflier dies in the field; the monk scarce lives in the cloister.'

' My dearest mothei-,' said Halbert, ' where is Edward 1 Can I not speak with him ? "•

' He has Just left us for the present,' said Father Philip, ' upon a message from the lord abbot.'

' And Maiy, my dearest mother ?' said Halbert. Mary Avenel was' uot far distant, and the three were soon withdrawn from the- crowd, to hear and relate their various chances of fortune. o

Wliile the .subordinate pereonages thus disposed of them­selves, the abbot held serious discussion with the two earls, and, partly yielding to their demands, partly defending himself with skill and eloquence, was enabled to make a composition for his convent, which left it provisionally iu no worse situa­tion than before. The carls were the more reluctant to drive matters to extremity, since ho protested that, if m-ged beyond what his conscience woidd comply with, ho would throw the whole lands of th« monasteiy into the Queen of Scotland's hands, to be disposed of a t her pleasure. This would not have answered the views of the earls, who were contented, for the time, with a moderate sacrifice of money and lands. ^Matters being so far settled,,the abbot became anxious for the fate of Sir Piercie Shaflon, and implored mercy in his behalf.

' He is a coxcomb,' he said, ' my lords, but he is a generous, though a vain, fool j and it is my firm belief you have this day done him more paiu than if j^ou had ruu a poniard into him.'

'Run a needle into him you mean, abbot,' said the Earl of Morton; 'by nyne honour, I thought this grandson of a fashioner of doublets was descended from a crowned head at least! '

' I hold with the abbot,' said Murray; ' there were little honour iu surrendering him, to Elizabeth, but he shall bo sent where he can do her no injmy. Our pursuivant and Bolton shall escort him to Dunbar, and ship him off for Flanders. But soft, here he comes, and leading a female, as I think.'

'Lords and othei-s,' said the English knight, with great solemnity, ' make way for the lady of Piercie Shafton—a secret which I listed not to make known, till fate, which bath betrayed what I vainly strove to conceal, makes me less desirous to hide that which T now announce to you.'

' I t is Mysio Happcr, the miller's daughter, on my life !' said

372 WAVERLEY NOVFXS

Tibb Tacket. 'T thought the pride of these Piercies woiild have a fa'.'

' I t is indeed the lovely Mysinda,' said the knight, ' \vhose merits towards her dovoted servant deserved liigher rank than he had to bestow.'

' I suspect, though,' said Muway, ' tha t we should not have heard of the mUler's daughter being made a lady had not the knight proved to be the gi-andsbu of a tailor.'

' My lord,' said Sir Piercio Shafton, ' it is poor, valour to strike him tha t cauuot smite again; and I hope you will con­sider what is due to a prisoner by the law of arms, and say nothing more on this odious subject. When I am once more mine own man, I will find a new road to dignity.'

'S/tape one, I presume,' said the Earl of Morton. 'Nay, Douglas, you Avill drive him mad,' said i lu r ray ; 'be­

sides, we have other matter in hand. I must see Warden wed Glendinning with Mary Avene], and put him in possession of liis wife's castle witliout delay. I t will bo best done ere our forces leave these parts.'

'And I,' said the miller, 'have the like gr'st to grind; for I liope some one of the good fathers will wed my wench with her gay bi'idegroom.'

' I t needs not,' said Shafton; ' t he ceremonial hath been solemnly performed.'

' I t will not be the worse of another boltmg,' said the miller; ' it is always best to be sure, as I say when I chance to take multure twice from the same meal-sack.'

'Stave the miller off him,' said Murray, 'or he will worry him dead. The abbot, my lord, offers us the .hospitality of the convent; I move we should repair- hithei; Sir Picrcie and all of us. I must learn to know the Maid of Avenel; to-morrow I must act as her father. All Scotland shall see how Murray can reward a faithful servant.'

Maiy Avenel and her lover avoided meeting the abbot, and took up their temporary abode in a house of the village, whei'o next day their hands wei-e united by the Protestant preacher in presence of the two earls. On the same day Piercie Shafton and his bride departed, under an escort which was to conduct htm to the seaside, and see him embark for the Low Countries. Early on the following morning the bands of the earls were under march to the Castle of Avenel, to invest the young bride­groom with the property of his wife, which was surrendered to them without opposition.

THE MONASTERY 373

But not without* those omeu^ which seemed to mark evciy remarkable event which befell the fated familj' did Mary take possession of the ancient castle of her forofathere. The same v.-arlike form which had appeared ,more than once a t Glendearg was seen by Tibb Tacket and Martin, who returned with their 3'oung mistress to partake herr,altered fortunes. I t glided' before the cavalcade as they advanced upon the long cause­way, paiised at each drawbridge, and flourished its hand, as in triumph, as it disappeared under the gloomy a,rchway, which was suiTOOunted by the insignia of the house of Avenel. The two trusty servants made their vision only known to Dame (ilendinuing, who, with much pride of hetirt, had accompanied her son to see him take his rank among the barons of the-land. ' 0, my dear bairn! ' she exclaimed, when she heard the tale, ' the castle is a grand place to be sure, but I wish ye dinna a' desire to be back in the quiet bi-aes of Glendearg before the play be jjlayed out.' But this natiu-al reflection, springing from maternal anxiety, was soon forgotten amid the busy and pleasing task of examining and admiring the new habitation of her son.

While these affairs were passing, Edward had hidden him­self and his SOITOWS in the paternal Tower of Glendearg, where every object was full of matter for bitter reflection. The abbot's kindness had despatched hun thither upon pretence of placing some papei-s belonging to the abbey in safety and secrecy; but in reality to prevent his witnessing the triumph of his brother. Through the deserted apartments, the scene of so many bitter reflections, the luihappy j'outh stalked like a discontented ghost, conjuring up aro,uud him at every step new subjects for sorrow and for sclf-tormenf^. Impatient at length of' tlie state of in-i-faition and agonised recollection in which he found himself, be rushed out aud walked hastily up the glen, as if to shake off the load which hung upon his mind. The sun was setting when he reached the entrance of Corrie-nan-Shian, and the recollection of what he had seen when he last visited that haunted ravine bui-st OH his mind. He was in a humour, however, rather to seek out danger than to avoid it.

' I will face this mystic being, 'he said; 'she foretold the fate which has wrapped mo in this dress; I will know whether she has aught else to tell mo of a life which cannot but be misei-aV)lc.'

He failed not to see the White Spirit seated by her accus­tomed haunt, and singing in her usual low and sweet tone.

374 WAVERTJKY NOVELS

While she sung she seemed to look with sorrow on her golden zone, which was now diminished to the fineness of a silken tlu'cad.

' Fare tlieo well, tliou liolly green ! Thou slialt seldom now be seen, Witli all thy glittering garlands bending As to greet my slow descending, Startling the bewilder'd hind, AVho sees thee wave without a wind.

Farewell, fountain ! now not long Shalt thou murmur to my song, •-> Wliile thy crystal bubbles, glancing, Keep the time in mystic dancing. Rise and swell, are buret and lost, Like mortal achoraes by fortune: orost.

The knot of fate at length is tied, Tlio churl is loi<l, the maid is brido. Vainly did my niagic sleight Send the lover I'rom her sight; AVithcr bush, and perish well, Fall'n is lofty Avenel 1'

The Vision seemed to weop while slio sung; and the words impressed on Edward a raelnncholy belief that the alliance of Mary with his brother might be fatal to them botli.

Here terminates the First Part of the Benedictine's Ahiuu-Bcript. I have in vain endeavoiu'ed to ascertain the precise period of the story, as tlie dates cannot be exactly reconciled with tliose of the most accredited histories. Iht it is astonish­ing how careless the writers of Uto])ia are upon these important, subjects. 1 obsei-vo that the learned Mr. Laurence 'i'cmpleton, in his late publication, entitled Ivankoe, has not only blessed tlie bed of IMward the Confessor with an offspring inikuown to history, with sinidry other solecisms of tlie sametdnd, but has inverted the order of nature, and fejisted liis swine with acorns in the midst f,f sunnuer. All tliat can be alleged by the warmest admirer of this Author amounts to this, tliat^thc circumstances objected to are just as true as the rest of the story; which appeal's to me, more especially in the matter of the aco)-ns, to be a very imperfect defence, and that the Autlior will do well to profit by Captiiin Absolute's advice to his servant, and never tall him more lies than are indispensably necessary.

NOTES TO THE MOAUSTEKY

NoTK 1.—CHDRCH TENANTS, p. '.i

[KEL'S arc] small possessions conferred uj)on vassals and their heirs, held for a small (luit-ront, or a moderate proportion of the produce. This was a favourite manner by which the churchmen peopled the patrimony of their convents ; and many descendants of such ' feuars, as they are called, are still to be found in possession of their family inhoritanous in the neighbourhood of the great monasteries of Scotland.

NOTE 2.—GALLANTBY, p. 11

A." gallantry of oU times and nations has the same mode of thinking and act­ing, BO it often expresses itself by the s;imo symbols. In the civil war, 1745-JG, a party of Uighluiidors, under a chieftain of rank, c;im6 to Eose Castio, the seat of the Bishop of Carlisle, bu t then occupied by the family of S<iuiio Dacro of Cumberland. They demanded quarter.--, which of course were not to be refused to armed men of a stran^;e at t i re and unknown language. But the domestic represented to the captaui of the mountiiiueers that the lady of the mansion haa been just delivered of a daughter, and expressed her hojje that , under these circumstances, his party would give as little trouble as possible. 'God forbid,' said the gallant chief, ' t h a t 1 or mine should be the means of adding to a lady's inconvenience a t such a time. May I request to see the infant ?' Tlio child was brought, and the Highlander, taking his cockade out of his bonnet, and pinning it on the child's broiust, ' That will be a token,' Ho said, ' t o an^' of our people who may come hither that Donald M'Donald of KinlocIi-JIoulart 'jas taken the family of Eoso Castio under his ijrotectioii.' The lady who received in infancy this gage of Highland protection is now Mary, Lady Clerk of' Pcnnyeuik ; and on the 10th of Jmio still wears the cockade which was pinned on her breast, with a white rose as a kindred decoration.

KoTi; 3 .—GOOD NEIGHBOCIIS, p. 17

This sui)orstition continues to prevail, though one would suppose it must now be antiquated. I t is only a year or two since an itinerant piipjot show­man, who, disdaining to acknowledge the profession of Gines do J'assamonio, called himself an artist from Vauxhall, brought a complaint of a singular nature before the Author, as sherilV of Selkirkshire. The remarkable dexterity with which the showman liad e.vliil.ited the ra.'i-cliincry of his little atngo had, upon a Selkirk fair-day, excited the eager curiositv of some ineclianiea of Galashiels. These men, from no worse motive that could bo discovered than a thirst after knowledge beyond their splioro, coinmitt. d a burglarv upon tlie barn in which the puppets had been consigned to roposo, and carried theiu oti in the nook of their plaids, when returning from Selkirk to their own villnge.

But with ;hc nioriiiuf^ coo! itikct^uu c.ia.t-.'

376 NOTES

Tho party found, bowex-or, they could liot make Punch" diinco, and that tUo whole troop wore equally intractable ; they bad also, perhaps, some apprehen­sions of the Rbadamanth of the district; and, willing to bo quit of their booty, thoy left the puppets seated in a grove by tho sido of the Ettriok, where they wore sore to bo touched by the first beams of the rising svin. Here a shepherd, who was on foot with sunrise to pen his master's sheep on a field of t irnips, to his utter astonishment, saw this train, profusely gay, sitting in the little grove. His examination proceeded tlm?:—

Sherot You saw these gay-looking things ? what did yoti think they were ? Sliep'hrd. Ou,-1 am no that free to say what I might think they were. Sheriff. Come, lad, I must have a direct artswer—who did you think they

S/iepfierd. Ou, sir, troth I am no that free to say that I m;nd wlia I might think they were.

S/ierijT. Come, come, sir! I ask you directly, did you tliink they were the fairies vou saw ?

Shepherd. Indeed, sir, and I winna say but I might think it was tho good neighbours.

Thus unwillingly was lie brought to allude to the irrits\blo and captious inhabitants of fairyland.

XOTK 4.—DBAW-BMDOE AT BniDOE-EKI), p. 38

A bridge of the very peculiar construction described in the text actually existed at a small liamlot about a mile and a half abpyo Melrose, called from the ciroumstaiico Bridge-end. It in thus noticed in Gordon's J)er Sepleiitrionale:—

'In another journey through the south parts of Scotland, about a niilu and a half from Melrose, in tho shire of Toviotdale, I saw tho remains of a curious bridge over tho river Tweed, consisting of three octingular pillars, or rather towers, standing within the water, without any arches to join them. The middle one, which is tho most entire, has a door towards the north, and, I suppose, another opposite one towards the south, which I could not see with­out crossing tho wivtor. In tho middle of this tower is a projection or cornice surrounding it : the whole is hollow from tho door upwards, and now open at the top, ne.ir which is a small window. I was informed that not long ago a countryman and his family lived in this tower, and got his livelihood by laying out planks from pillar to pillar, and convoying passengers over the river. Whether this bo ancient or modern, I know not; hut .is it is singular in its kind, I have thought fit to exhibit i t ' [p. 165, ed. 1726].

The vestiges of this uncommon spooiee of bridge still exist, and tho Author has often seen the found.itions of the columns when drifting down the Tweed at night, for the purpose of killing salmon by torch-light. Jlr. John Mercer of Bridge-end reeoUocta that, about fifty years ago, tho pillars were Wsiblo above water; and the late Mr. David Kyle of the George Inn, Melrose, told the Author that ho saw a stone taken, from the ruins bearing this in­scription :—

I, .Sir John Princlo of Paliner-stede, ' Give im liuiidrcd markis of gow<l rae roiii,

To liolp to URU uiy brijjg ower Tweed.

Pringlo of Galashiels, afterwards of Whitebank, was the baron to whom the bridge belonged.

NOTE 5.—TO SOBNK, p. 72

To 'some,' in Scotland, is fo exact free quarters against tho will of * ^ landlord. It is dcclarod equivalent to theft, by a stivtuto passed in the yc

NOTES 377 «

1115. The groat chicfiiins opprossort the monasteries very much by exactions of this luituro. The community of Aborbrothwiok eoniplainod of an E i r l of Angus, I think, who wi^ in tho regular habit of visiting them once a-year, with a train of a thousand horse, and abiding till the whole winter provisioi^s of the convent were exhausted.

e

NOTE 6 .—BEEK SOLU BY JLE-VSCBE, p. 77

11 was one of tho few rominisoonoos of Old Parr, or Honry Jenkins, I forget which, that ; a t some convent in the veteran's neighboarhood, the community, before the dissolution, used to dole out roast-beef by tho measure of feet and yurd.^.

NOTE 7.—MOTTO TO CavrTEK xiii. , p. 101

The verse we have chosen for a motto is from a poem imputed -to James I. of Scotland. As for tho miller who figures among tho Canterbury pilgrims, besides his sword and buckler, he boasted other attributes, all of which, bat especially the last, show tha t he relied more on the strength of tho outside than tha t of tho inside of his skull.

The miller was .i stout carl for tlip none.s. Full big he was of brawn, and eko of boiios ; That proved well, for whcrcsoe'fr he cam, At wrestling he wold bear away tiio rain ;

, Ho was short-shoulder'd, broad, a thick Knar ; ^ There ii'as no door that ho n'old hoavo of bar,

. Or bre.ik it at a running with his head, etc.

NOTE 8 .—MILLER A M ) KXAVE, p. 103

The under miller is, in the language of thirlage, called tho knave, which, indeed, signified originally his lad [Knabt, German), but by degrees came to bo taken in a worse sense. In tho old translations of tho Biblo, Paul is made to term himself tho knave of our Saviour. The allowance of meal taken by tho miller's servant was called knavcship.

NOTE 9 . — T H E SEQnEr.s, p. 108

Tho multure was the regular exaction for grinding tho meal. The ' lock,' signifying a small quantity, and tho 'goupen, ' a handful, were additional porquisite-s demanded by the miller, and submitted to or resisted by tho ' suckener ' as circumstances iKirmitted. These and other jjctty dues wore called in general tho ' sequels.

NOTE 10.—MACFAHLANE'S GEESE, p. 112

A brood of wild geese, which long frequented one of the up]>ermo5t islands in Loch Lomond, called Inch Tavoo, wero supposed to have some mysterious connexion with tho ancient family of MacFnrfano of that ' ilk, and it is .said wero never seen after the ruin and extinction of tha t house. Tho MacFarLines had a house and garden upon~ thatr same island of Inch Tavoe. Hero James VI. was, on ono occasion, regaled by the chieftain. His M.ijesty had boon proWously much amused by the geese' pursuing each other on the loch ; but, when ono which was brought to table was found to be tough and ill-fed, James observed—' That MacFarlane's geese minded their play bettor than thoir meat, ' a proverb which has been current ovor since. ^ ^

378 - N O T E S

NoTK U . — J O H N LYLY, p. I'iO

Such anil yet more extravagant are the complimouts paid to this author by his editor Blount. Notwithstanding all exaggeration, Lyly was really a man of wit and imagination, though both were deformed by thp moat unnatural affectation that ever disgraced a printed page.

NOTE 12.—USAGE OF E P I T H E T , p. 132

There arc many instances to bo mot with in tho ancient dramas of this whimsical and conceited custom of jiersons wlio formed an intiaiacy dis­tinguishing each other by somo quaint epithet. In JCveri'.Mitn out of his Iltunonf there is a humorous debate upon names most tit to nind the relation lictwixt Sogliardo and Cavaliero Shift, which ends by adopting those of Countenance and Resolution. Wha t is more to the point is in tho speech of Hedon, a voluptuary and a courtier in Cyiilhias Rerth. ' Y o u know I ciill Madam Philautia my honour, and she calls mo hor ambition. Now, when I meet her in the presence anon, I will come to hor and Sjiy, " Sweet Honour, I have hitherto contented my sense with tho lilies of your hand, but now I mil taste tho roses of your lip " . . . to which she cannot but blushing answer, " Nay, now you are too ambitious." And then do 1 reply, " I cannot be too ambitious of llonour, sweet lady. Wil l ' t not bo good ? " ' j think there is some remnant of this foppery preserved in masonic lodges, where each brother is distinguished by a name in the lodge signifying somo abstract (luality, i>3 Discretion, or the like. See the poems of Gavin Wilson.

NoTK 13.—ATT.MNT, p. 143

'At ta in t ' was a torm of tilting used to express the champion's having ullaiiml his mark, or, in other words, struck his lance straight and fair against tho helmet or breast of his adversary. Whereas to break tho lanco across in­timated a total failure in directing tho point of tho weapon on the object of his aim.

NOTE M.—r.owi.,\xD YOHKE ,\ND STUKEI.V, p. M8

' Yorke, ' says Camden, ' w.as a Londoner, a man of loose and dissolute be­haviour, and desperately audacious ; famous in his time amongst the commdi bullies and swaggerers, as being the first that, to tho great aaniiration of many at his boldness, brought into England tho bold and dangerous way of fencing with the rapier in duelling. Wherea-s, till tha t time, the English used to fight with long swords and bucklers, striking with the edge, and thought it no par t 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 wore dug up and gibboto<l by the command of tho States of Holland.

Thoma-s Stukelv, another distinguished gallant of tho time was bred a merchant, being tho son of a rich clothier in the west He wedded tho daughter and heiress of a wealthy alderman of London named Curtis, aftor whose death ho squandered tho riches he thus aeciuircd in all manner •)? extravagance. His wife, whoso fortune supplied his waste, represented to him that ho onght to make more of her. Stukely replied, ' 1 will make as much of thee, believe me, as it is possible for any to d o ' ; and he keiit his word in ono son.so, having stripped hor even of her wearing apparel, before he finally ran away from her.

- Uaving fled to Italy, he contrived to iniixiso upon the Pope, with a I'lan of

NOTKi=? ^ 3(9 ; »

mvatling [rolauil, "for which lie levied soldiers, and made some preparations ; but ended by engaging himself and his troops in tho service of King Sebastian of Portugal. He sHiled with that prince on his fatal voyage to Unrbary, and fell with him at tho battle of Mcitzar.

Stnkely, as one of the first gallants of tho time, has had the honour to be chr«nicled in song, in Evans's Old IkiUads, vol. iii., edition 1810. His fato is also introduced in ii tragedy by George I'ecic. as has been supposed, called i\\o JiaUle of AU\u:ai\ from which pjay Drydeu is alleged to have taken tho* idea of Don SoKastian ; if so, it is sur^irising ho omitted a cliaracter so con­genial to King Charles tho Second's tnno as tho witty, bravo, and prolligato • Thomas fetukoly.

NOTE 1.1.—Tiicssixo POINTS, p. 150

'^ The points wore tho strings of cord or ribbon—so called, bocauso jmiUed

with metal liko tho laces of women's stays—which att;ichod the doublet to the hose. They wore very numerous, and rci|uirod assistanco to tic thoni i>roper!y, which WHS called ' trussing.'

NOTE ]6.~MisEtiiconD, p. U?

' Misericord,' according to the learned work of Fosbrooko on Ilrtlisli .l/oiincA-ism, meant not only an indulgence, or exoneration from particular dutie-s but also ft particular apartment in ,a convent, where tho monks assembled to enjoy such indulgoncoa or allowances as were granted beyond tlio rule.

XOTi; 17.—CvSTLE OF AvEXKr,, p. -21.'?

It is in vain to search near Jlolroso for any such aistlo as is hero described. Tho lakes at tho head of tho Yarrow, and those at the riso of tho Water of Ale, present no object of tho kind. But in Yotholm Loch (a romantic sheet of water, in tho Dry ilarch, as it is called) thero are tho remains of a fortress called Lochside Tower, which, like tho .supposed Castlo of Avonol, is built upon an island, and connected with tho land by a causeway. It i,s much smaller than the Castlo of Avenel is described, consisting only of a single ruin­ous tower.

NoTK 18.—HAXDF.»STIX(!, p, 22S

This custom of handfiisting actually prevailed in the upland days. It aroso jiartly from tho wiint of priests. While tl)0 convents subsisted, monks wero detached on regular circuits through the wilder districts, to marry those who had lived in this species of connexion, A practice of the sama kind existed in tho Isle of Portland,

XoTE 19.—.JL'LIA.V AVEXEL, p. 231

If it wore necessary to name a prototvpo for this brutal, licentious, and cruel Border chief, in an ago which showed but too ma-y such, the Laird of lilack Ormiston might be selected for that purjioso. lie was a friend and confidant of Both well, and an agent in Henry D.imloy"s munler. At his bst sliigo he wa.s, like other great oli'onders, a seeming penitent; ond, as his con­fession bears, divers gentlemen and servants being in the chamber, ho said, ' I'or God's sake, ait down and pray for ino, for I b.ivo lieon n groat sinner other­wise (tliat is, bos-ides his sliaro in Darnley's' death), for the which God is this day

380 N O T E S

thoroforo, because tho said Michaol, ha\'ing mo Ijnng on ir.y back, having a fork in his hand, might havo slain mo if ho had pleased, and did it not, which of all things griovos me most in oonsoionce. Also, in a raco, 1 hanged a poor man for a horso; with many other wicked deeds, for wnilk I ask my God mercy. I t is not marvel I havo beon wicked, considering the wicked company t h a t ever I havo been in, hu t specially within tho seven years bye-past^ in which I never saw two good men or ono good deed, bu t all kind of wickedness, and yet God would not euSer mo to bo lost.' See tho whole confession in the Stale Trials.

Another worthy of the Borders, called Geordy Bourne, of somewhat sub­ordinate rank, was a similar picture of profligacy, l lo had fallen into tho , hands of Sir Kobort Carey, then warden of the English East Marches, who gives the following account of his prisoner's confession :—

' W h e n all tilings were quiet, and the watch sot a t night, t f te r .•supper, about ten of tho clock, I took ono of my men's livories and put it about mo, and took two other of my servants with me in their livories ; and we three, as the Warden 's men, came to the Provost Marshal's, where Bourne was, and were let into liis chamber. Wo sate down by him, and told him tha t we wore dcsirou-s to see him, because we heard he was stout and valiant, and true to his friend, and that wo were sorry our master could not bo moved to sjivo his life. Ho voluntarily of himself said that he bad lived long enough to do so many villainies as he 'had done ; and withal told us tha t ho had lain with above forty men's wives, what in England what in Scotland ; and tha t ho had killed seven Englishmen m t h his own hands, cruelly murdering them ; t ha t he had spent his whole time in whoring, drinking, stealing, and taking deep revenge for alight offences. l i e seemed to lie very penu'ent, and mncli desired a rainiator for the comfort of his soul. W e promised him to lot our master know his desire, who, wo knew, would presently granc it. Wo took our leaves of him ; and presently I took order that Mr. .Selby, a very worthy honest preacher, should go to him, and not stir from him till his oxeoutioii the next niorning; for, after I had heard his own confession, I was resolved no conditions should save his life, and so took order that a t tho gates opening the next morning he should bo carried to execution, which accordingly was performed.'—.l/cmoir*o/5iViio6<r< Caitij, ikirl of Monmoulh [p. 88].

NOTE 20 .—FOPPEBT OK THE SIXTEEN-TH CEXTORT, p. 258

Sir Piercie Sliafton's extreme love of dress was an at tr ibute of tho coxcombs of this period. The display made by their forefathers was in Aho numbers of their retinue ; hut as the actual inlluonce of tho nobility bog-in to be restrained both in France and England by tho increasing power of the crown, tho in­dulgence of vumiy in personal display became more inordinate There are many alhusions to this change of custom in Shakspcare and other dramatic writers, whore the reader may find mention made of

Bouils enter'd into For gay apiari;! npiinsl the triumph day.

.Tonson informs n?, tha t for tho first entrance of a gallant ' 'twero good you turned four orllvo hundred acres of your beat land into two or thrco trunks of apparel'—JCveri/ Man mil of hi.t Humour [Act i. Sc. 11.

In tho Mtmoir of the Sumtriilk Fumihi, a curious iristauce occurs of this f.ashionablo s]>ocies of extravagance. In the vetir 1537 when James \ ' . brought over his shortlived bride from France."the Lord' Somerville of tho day Wi« so profuse m tho exiienso of his ar.parel tha t the money which ho borrowed on tho occasion wa-s compen.sated by a perpetual annuity of three­score pounds Scottish, payable out of the barony of Caniwath till doomsday, which was assigned by tho creditor to St. Magdalen's Chapol. By this deep

XOTES 381

expense tho Lord Somerville bad Tendered himself so glorious in apparel that the King, who saw so brave a gallant enter the gate of Holyrood, followed by only two pages, calbd upon several of the courtiers to ascertain who it coulil bo who was so richly dressed and so slightly attended, and ho was not reeog-m'sed rmtil he entered the presence-chamber. ' You are very brave, my lord,' saidfthe King, as ho received his houiago : 'but where are all your men and attendants? Tho Lord Somerville readily answered, 'If it pleaso your Majesty, hero they are,' pointing to tho lace that was on bis own and his = pages' clothes ; whereat the King lliughcd heartily, and, lia^nng surveyed tho linery more nearly, bade him have away with it all, and let him have Ws stout band of spoars again.

There i8 a soono in Jonson's JCivry Atan out of his Humour (Act iv. Scene •1) in which a Euphiiist of the time gives an accoimt of tho effects of a duel on tho clothot of himself and his opponent, and never departs a syllable from the catalogue of his wardrobe. Wo shall insert it in evidence that the foppery of our ancestors was not inferior to that of our own time.

' FaslUHus. Good faith, signior, now you speak of a quarrel, I'll acquaint you with a dilToronce that h.-ippeiiod between a gallant and myself, Sir Puntarvolo. You know him if I slionW name him—Signior LiicuJeuto.

' Punl. Luculonto I Wliat inauspicious chance interposed itself to your two loves!

'Fast. Faith, sir, the same that sundered Agamemnon and great Thetis' son ; but lot tho cause escape, sir. Ho sent me a chnllcngo, mixt with some few braves, which 1 restored; and, in fine, we met. Now indeed, sir, I must tell you, he did offer at first very desperately, but withoit judgment; for look you, sir, I cast myself into this figure ; now ho comes violently on, and withal advancin'g his rapier to strike, I thought to have took his arm, for ho had left his whole body to my election, and I was sure ho could not recover his guard. Sir, 1 mist my purpose in his arm, rashed his doublet sleeve, ran him close by tho left cheek and through his hair. Ho, again, lightsmo bore—1 had on a gold cable hat-band, then new come up, which I wore about a mun-ey Freuoh hat I had—cuts my hat-band, and yet it was massy goldsmith's work, cuts my brim, which, by good fortune, being thick embroidered with gold twist and spangles, disappointed tho force of the blow ; nevertheless, it grazed on my shoulder, takes me away six purls of an Italian cut-work band 1 wore, cost me throe pounds in the Exchange but three days before.

' J'uiit. This was a strango encounter. ' Fast. Nay, you shall hear, sir. With this, wo both fell out and breathed.

Now, upon tho second sign of his as-sivult, I betook me to the former manner of my defonco'; ho, on tho other side, abandoned his body to tho same danger as before, and fi)110\v.s mo still with blows ; but I, being lotli to take the deadly advantage that lay before me of his left side, inado a kind of stramazoun, ran him up to tho hilts through tho doublet, through the shirt, and yet missed the skin. He, making a reverse blow, falls upon mv cmlwssed girdle,—I had thrown off tho hangers a little before,—strikes off a skirt of a thick-laced satin doublet I had, lined with four taff.atas, cut? off two panes embroidered with pearl, rends through the drawings-out of tissue, enters the linings, and skips the tiesh.

• Car. 1 wonder ho speaks not of his wrought shirt. , 'Fast. Hero, in tho opinion of mutual damage, wo piiused. But, ore 1

proceed, I must tell you, signior, that in this last encounter, not having lei.sure to put off my silver spurs, one of the rowels catehed hold of tho ruffles oi niy boot, and, being Spanish leather and subject to tear, overthrows me, rends me two pair of silk stockings that 1 put on, being somewhat a raw morning, a peach colour and another, and strikes me some half-inch deep into the side of tho calf. He, seeing the blood conio, presently t-ikcs horso and away. 1, having bound up ray wound with a piece of my wrought shirt

' Car. 0, comes it iu there ?

382 NOTES •

'7V';;/.—Hide .-ifter liim, and, lighting<it the court-gdtd both togetlior, • embraced, and marohod hand in hand iij) into the presctico. Was not this

business well carried ? • 'Jfact. Well! yes ; and by this wo.can guess what apparel the gentleman

wore. ' runi. 'Fore valour 1 it wai a designmont begun with much resolution,

maintained with as much prowes.s, and ended with more humanity.'

NOTE 21.—GOOD FAITH OF THE BORDEREJIS, p. 320

As some atonement for their laxity of morals on most occasions, the Borderers were severe observers of the faith which they had pledged,'even to an enemy. If any person broko his word so plighted, the individual to whom faith had not been observed used to bring to the next Border meeting a glove hung on the point of a spear, and proclaim to Soots and English the name of the defaulter. This was accounted so great a disgrace to all connected with him that his o vn clansmen somotinios destroyed him, to escape the infamy he had brought on them.

Constable, a spy engaged by Sir Ralph Sadler, tilks of two Border thieves whom ho used asli is guides—'That tlioy would not caro to steal, and yet they would not bewray any man that trusts in them for all the gold in Scotland or in Franco. They are my guides and outlaws. If they would betray nie they might get their jKirdons, and cause mo to bo hanged ; but I have tried them ere this.'—Sadler's/^c/to'.f ditrhiff the G'lvat Korlhcrn tnaurrec-tion [vol. ii. p. 1: 6, od. 1809J. .

NOTE 22.—iNnur.GKNCES OK TIII-: MONKS, p. 353

The biberes, carltas, and boiled almonds of which Abbot Boniface speaks were special occasions for enjoying luxuries, all'ordod to the monks by grants from different sovereigns, or from other benefactors to the eonvent. There is one of these charters called De Pihincia Centum Librarum. By this charter, which is a very curious one, Robert Bruce, on the lOtli January, and in the twelfth year of his reign, a-ssigns, out of the customs of Berwick, and failing them out of the customs of Edinburgh or Haddington, the sum of £100, at the half-yearly terms of Pentecost and St. Martin's in winter, to the abbot and community of the monks of Melrose. The precise purpose of this annuity is to furnish to each of the monks of the said monastery, while placed at food in tho refectory, an o.\tra mess of rice boiled with milk, or of almonds, or pease, or other pulse of that kind which could hofjrocured in the country. This addition to-their conunons is to bo entitlcfl the King's Mess. And it is declared that, although any monk should, from somo honest apology, want appetite or inclination to eat of the king's mess, his share should, never­theless, be placed on tho table with those of his brethren, and afterwards carried to the gate and given to the poor. ' Neither is it our pleasure,' con­tinues the bountiful sovereign, ' that tho dinner, which is or ought to be served up to tho said monks according to their ancient rule, should be dimin­ished in quantity, or rendered inferior in quality, on account of this our mess, so furnished asaforosaid.' It is, moreover, proridcd that tho abbot, with the coasent of the most .sage of his brethren, shall name a prudent and decent monk for receiving, directing, and exiMuding all matters concerning this annuity for the benefit of tho connnunity, agreeably to tho royal desire and intention rendering a faithful accompt thereof to the abbot and .superiors of the same convent. .A.nd the .same charter declares tho king's farther i>leasuro, tiiat the said men o'f religion should bo bound yearly and for ever, in ac­knowledgment of the above donation, to clothe fifteen poor men at the feast of St Martin in winter, and to feed them on tho .same day, delivering to each of them four ells of largo or broad, or six ells of narrow, cloth, and to each

NOTKS 333 »

also a now pair cf shoos'or Handals- according to their o rder ; and if the said monks sliali fail in their engagemouta, or any of them, it is the king's will t ha t the fault shall bo roclccmod by a double porfornianoo of what has been omitted, to be oxocutod at the sight of the chief forester of Ettrick, for the time being, and boforo the roturn of St. Martin's day succeeding tha t on which the omis^ioa has taken plaee.~

Oi this charter respecting tho pittance of £100 assigned to furnish the monks of Molroso with a daily mos-s of boiled rice, almonds, or other pulse, to mend their conunons, tho antiqu!.Vian reader will bo pleased, doubtless, to see the original.

CAHTA I!I;<:13 HOIUMITI I. AIIDATI irr Coxvrsici riE MEI-BOSS Cnria tU PiUincia Centum Lihrartthi

Robcrtiis Dei graeia Rex Scottonim oninibu.s probis hominibus tociusterre sue Salutom. Sciatis nos pro snluto animo nostro et pro s;ilute animanmi antocessoruni ot succossorum nostrorum IJoguni Scocie liedisse Concessisso et hac jiresenti Carta nostra confirmasso Deo el Beato Marie Wrgini et Religiosis viris Abbati o t Convontui do Jiolross e t eorum sucee.'soribus in perjietuum Centum Libr.as Storlingoruni Annui Redditus .singulis aiuiis percipiendas do fimiis nostris IJui'gi Rorwici super Twcdam ad terininos Pentecostis et Sancti JIartini in hyemo pro equali portiono vol do nova Custuum nostra Burgi prodioti si firnio nostro prcdicto ad dictnra .suraniam pecunio Buflicero non poterunt vol <lo nova Ctistuma nostnv Burgoruni nostrorum de Edenbiirg et do 13adingtoii Si firnio nostro ot C'listiinia nostni villo Benriei alitjuo citsu con-tingonto ad hoc (orto non sulficiant. Jta quod dicta sunima.pecunie Centum Libranun ois annuntim intogro ct ab.Sipio contradictione ahVjua pionarie porsolvatur pro cunotis aliis quibuscnmiuo assignacionibus per nos factis sou faciondis an invoniondum in jiorpotuuni singulis diolnis ciiUibet nionacho nioiiastorii prodioti comodonti in Rofeotorio uiiuin suflicions ferculum risanim factarum ouui lacto, aiuigdalarum vol pisaruni sivo alioi-um ciborum eonsiniilis condioionis invontorum in i>atjia ot illud ferculum ferculum Regis vocabitur' in oternum. Et si alicjuis nionaobus ox aliqua causa honesta do dicto ferculo comodoro noluoril vol rolici non potcrit non minus at tamen sibi de dicto ferculo ministrotur ot ad portam pro pauporibus deportetur. Neo volumus quod occasiono foreuli nostri predicti praiulium dicti Convcutus de quo antiquitus communitcr ois deserviri sivo rainistrari solobatin aliquopejoroturseudiminu-atur . Volumus insupor ot ordinamus quod Abb.as ojusdem mon.asterii qui pro tempore fuorit do consensu Bauiorum do Couvcntu specialiter constituat unum monachuin providiiru ot discrotuni ad recipiendum ordinandum ot expenden-dum totam surfdiiam iiecuuio niomorato 'pro utilitato convcutus secundum votum et intoncioiu.'m mentis nostro superius annotatum et ad reddendum fidele compotum coram Abhttto ot Maioribus de Convcntu siuguhs annis de pecunia Sic rccejita. Et volumus quod dicti religiosi teneuntur auuiiatim in porpotuum pro prcdicta donaolono nostra ad porpctuam nostri memoriam Testiro quindecini paui>oros ad festuni Sancti Martini in hieme et eosdera cibare eodom die liborando eorum cuilibet quatuor uhias panni grossi et lati vol sex ulnas iianni strict! et eorum cuilil>ot imum liovum )iar sotularium de ordine sue. Et si dicti religiosi in .premissis vol aliquo premissonim ahquo anno defecorint volumus quod illuii qnod minus |)erimnletum fuerit dup-plicetur diobus inagis ncccssariis iior visum capitalis forestarii nostri do Selkirk, (jui pro tempore fuorit. Et quod dicta dupplicatio fiat ante natale domini proximo scquons festum Sancti Martini prcdictum. In cujus rei testimonium

ii / - . . . . , ..--1 ! •„ . . . ipponi. Testibus veiier-

iUielino et David Sancti ecclesi.irum dei gracia

cpiscojiis Beniardo Abbato do AbirbrothocirCauceliario, Duncano, Malisio ct llugouo de I'\vf do Strathin et do Ross, Comitibus AValtoro Sunescallo Scocie. ,laeobo dorniuo dc Diiglxs ct Alexandre Frasor Camorario nostro Scocie

^^ NOTKS

" S ' S - ^'^"'' Abirbrothoek. decimo J i e J„;„arij: ^ „ n o Regni nostri

NoTK 2.3.-PEDionEF. OF Till! Douows FASIILV, p. SGf.

The lato excellent and laborious anti.juirv Mr r „„ r.i i

orh^^C.,«fon,-, he .notes the p a ^ g e ' l ^ l ^ S t d X r ^ ' L ' ^ X ^ f T n !

f o ^ t a t ^ ' ° n ? i : t t l ' j ? e ? ^ , T ! ^ t T h : % r t " b r t " i . ^ t ^ ^ ° ° % * ' ' - '? "•" not which is the mean man hat did rUo ab^te the v .ki,r ?^^n =• '"^ "'" ^?^ Mr. Chalmers censures as ill-timed, ann i lLcs tha t^ ' f ; , . ^ \^ . f ^ P « o n attended more to research than to docb ^ atiou^ho mkrhf J=n* ^" t """" ""ad first mean man of this renowned family* TWs'he al f l . T ^ have seen the ThcobaldusFIammaticus, or Theobali tho Flcm°n^ ?fwhin f" ^ f"? ,?"" of Kelso, between the year 1147 and HOT cronted ;.r.n^^^^^^ ^|rnold Abbot water, by a deed whioh\Mr. Chalmers c o n c S to hlT. 'S"'^/,?» Douglas chain of title-deeds to D o u g l a s d a l e l l e n c o i o L " H- . > ? ' ' °^ "^^

estate, called h i m s e R d wis X o i ' h v o,h!? ' '^n ' 'n '" ' / ' ' !° '"^""''^'^ ^'^ to tho deeds in which ho h so de^cned ^Mr P^'l ° " " ^ "f, • "'"^ ''^ '^^"' be found in the first voire'oThS^ar<^rf„,j^,,^'^''sr«"^ f"" "g^'^^nt n,ay

u , I ' n n § S S r t e s J i „ Z V - t d a, t t i ' X ^ I T ' 'l''"'' ""-" i - 'e 'y .and only the present Author, with all the re»not to Mr A "Y""^ ^'^''it °^ ' haUongo, effectual researches merit i r no t r iw i lhn j io ' Un tf • " ^ ' ° ' ' H^ T^""^ ""'^ some plausible grounds for doubtin", fKni a'il u,,° *'^^\'' opportunity to state the father of t K s t wSiam do nl , ! l^^ aiioobnldus Flnmmaticus was either with tho DouglM famUy "'>'''' "'• '" " ' ' ' '^liel'test.dcgreo connected

It must first bo. obsQrvrt(] fhof +K^ Theobaldus Fkmmatcul to bo the father nf°w-S^°" 'f"^'"'-''' ^°' concluding they both hold lands upon the s, all r^-or of n n ' f " "" ^,°1'^''"'' «= °°Pt " ' a ' strong presumptions to the c S a r y "Vir S l V h r ' ^ * ? " H ' ^ ? ' ' ' ' " " t ™ Flemmg, there seems no good reason wbv Vl,! '^ 1 ,,'"^ ^'"f< named different designation; secondly,Tore does noL."" '*'"'\'''i l.ave assumed a name of Theobald during the long line of t h « T l ^ i ' ' " "".'?'° '""^"'=° °^ *''" very unlikely to take place had the oririLl L ^ ^ ?!.P'''''S'"'="-''° °'^'^'°" These are secondary considerations indfcd W ?[ "^ *''° -" 0 been so called, as they exclude any support of Mr. Clialmo'r»'= . J . ^ a™ important, in so far which he has rather assumed than nrovml „„^ sjstcm, except from tho point Theobald the Fleming were the S^ .o 'h M ^ '' " " •'>o lands trmntcd to Douglas and which constituted t lSor i r in^ l 'd l ' ^ - '''^"^^'^ *" ^^'™am de Ijowerful family lords. original domam of which we find this

^ ^°," ' ' '* happens, singularly enough that fV,„ i j of Kelso to Theoba!das1--lammaticul are not thi "''•'' '""*«<^ " -y the Abbot Douglas was in iHjssession. Xay, it would <, ™L <• *"'°° of which WilUam do granted to Theobf.dus Flammaticus th-it tC""' . P' comparing the charter Douglas, they never made a part of the Imrm, "^!' .!"""'®d on the water of cannot bo the same with those held bv Will" ° i "•''™®- and therefore mg generation. But if William do Dou.rlnl''"^ > ^°"e^^ in the succeed-Flammaticus, there is no more reason for 1 i r "" ''"'^ceod Theobaldus father and son than if they liad lived in diir" >^ ""''*° *"° persons to bo as far from having discovered tho first ,'"'""*'"• provmces ; and we are still Hume of God.eroft was in tlio 16th c e S . . " " ' ? , • ° ^ " ' ° D°"gla.s family as antiquaries and genealogists. '-•'lurj. We leave the question to

NOTES 385

NOTE 21.—PEDionEB OF 'THE STOABT FAMILY, p. 365

To atone to the memory of the learned and indefatigable Chalmers for having ventured to impeach his genealogical proposition concerning the descent of the Douglasses, wo are bound to render him our grateful thanks for tho'^olicitous light which he has thrown on that of the house of Stuart, stiU more important to Scottish history.

The acuto pen of Lord Hailos, whici, like the spear of Ithuriel, conjured so many shadows from Scottish history, had dismissed among the rest those of Banquo and Fleanco, the rejection of which fables left the illustrious family of Stuart without an ancestor beyond Walter the son of Allan, who is alluded to in the text. The researches of our late learned antiquary detected in this Walter, the descftndant of Allan, the son of Flaald, who obtained from William the Conqueror the castle of Oswestry in Shropshire, and was the father olefin illustrious lino of English nobles, by his first son, William, and by his second son, Walter, the progenitor of the royal family of Stuart.

NOTE 25.—TUB WHITE SPIMT, p. 370

The contrivance of provoking (he irritable vanity of Sir Piercie Shafton by presenting him with a bodkin, indicjitivo of his descent from a tailor, is borrowed from a Gorman romance by the colobratod Tieck, called Das Ptter Mannchen', i.e. The Dmrf Peler. The being who gives name to the tale is tlie burff-ffeut, or castle spectre, of a Gorman family, whom hn aids with) his counsel, as he defends their caatlo by his supernatural power. But the Dwarf Peter is so unfortunate an advisor that all his counsels, though producing suooo&s in the immediate results, aro in the iasuo attended with mishap and with guilt. The youthful baron, the owner of the haunted castle, falls in love with a maiden, the daughter of a neighbouring count, a man of great jjride,

' who refuses him the hand of tho young lady on account of his own superiority of descent. The lover, repulsed and atlrontod, returns to take counsel with tho Dwarf Peter how ho may silence the count and obtain the victory in the argument, tho next time they ontor upon the topick of pedigree. The dwarf gives his patron or pupil a horso-shoo, instructing him to present it to the count when ho is next giving himself superior airs on tho subject of his family. It has the oflect accordingly ; tho count, understanding it as an allusion to a misalliance of one of his ancestors with tho daughter of a blacksmith, is thrown into a dreadful passion with tho young lover, the consequences of which are tho seduition of the young lady and tho slaughter of her father.

If wo suppose tho chvarf to represent tho corrupt part of human nature— that 'law in our members which wars against the law of our minds'—tho work forms an ingenious allegory.

25

GLOSSARY

OF «

WORDS, PHRASES, AND ALLUSIONS

A', all AjtERBROTIlWICK, Or A B E K -

BROTUOCK, Arbroath , in Forfarshim

AB0UI.F0UAR1S. .See H. W. Weber, Tales of thn^ tA'st (1S12), vol. ii. p . 4m

A B D N E , above > A D V E S T C R E S OP A GaiNEA,

Vhryscd; or, the A<ivi:n-lures of a Ouineti (1822), by Charles Johnson, ed. by Sir Walter Scot t '

ADVEKTURE.S OF AS ATOM, a polit ical satire <176(1) by Smollett , the novelist

A E , a, one AEFAULD, honest, wi thout

dupl ici ty AKFLICT.K SPOKS.« NE OB-

u v ISCARIS, Forget no t the atilictcd spouse

A F B I T E , an evil '^onlon in J l o h a i n m e d a u ' m y t h ­ology

A O R I P P A , CoRN-Br.iua, a German philosopher of the 16th ccnturj ' , who studied and wrote abou t the occult (cabalistical) sciences

rfliN, own AtANCS D A P I F E R , Allan

t he stewai-d AJIADIS, the medieval hero,

Aniadis of Gaul AxDBEW F E B B A R A , R High,

land broadsword A>n, ANCE, one, once A>rripjioNARS, canticles

and other sentences sung by a choir

ARGUTE, sharp, clever A B R I A O E AND CABBIAGE, a

phrase in old Scotch

leases, bu t bearing no precise meaning

AVER, a cart-horse

B A I L I E , Scotch . alderman, magistrate

B A K E R ' S N v a i n i OF R A P H A E L D' U B B I N O , Ra­phael 's paint ing known as ' L a Fornarina, ' t he baker 's wife or daughter

BALLANT, ballad BALLON, a game played

with a large leather ball, Uiat was cither s t ruck wi th the a n u or kicked

B A N E , bono BANNING, cm-sing, invoking

curses upon BAN.NOCK, a Hat round oat­

meal cake BASNET, a steel head-piece B A O L D , bold B E A R , or BIGG, a coarse

kind of barley B E A U F E I L D I N O , Rober t

Feildlng, one of Uie rakes of Charles I I.'s court , died 1712

B E D B A L , beadle, sexton B E Q B U T T E N , exhaus t id

with weeping BELL-WAVER, to s tray,

straggle BELLV-TLMHER, rictnals,

food BENEDionr., bless y o u ; a

blessing, gi-ace B E N E D I C T THE THIRTEENTH,

a n t i - p o p e , deposed in 141V, thongh Scotkind recognised him down to his death (1424)

BENISON, blessing

B E N T , TAKE3 T H E . £ce Takes the bent

BESOONIO, or BESONIO, worthless fellow

B E Z A , THEODORE, cele­brated penevesft Re-foriiler, and suppor te r of Calvin

B I D E R E S , permission t o take wine, strong dr ink

B I C K E R S , tr ickles, moves quickly

B I D E THE BAJJO, bear t he brunt , hold out

BiELD, shelter Bioo, build . BiBN. See Cut and birn B U N K , a nioment B O B , BOBBIT, dance, danced BoDiN, provided, furnished BoDDLE, or BODLE, a copiicr

coin of Scotland = th penny English

BOOLE, ghost , hobgoblin BoLL, a d ry measure = 6

bushels BoLTiNO, separating the

coarse from tlie (ine flour by passing tlirougU a sieve or bolting-cloth

BONNET-piECE, a gold coin of James V., the most bcauliftU of the Scottish ser ies ; the efligies of the sovereign is represented wearing a bonnet

BRANaLEB, wrafiglcr, brawler

BROACH, roasting spi t BBOCB.AN, thick oatmeal

grnel BROGUE, shoe BROKEN, outlawed, driven

out B B O W N MAN OF TUE MOOBS.

388 GLOSSARY

See In t roduct ion to Black Dioar/

BucHANAK, G E O B O E , t he greates t of Scott ish schokirs, t u t o r to Queen Mary and to James VI.

B D I S T , b rand or mark on ca t t le

BuLLSEGO, gelded bul l BCBSIE, small brook B Y B E , c o w - s h e d , cow-house

C.VBAUSTS, professors of a , myst ic and secret sys tem

of theology, philosophy, and magic, which flour-ti3hed amongst t he Jews of the la ter Middle Aces

C A D S I H S , t h e mythical founder of Thebes in An­cient Greece, and tradi­t ional inventor of the alpliabet

C A I B S , a heap of stones rudely piled u p

CALLAST.astripling, lad CALLEH, fresh CALtjrr, a wanton, drab C A L M a o o o n , a quie t

tongue, silenje CANTBIP, froUo, t r ick CANTY QUEAS, a sprightly

young woman C A I T A , e t c (p. 323), The

ci ty is taken by the will of God

CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Sec Sheridan's Rimts, Ac t i. BC. 1

CAPTAIN GREEK-LAND. Ad-vaUiircso/Captain Green-lajtd (London, 1V52), an anonymous publicatiou

CAPTAIN GROSE, an. ant i­quary, ' t h e c h i e l d a m a n g you takin ' notes, ' in B u m s ' s poem beginning ' Hear, land o' cakes and br i the r Sco t s '

CARBONADOED, broiled on coals

CAREV, H E N R V , a son of Lord Hunsdon

CARITAS, a special indul­gence

CABL, or CARLE, rust ic , fellow

CARLINE, old woman CASSILIS. See Ivan/toe, IXote

12, p. 454 CA.ST, fate, l o t ; chance,

o p p o r t u n i t y ; k i n d ; sample, k ind

GATES, delicacies, Cno con­fectionery

CAUBA S O I E N T I ^ , reason for knowing

C A W K E B , h inder pa r t of a horse-shoo

CESSFOBD, L A I U D OF, of the family of Kcr, a Border di ief

CHALDER, an old d r y mea­sure = nearly 16 qrs . of corn

GHALMER-S, GEOBOE, Scot­t ish ant iquary, au tho r of Caledonia (1807-24)

CHAMPION of THE J E W S , Samson

CuEEBER, thooUeeringcnp, a glass of spiri ts

CiD H A M E T B E S E N O E L I , reputed original au thor of Don Quixote

ClPRUS,CYPRUS,Or CYPRESS, a th in t ransparen t kind of crape

CITIZEN OF THE W O R L D , or Letitrs from a Chinese Philosopher in London to his FrieiuU in the East (1762), by Oliver Gold­smi th

CucHAN, village, hamle t CLECKINO, brood, cletch CLEUCH, cliff, ravine CLOOT, a hoof OLOHTED, pa tched, mended CocK-LAiRD, a yeoman or

small proprietor C o i L , pother, r u m p u s ,

t u m u l t COLJISLIE, L A I B D OF. See

footnote t o p. x C0MPOSIEI.LA. See St.

James of CJompostella COMPTE DE LA MOTTE-

FooQufi's WATER-NYJIPII , in Undine (1811)

CONFITEOR, a confession of sins, a fonn of prayer used in Roman Catholic services

CONSTANCY, O F A, inces­santly

CoQoiNARius, one con-neeted with the kitchen

CORANTO a quick and lively dance

CouvBE-oHEF, a Woman's head-kerchief, curch

CRACKING, talking, gossip­i n g ; CRACK.S, stories,

, legends I CRAIO, crng, neck

I '^«>^™,B'9cooTA, cabbage I twice boiled '"

; C R E E , a river dividing the

?";k^'u^db°rS^-™' CBICKET. STOOL, a , „ „

CBOMLECH, a nido mmm-ment , generally a large flat Stone rest ing on two

C^^0K,°?enr «"»" ' '

CflossBAOOEL, an abbey in Ayrshi re

G B U I V E , a k ind of flsh-trap in a dam

CuMJiEB, neighbour, gossip CtiRcn, a woman's head-

kerchief ' t-CusHAT, wood-pigeon CoT AKD BiRN, marks made

on an animal ' s h ide wi th scissors or burning-iron by i ts owner

CuTTEB, ruffian, bu l ly COTTIE-STOOL, a lOW stOOl CYMBALUM, a bell, gong CvNTKfi's R E V E L S , by Ben

Jouson C Y P B O S . See Ciprus.

D A F F I N , larking, folly D A M I H I , e tc . (p. 163), give

me some wine, I beg, and let i t be pure

D A MIXTUS, give us the • mix ture (of wine and

water) D A E O , task, work DECOBED, decoftited DECRETALS, t he SecondPar t

of ^he Canoh Law, con­taining the Papa l decrees or Pdicts

D E E R ' S H A I B , hea th club-rush

D E L I V E R L Y , clever, nimble D E O ORATIAS. Thank God DEPENDENCE, a fencer's

t e rm for t h e exist ing quarrel

D E PROFUNDIS OLAMAVI, From the dep ths I have cried

D I N , ado, fuss Discn'ULUH, etc . (p. 177), a

diligent and s t renuous s t uden t

Di8PC.>E UPON, dispose of AtxiT ABBAS, e t c (p. 142)-

The abbo t said to tlio prior. You are a well-conducted man, because you a lways give ine wiser counsels

D O N ABMADO, a fantastical character in Shake­speare's Lore's labours Lost

DONATIIB, t he Lat in pr imer fi-om which boys were t augh t for many gcnero-

. t ions DoOL, sorrow „ DoRTS, in a pet , sullen

humour D O U B L E .STRIKE, O F T H E ,

with twice t he usual quan t i t y of ma l t „

DooNE, in Pe r th sh i r e , •> miles from Stir l ing, ccle-

GLOSSARY 389

braled for i t s cat t l5 f&iri;, espeoially t h e great ftvir in Xovember _,

Dou'N'A, cannot DOAV>;.BTK, down yonder

where I live D R V iiji^cH', a portion of t he

Border , on the Scott ish side, extending from the vicinity of Yetholm to the Tweed

DUNBAR, Wi^LiAii, Scott ish poet, flourished end of i s t h cen tury , reputed autl ior of t he humorous satire FrdHs o/^erwyk

DUNDBENAN, Or Du^•DREN-NAN, 5 miles from Kirk­cudbright , in Galloway

E A R D E D , buried E E - L U ) , eyelid E F K E I R S TO, concerns, be*

lits E L D , ant iqui ty ESIBOSCATA, or IMHOSCATA,

an amburicadti E SFAK3 PEKDU3, the forlOHl

hope E N O W , EKEUCII, euongh ESTRETIESS DU COMITE DU

GABALT^, by Dc 'Mont-faucon, Abb6 dc Villars, a book (1670) dealing in l a r t with the ' s ec re t sciences '

EtM^ARAMOUcnE, skiiraiah E S P R I T COLLET, goblin

KEJ'I'RAMAZON'E, or STRASrA-zoN, slashing cu t with a sword

E r EXACDiviT, etc . (p. 305). And the Ixird heard the

- voice of Elias, and the soul of t he child re turned again u n t o him, and he ruvived

E T T L E , a t t e m p t or aim to reach

E V E N , to eqnal, compare Evi-niY JiAN OUT OF HIS

HUHOUR, by Ben Jonsou EVIDENT, title-deeds Ex CATHEDRA, from the

cliair, author i ta t ively E X I S B D , imposed upon,

overcharged

FADLIAU, an ancient tale in verse. See I ta l ian novelist belozo

FACIKOBA, etc . (p. 52), Misdeeds should bo p.uuished openly, b u t grave offences in secret

FALCON'-OENTI,!!, thefciiiale goshawk

F A B IJF.S, far in favour

F A S H , FASHERII : , t r o u b l e ; r.\.SHEous, troublesome

FEN-D, shift F E R N I E U E R B T , K E R OF, a

Border chief and devoted adherent of Queen Mar>'

Fi RLOT, a Scotch d r j ' measure = 1J bushels

Fl.AM, FLAN", or FLAWN, a kind of c o t a r d , pancake

l-'LEEcn, t-O flatter I'LEiLinrER, fliclver FM-BOAT, a l ight , swift sail­

boat ; long, narrow, llat-bot tome d boat

FoRBVE, besides, except FOREST, T H E , E t t r i ck

Fores t in Selkirkshire FORGATHER, to meet, asso­

ciate wi th FOBTUNT: D E I-A. CDERBK,

(such is) the fortune of wiir

Foo, full, d n m k FowBERRV, on the river

Till in Nortliuniberland. Fowberry Tower was a t ­tacked by tlio Scots in li>2'i, and again in 1532

FR-VMPLER, unruly , quarrel­some person

FRArEBADSUCCrRRE-VDUM, an assist ing brother

G A D , spear GAED, went GALLIAUD, a dance for two

persons, a precursor of the minue t

GALLIQASKINS, a sort of wide trousers

GAMBADOES, or GAMBADE-S,

ganiboUings, p ranc iugs ; loggings, gaiters

GANG, OANE, go, gone G A R , force, make GATE, GAIT, wfty, direction,

road GATHEBINO TURF, piece left

alight to keep the tire alive

G A U L , or CALL, to wound, vex. Comjxire spur* galled

G E A R , goods, property, I m m e s s ; business

G E R , force, make to G E T , p re t ty , very GiLi^ gully, glen, ravine G I N E S DE PAsSAMOhTE. See . i JouQuuoie .P t . I I . chaps . -

xxvi.-xxviji. G I R D L E , round iron plate

for cooking scones and cakes

GtBTH GATE, usylum, pro­tection

G L E D , a kite GLEO, quick, clever, sharp

Gi.iFF, a short t ime G N A E , a short, s tou t man GOODMAN, or GUDEMAN,

head of a house GooDWiFE, the mistress of

a household GOWD, gold GRATLAS, excuses, favouis,

t hanks G R . ^ T U S Aoiitrs, etc. (p.

S4), Most reverend father, we give thee our very bes t thanks

GBEKT, weep GREYBEARD, stoneware j a r

for holding ale or spiri ts GRUNDS, grounds, dreg"'L GuDEwiFE, mistress ok a

house GuEsTi:NEr), lodged as a

gues t G U I D E , t reat , beliave to­

wards G u i s A R D s , Kcw Year

maskers or muinmors, wlio (now only boys) go from house to h.fiusc sing­ing carols and begging

GvRE-CARLiNE, liobgoblin

I I A ' , l ia l l ; - to Imvo HACKBUT, UASD-OVX, FAL­

CONET, SAILEB, old kinds of lircamis

H A E , Ixave H A G , bog-pit HAGGIS , a Scotch pudding

of minced meat, oatmeal, etc.

I I A I O O F B E M E R S I D E . l l i e prophecy is otherwise given t hus—' Betide, be­tide, whate cr betide, a i i e rc l l aye be Hajgs on Bcmersido.' ' H a i g '

. means a wood, a wooded inclosnro.tho haws (fruit) of the hawthorn, and is said to allude to t he coppice woo<l on t he steep slope a t Bemerside

H A I L L , HALE, whole; UAILL o' MY AJN, all 's for me

H A L E AND VEIR, whole and entire

H.VLIDOMK, land held under a religious houRe

HALLOW-E*EN, All-Hallow"s (Saints'VEvo

H A I V , holy HARQUEBDSIER, a soldier

armed with a hackbut H A R T OF OBEASE, a h a r t

iu the best of condition HAUD.'hold, keep H A V E N A , have not HAVINGS, manners H A V , a peasant who turned

the tide of victory a t

390 GLOSSARY

Luncar ty , and became nnccator of the Scot t ish iiouscs of Krrol, Tweed-dale, ami Kiunoul

H E A T I I K I I - B L E A T E R , or BLEATKu, cock-snipe

HKCKLED.oleaued.coinbed, and straigl i tened

H E L V < T I U 8 , SYSTEM OF, a scheme of education laid down in Dc VHomme, dc $rs FaixUis, et de son. Education (1772), by t he Frenoli iilillosopher C. A. UelviStlua

H E M P I E , a romp Hr«iON, S u i G E O B O E , OF

t,^ii-cuA8E, sliiin in tlie (Ight of Reidswire. See Scott's Border Minitrtlsy, vol. ii. pp . 15-31

H E U C H , a crag, precipice H I D A L G O , a Spanish gentle­

man HiBSEL, flook, drove H I S T O U Y OF AUTOJIATHES.

J o h n KiTkby's Capacity . . . o/Ihe Human Under­standing, ejempHJied in the . . . Caseof Automalhes (1745)

HoDiEiiXAI, of the present

day HoLOFEnxKS, a pedantic

scboolmaster in I-ore"s Labour's Lost

HoLOFnRNi:s, chief captain of the army of Nabu-chodonofior, king of Assyria, wiio was slain by a patriotic Jewess. S « J u d i l h , chaps. ii.-iUi.

H O L P E D U P , crabarrasscd, incommoded

H O B S E - C O U P K R , horse-dealer

HospiTiUM, Iiospice, hos-pitablo room

H O S T I N G , assemblage, muster of troops

HiiTEL DB HAMDOUILLET, the ga ther ing-p lace of the wits and poets of Paris in the first half of the 17th century

HOCSEU-H'F-SKEP, ' house­keeping

HOWKIT, dug HUMANA I'EUI'ESSI 'aUMus,

wo have siill'ored the com­mon ills of humani ty

H F M O K O U S , full of whims HUNSDON, Henry Carey,

l o r d Hunsdon, flrst cousin to Queen' Eliza­b e t h , was matle governor of Birwick and warden of the I'Jist .Marches in 1508

INCREDCLUS ODJ, I l iatc t he incredible

I.ST)CII/3ENTIA, indulgence liiOiNE, ingenui ty I.NTBAVIT IN SECRETI8 NOS.

TBia, H e has entered into our secrets

INVECTA c r iiiATA, goods brought by t h e t e n a n t t o the property he rents

ITALIAN NOVELIST (p. xxxii), nei ther Boccaccio nor Uandcdlo. The fabliau is Le Vovre C'krc, printed in Slontaiglon and llay-naud, Hecueil Ginhal des Fabliaux, vol. v. (18SS)

iTiiKii, o ther

J A P E S , deceptions, mock-erics

JKDWOOD, J E D D A R T , Jed­burgh, in Bc tbu rghsh i r e ; J edda r t means also the distr ict of Jedburjih or Jed wood

J O E , a sweetheart J O H N T H E ARMSTEANO, or

JOIINIE ARMSTBONO, a celebrated Borderer. .SV Scott's DeathciflheLainVs Jock, or Minstrelsy of th'-Ifmllish Border, i. 303

J U D A S 31ACCABEL-S, leader of the pat r io t ic Jews against Ant iochus, king or Hyria, In the 2d cent­u ry n.0.

JU.STIOE AlB, or EVRE, tljO circuit court , asaiz'.s

JuvESAi, youth

K A I S , r en t paid in k ind , e.g. iwul try, bu t te r , eggs, cheese

KEEKING-GLASS, looking-glass

KKLPV, a water-spirit K E N , know; KKN-VA, know

not 1 KENNEDIE. • See Ivanho,-, I Note 1;!, p . 455 I KENsrvujKLr., easily recog-i niscd, conspicuous i KiiiK-ToiVN,vilhigeorham-

h ' t where s tands , or oucc stood, a parish church

KiBN, a cinirn KisT, chest

K.NAVKSHip, the perquisite of tlio miller's servant. See Note 8, p . 377

K.vowE, a l i t t le hill KvTi:, stomach belly

L A I T H , loUi

LAMPING, liurrying with long steps, gaddingabout

LASCUCOBT Aiisjuv, close to

t h e Roman Wall in Cum­berland

fjANo-OALE, unsliorn cole, wor t s or greens

LANOSYNE, l ong ago L A P , leaped, ran L A P I S O F F E N H O V S , etc .

(p. '214), a stone ol oUcnce and rock of s tumbl ing

I.A\vixa,.tlie bill , account LEAOUEB, besieged LEDDV, lady . L E E , lie LF.3I.IE, N O R M A N , called

i l a s t e r of Uothes, an ene. my t(i Cardinal Beaton, whom he slow par t ly in revenge for George S\ ish-a r t ' s death

I j s VOYAGES 1 U A C I N A I R I » , by Charles G. T. Gamier , in 39 vols. (1787)

LEVIN-BOLT, thundcrb id t

L U T I N G , removing, slonl-iiig

LIM.MAK, or LI.MME11, SCOUn-drel

LiPPY, i of a peck LISBON, a l igli t-colourwl

Portuguese wine, shipiied a t Lisbon

LLSTEP, desired LiTii, a jo in t LocHMABEN, CASTI.I: o r ,

in I)uinfrie.s.>ihiiT, tlic ancestral homo of tha Bruces

Loos , fellow L O R D J A M E S , Queen .Mary's

i l legitimate brotlicr, tlie Earl of Murray of l ids novel

lA>ni>s OF THE CoNOnr.o*-TioN, a t i t l e assumed in 1558 by the leadi'i^i of the Scott ish Befonu ' i s

I/OBETOO, O U K L A D Y OF, a celebrated shrine of t he Virgin Slaiy, a t Lorutio, on the Adriat ic coast of I ta ly , 15 miles from Au-cona

LucKiE, mother , a generic t i t le given to old dames

LUNCAKTT, BATTLE OF, fought shor t ly before 09-1 between t he Danes and Scots, near to I 'c r lh . Tlio Scots , when on the point of being routed, were saved by a prasan t named H a y .with t he he lp of his sons

Lf PUS IN TABULA, the wolf In the fable

LvsDSAY-, or L I N D S A Y , D A V I D , a popular Ititb cen tu ry Scott ish p " ' ' ' ' au tho r of Sullrc o/ IM

GLOSSARY 891

ThreeEstaitisand uulner-oiis poems

JIACOABKI:. 8eo 2 Jfuc-cabees xii. lG,an nllusfon t o the capture of a s t rong Xo\y^, Caspis, ' wi thout rauis or engines of war*

M A C D C F F ' S riXULlARlTV. H e was not b o m of woman. Sec Macbeth, Ac t V. sc: 7

MAGICIAN IN Tiin Pfmsu.y TALES. S « 11. W.Weber, Talts of the Kmt (vol. ii. p . 452), the • His tory of Avicene '

3 I A I L , T K U K K - K A I L , t r u n k for ftpparel, baggage

M A I L S , r e n t charges M A I R , MAisT, more, m o s t ;

MAiBDY TDK I:N,especially MARCH • TREASON, treason

against the recognised laws of a march or bonier d is t r ic t

M A R K , or MF.RK, Scotch coln = I s . I J d . ,

SIART, OX killed iii Xuvem-ber for winter ure

MAUN, m u s t M A Z E R - D I S H , drinking-

vessel or cup. .See u note to the Lont c^ the Isles

MEAL-oiRKur,, meal-chest, graiiar'

M E A PAUI'KUA IlCliNA, IIIV l)Oor terr i tories

Mr-ATiNG,entertaining with food

M E L D E B , tho quant i ty of meal ground a t one t ime

M?XI.EBSTAI^•, ft IWl'L of Earls ton jxirish, 6 miles from Kelso, in Roxburgh­shire

M KXB E F u I., t. ftuncrly, modest

M E R I D I A N , hour of rfipose a t noon

M E R K . See Mark W E R S E , an old name for

Berwickshire 3 I ; L E , SCOTCH = nearly nine

furlongs MII-LBURN P L A I N AND

N E T H E R D V , all along the Borders fi-om cast to west

MiMOX, darling ^ AIiNTED, aimed, l i lnUd a t MisEH, a wretched old man MisuiARD, il l-t-iught, un­

manner ly MOLENDIKAR, MOLF-NDIN-

ARY, of or belonging to a mill

SIoLiNAiiA, maidof themi l l . The miller's wcuch in Don

Quixote,'VI. I. chap, iii., ie> culled Molinera

MORAl, TEACHER ( ' I prCftCh for eve r , ' e t c . , p . 262), Geoi-ge Cnil)liO, author of The Borough, The Farish Jkffbter, etc.

MoRHAM, should be Xor-ham (Xstle, on the Tweed, »J miles from Bcnvick

3IORTREUX, ft kind of soup, a rare <lelicacy

^toss, bog, nioor;MOS3-nAO, bog-pit

M O T , may 3I0UNTAIN FOLKS, Camcr-

ooians, the s t e m e s t sect of t he Presbyter ians of Scot Land

MucKLE, much, great Mua EWE, or MUOG E W E , a

breed of sheep with long legs, long line wool, and woolly faces

MULTURE, mill fee; DUV MULTunc, a line for no t grinding at the mill of the i o n l s h i p ; INTOW.V MULTURF-s, the dues paid by tenant* bound to use a par t icular mill

MrsiraiMus AND SUMP-&1MUS, n raying of Henry VIII . , bon-owed from a story told by his secret­a ry Pace, of an old priest , who, liaving for th i r ty years wrongly read his breviary, when the mistake was pointed ou t to him, refused t o change ' h i s old nump-simus for their newsumj>* simus' (Camden's Ke-mains, ed. 1014, p . 2S0)

SIURUEV, of a dark red colour

N A , NAE, no, i)ot N E O AT U R, G U L r E LM E

A L L A N , 1 deny it, William Allan

X E I S T , next X E SIT ANCILL£, e t c (p.

xlvii). Bo no t ashamed of loving your own ser\'aiit

NICANOK. general of Anti-ochus, King of Syria. See 1 Maccabotjs, chap. vii.

N/CKER, neigh NoBLF., English gold coin

= 68. 8d. NorrED, rapped, s t ruck XoMULF^, tlie entrails of a

deer Xo SoNo, NO S U P P E R , a

nuisical farce by Prince Hourc, music by Stephen

Storace, . first oct^nl in April 17tK)

OBNUBILATED, beclouded, obscured

O OHAN BONTA, CtC. (p. 300), Oh great the goodness of the ancient kmght^ [ they were enemies, and of dif- ^ fercnt faith

O L D MANOR HOUSE, by Clmriotte Smith (1703)

OREMUS, prayers OROILLOCS, proud OTIUM CUM DIONITATE, dig-

niOed leisure OuTREC in DANCE, arrofance OUTSHOT, & pmjection OVERCAST, got over

P A L F R E S I E R S , grooms P A R A C E I ^ U S , a Swiss phy­

sician and philosopher of tho 16th century, an ndont in the Cablialn and similar mystical systcniH

PARONOMASIA, a play uj)on worii.H

PAUTY PER PALE, divided Vertically into two equal par ts **

PASSAGE, to walk sideways (a horse)

PATER, the l o r d ' s Prayer PATIENZA, patience rATThr, or PETTLE', plough-

stair, plough-spud P A V I N , or PAVAN, a slow,

s tately dance P E A R L I N S , ft kind of lace P E D D E B • cotTE, a pedlar,

hawker PEPE.V, a fnmous preacher

and prophet of the Cove­nanters . SuOldilortality, p . 429

PEwnnoKE, COUNTESS OF, for whom her brother, Sir Phil ip Sidney (Astro-piiol), expressly wrote his Armdia (about 1678-80)

PERF.AT isTE,Lethim perish P E R S I A N LETTEIIS , by

Montesquica, t he well-known French writer

P E T E R W I L K I N S , hero of a IlctitiouB book of travels by n . Paltock,orI*ultocl( (1.50)

PETRUS EREMITA, Petor the Hermit , who led par t of tho first crusade

PiiiDFLE, or P H I D T E E , to whom Horace addressed trie 23d Ode of the Third Book of Odes

P I A F F E , to s tep with a high, slow, showy action, said of a horae

392 GLOSSARY

PiKNER.'?, a lady's head-" dres-i

I'LAV THE TORK WITH, lo treat without ceromony

PLOY, frolic, ent^jrtainmont PocK-pooDiNO, a Scotch­

man's coiitoinptnona name for an Eiigllaliinan

PoiGNET, or corrected POIQN'^E, handle

POIST-DEVICK, or DEVISE, with the greatest exacti­tude

POU>BOOK, or PAUI-DRON, the piece of armour that protected the shoulder

Pos?7AOE, bridae-toU Pope JuLitJs, the second of

the name, a man' distin­guished for his military and political abilities

PonTioKEB, one owning a portion of land, that has been divided amongst co­heirs

PorrrsoER, coolt Poo-CET-Box, a box for

holding perfume Pow, head PRESIDEST OTSFKCTA nn's

CLUB. SwSpfctaior, Ko. IT PRICKER, a light horse- j

man; PBICKISO, maicing ' inroads, raiding

PRIME, midniglit service PRINCIPES, etc. (p. 824),

Tlio princes have con­spired together against the Lord

PROMrrOARItlM PABVf-LOBnsr, a Latin-Kngllsh dictionary, used as a BChoolbook from the early part of the 15th century

PKuoHOECA!rrLE,in N'ortli-nmberland, 10 miles west of Sewcastlo

PuiB, poor PuNU ScoTs=l8. 8d. Eng­

lish PYET, oniato CiUM NUNC, etc. (p. lOO),

which it would taito too long to eimnicrato at present

Qu^ESTioxARii, begging friars

QDEES - SIoTHER, Ma^y of Lorraine, niothorof Mary Queen of Scots

KAMSAr, ALLAN, Scottish pnet (IC86-1T5S), and a great literary antl|ority in Edinburgh, wliere he established (1765) tlio first circulating library In Scotland

RANDOLPH, SIR THOMAS,

Queen Elizabeth's agent a t the court of Scotland

RAPE, a rope RATIO ULTIMA ROM^^ the

last expedient of Koine REDE, counsel HEIST, stop, jib REM AGO (TETEOISTI). You

have touched it with a needle, i.e. Kit the nail on the head

REVEsiiARV,thcapartraent where the ecclesiastical vestments are kept

R«ADA3LA5mi, in ftuclcnt Greek mythology, an in­corruptible iudgo of the lower world

RICHARD C<EUU-DE-LIOS. •The exploit of eating the carbonadoed Jloor's head is described in an old baUad, printed as an Appendix to tho Intro­duction to tho 7'uif»m«n

RiCKLB, a heap RiDisa Boiis, jK)85ibly

Redden Bum, which enters the Tweed a little above Oddstrtsain

RiPLER, a liawk tliat caught its prey by the feathers-only

ROCK, distaff ROSE NOBLE, or RYAL, an

English gold coin, woiili 10s., and bearing the representation of a rose, flr.HtcoinodbyKdward IV.

RosicBDoiANH, mystical philosophers who pro­fessed the transmutation ofmetals,alchemy,maKic, and 80 forth ; flourished in ITthand 18th centuries

Roorrso, bellowing KowAs - TREE, mountain

aiih, a talisman against witches

RoiVLEY, monk of Rristol, the literary nan>u of Thomas Chatterlon, the boy poet

RuDESBY, a rude, turbulent fellow

RuLLiox, shoe of untanncd !e.-ither

RUSTIC WAO AND WHOLE DcTT OF ifx.v, In No. 563 of Speelator, nxitten by Addison

SACK ASD THE PORK, an allusion to the foiidnl right of exercising capitiil pnnishment by hanging men (furca, fork, jjal-lows) and drowning women (fana, pit)

SACSLESS, innocent SAE, SO SriN, or SANE, to bless ST. BARNABV, 11th Juno S T . JAMEaOKCOMPOSTEI.LA,

wliose shrine at Santiago di CompoatellS, in S)»n-ish Oalicia, was a fnvoui'. ite place of pilgrimage for Englishmen in tho Middle Ages

ST. PACOMIUS, OTONE OOOCTI OF. Pachomius. one of the earliest Cliristian hermits of Egypt, lived in the *lth century*, and for HCteen years never lay down, but rested by sitting on a stone

SAIB, sore, sorrowful SALVAGE MAN, a savage,

wild forest-man SALVE REOINA, hall, O-

queen SANSCBLOTTES, the French

Revolutionists SARABAND, a lively Spanisli

dance; also tho corro-sj-onding air

SABSESET, silken SAOLT-PAT, salting-tub SAUMON, salmon SAVTOLA, VINCKNTIO, one

of the greatest of fencing-masters, wrote I^.Savioio, his Praclice (1595)

SAY, or BEY, hoiuc-n\ado woollen cloth

SCABELLA, low stools SCALLOP-SHELL, worn by

pilgrims who hud been in the Holy Land

' SCAUR, precipitous earthen bank

I SEUPLE, LORD, one of the leaders of the licfornia-tion ir.- Scotland

SEBCEAST KITE, a charac-tc'/iif George Farquhar'fi comedy, The llccrvUi'i'j

1 Strgtant SHAW, a thicket, copse SHEALINO, hut SHELL-WORK, crocheting

shell patterns in wool, cotton, etc.

[ SmELisoHjLL, place wher« com was winnowed by hand

SHOT-WINDOW, a small pro-i jeeting window

SIC, .such I SisraiE AND HIS nnoTincn, two begging frl.tis,

whoseaccontrcmentaand rognerymoke'the siihjui-t

1 nf an old Scottish sjv ; tirical poem—pubUshe<l I ill David Laing's Sel«cf

GLOSS.\Ry 393

Eemainso/Aiicient Popu­lar Poetry (ISiT)

S1NOUI.T, sigh, sob ' KKIXIMNO, ^ l l o p i n i ; KKIUI, , to cry, l amen t Hi^ifl, 8ort ,or trou8or SLOT, :«:enl SNATCHER, a semi-military

plunderer BNOOD, t he ribbon con­

fining the ha i r of a Scot­t ish maiden

SoiU:8.VINT FOR THE CROWy, is a t t r i bu ted t o King James I. , David's im-modiate s u c c e s ^ r

S O R T , c l ias t ise; manage, a t t end to

SouQii, CALJi. Set Calm • sough SouriRAiL, a small aper­

ture , shot-hole SpAULD, shoulder Ki'KKUF.D, asked Si'KN'CE, j a n t r y ; also the

room wherB t h e family took thei r meals

SrRiNGAtj>, a s t r ip l ing Si'UR-wnAxa, spur-lcather,

s t rap •. SruRTLE, st ick used for

st i rr ing porr idge, .broth, e t c

STANDINO - CUP, a large (Irinking-vessol, usual ly ornamented, and kept on a Hidcboard or cupba i rd

STAND OF CLArruKS, sui t of clothes

STAUT AND OVERLOOP, « sudilen break away

STEEK O F CLAirnEs, s t i tch of clothes

S T E E R , or STIR, molest, iiyuro

STOCCATA, direct t h r u s t STOCKING, live stoc ' i S T O N E C O U O H O F fjT.

P A C o a i u s . See ot . Pacomius

BTOSK-EATEU, a man who professed t o swallow and digest stones. One ex­hibi ted himself in t h e Strand in 1788; another , a Spaniard, a t the Rich­mond Theatre , London, in ITOO

STOOP, a drinking-vessel, liquid measure

STRAIK, blow SccKES, jurisdict ion a t ­

tached to a mill SwANKiE, smar t fellow S W A R F ' D , fainted

TAKES T H E BEKT, UeeB, tnkc-^ to flight

TASKER, a day-labourer

TEixD-sutlAVES, sheaves jwyable as t i thes

TiiiiiL, THiKLAOE, tlie Obli­gation to grind c o m at a certain mill and pay cer­tain dues for i ts mainte­nance

'I'llUAW, twis t TnuEE CRANES, a cele-

brate<l t i lvem in t he Vintry, a j a r t of Upper Tliames Street , between London Bridge and Ukickfriars Bridge. The tavern was a rendez­vous for the wi t s of Ben Jonson 's t ime Barih, Fair, i. 1)

TiiREEP, t o aver s t rongly Tnnooo i i - STAKE, a flat

gnivestono T1.ME0USLV, in t ime Tinr., to s t r ip , p luck oflT 'J'lSHBiTE, E l i j ah ; the allu­

sions of the t e x t (p. 305) are to Elisha

TociiER, dowry To a i o o s E ! in preference,

ra ther t h a t t han TOD, a fox ToLuooTU, pri-son I 'our GENRE, e tc . (p. XX),

Kvorything is permit ted except wliat is tedious

TitANHMEw, to t ransfonn, change

TuEssuRE, a heraldic bor­der, frame

TuoooR, nv Mv, by my t r o t h ! a vidgar oatli

TuiiJllE, qiuiTel, fray T U R K E Y (slippers), leather

l)repareil iu a peculiar way

Ti'RN-BBOCiiE, tu rnsp i t (boy)L Dogs were ahso trained to serve as t u m -iipitfl

TwA, two TwAi., twelve T Y K E , dog, cur

UMQUHILE, the late tfNOiiANCY, unlucky, dan­

gerous U N H O C S E L E D , wi thout re­

ceiving the sacrament U P L A N D , rural , rude UsquEBAOGii, whisky UTJXAM, e t c (p X), I wish

I may fill t h i s also with my friends

VASSAII., vessels used a t feasts

VnNi/K, pardons, permis­sions

VENUE, a tu rn , bont at fencing

V E S T I A R I O S , wardroho-keepcr

ViATORiuua U C I T C M EST. I t is permitted t o travel­lers

ViLLAOio, peasant V I N O ORAVATUS, oycrcome

witli wine Vu'ERS, Wctuals •

W A D , \vould; WADNA, would not

WASSAIL, ale mixed with wine, and flavoured with spices, fruit, e t c

WAHTEL - BRX.\D, or WAS-SKLI.-UREAD, brcad n. jde of the finest flcur

W A T E R , ^•alley, dis tr ict W A U H , worse . WEAN, a child W E E L - S C R A P I T TONGUE, a

guarded tongue W E I G H T , or WECHT, a Scot­

t i sh winnowing instru­men t

W E I R D E D , fated W E I S E , dii^ect, guide W E L T , an e<lf:ing, braiding W E M , scar , mark WiiiFFLiNO, trifling, ta lk­

ing idly W H I L E S , AT W H I L E S , some-

tiinoa Wiiii'PERs, probably s m a r t

folk, young bloods WiiiniuED A\YAY, hurr ied

away WiiiTi-.-sEAM, undercloth­

ing in process of making W I G H T , donglity, s t rong W11.6ON, GAVIX', his poems

arc enti t led A ColUetioa of Mason ic Songs (1783)

Wl.NNOW MT T H R E E WEKjirrs o* NAETinNO, a I lalloween incantat ion. ' You go to the b a m and oi>en both doors. . . . Then take . . . a wecht, and go through all t he a l t i tudes of let t ing downi corn against the wind . . . three times," and you will see the figure of your future spouse—note to Burns, Halloiceen

W I N T<, reach, arrive a t WlSEIlEABT, or WlSHART,

GEORGE, a m a r t y r j o r the Hofonnation doctrines, bu rn t alive a t St . An­drews in 1545

WIT.V1W.H, WITH A, effect­ually, with a vengeance

YAMMER, shriek, c iy aloud YAUD, a work-horse YETT, gate

INDEX

ABBOT. S<C Boniface, Eustace ' Alas! alas'. not ours the grace,' 10'2 Allan Glen, viii All-Hallow's Eve, 19, 23 ' A mightier wizarJ far than I,' 157 * Ask thv heart, whose secret coll,' 157 Attaint," 143, 378 Author's Introduction, vii; answer to

Captain Clutterbuck's letter, xlv Avenel, Alice of, 14; takes refuge at

Glendearg, 17 )>read.s from tlio Book, 24 ; death, 61

Avenel, Julian, 21, 213; descripllon of, 210; his reception of Ilalbert ami Warden, 221; spurns Catliorinc, 2aO; his crooked jjollcv, '2»3, 318; pratolyiiu or, 231, 870

Avenel, -Mary, 17; sees the AVIiitc I^ady, 18; sees her father's ghost, 24; htn-relations lo Ilalbert and EdwanI, 01; description of her, 118; interttcses between Halbert and Sir Piercio, 132; tries to hold back Hnlbert, 1I>0; accuses Sir Piercie of inm-der, 241; her sorrow for Halbert, 2S5; visited by tlio White Lady, 2S6; discovei-s the liook, '288; marriage, and settlement at Avenel Castle, 372

Avenel, Walter, 14 Aveuel Castle, 212, S73, 370

BAILIE, of the monasters', 81 BallantjTie, Mr. John, lii Beef sold by measure, 77, 377 Benedictine stranger, at Kennaquhair,

ixix; searches tho ruins, xxxix; give* the Memoirs to Captain Clutterbuck, ili

Black Omiiston, Laird of, 379 Bolton, Stawarth, n$ Glendearg, 10; dis-

anned by Halbert, 340; left as a hostage, 3-53 i exposes Sir Piercie, 369

Boniface, Abbot. 31; his trouble.«, 43; in counsel with I'atlier Eustace, 4G; his alarm for Father Philip, 50; liears Father Eustace'stonfcssiou, 84 ; visits Glendearg, 136; receives .Sir Piercio's explanation, 142 ; at diimer, 102; pro­poses to make Halbert liis forester, 103, 171; his resignation, 823

Book, Lady Avenel's, 24; mysterious re­

turn of, 59; in the fairy cavern, 100; discovered bv Slary, 288

Bonlerers, good faith of, 320, S82 Horde r wars, 2, 9, 842 Uounie, Gconlie, 380 liridgo-end, 37, 370 ' Uy lies mysterious link'd,' 158

CAnKv', Sir Kobert, quoted, 8S0 Carta (U 'itancia Centum Lihrarum, 883 Catherine of Newport, 210; spurned 'by

Julian, ;!30; found on the battlelield, 847

CImlmors, on Douglas pedigree, 884 ClirisHo of tlio ClinlhiU, 00; quarrels with

Fatlii'r Eustace, 07; a prisoner in tho nionaateiy, 78; freed by Eustace, 81; guides Sir Piercie'to Olondeai-g, 117; leads Ilalbert and Warden into the castli), 210; takes Warden lo Gleudejirg, 290; unfolds Julian's ijolicy, 2!t3, 318; sots olV to llnd Sir Piercie, 320; his ditatli, 348

Church vassals, in Scotland, 2, 375 Cloishbotham, Jodcdiah, death of, li Clutterbuck, Captain, Introductory

Kpistlo from, ix i ; interview with tho Benedictine, xxix; helps him in his searcli, ix i ix ; receives the Memoirs, xli

Colmslie tower, x ' Complain not of me,' 169 Corrie-nan-Shiau, glen of, 8, 193

DAK of the Howlctliirst, 207 ' Daring youtli.1 for thee it is well,' 156 ' Dim burns the once bright star,' 158 ' Do not ask mc,' 167 Douglas family, pedigree of, 305, 3S4

KDITOIW, liclitious, xlviii Epithetii, quaint, use of, 132, 378 Euphuism, XV, RSI Eustace, Father, his position at Kenna­

quhair, 44; in counsel with the abbot, 40; visits Glendearg, .'i5; altercation with Christie, C7 ; carries otT tho Book, 71; encounter with the White Ladv', 72; llboratcH Cliristie, 81; his con­fession to tho abbot, 84; his views re­garding Edward, 89; listens to Sir

INDEX 395

Picrcic's cTpIariRtlons, 112 ; choc)[s Edn-nnl'H vlolcmto, i'l2, iH ; cross-questions Sir I'iorcic, £< 1; lius WardiMi brought before liini, 290; hears Edward's coiifcasion, 30(i; leaves Warden nt Glondearg, 314; interview with tlio dis^etvd nbbot, 3'i-'; in face of danger, 35j ; refuses Warden's intercession, 359; Iieads the procession, yO'J; confronla Mun«y and ilorton, 863 <

FAmiES, superstitions n';,'anling, viii, 17, 375, 3S5; cavern of, lOO

'Fare theo well, thou holly green,' 374 Feus, feuars, in Scotland, 2 Fops and fashio^vibles, xvii; in the lOth

century, SSO Foster, Sir John, 349; meeting with

Murray, 361; appealed- to by Morion, 352

GAI-LANTHV, in time of war, 11, 375 George Inn, Slelroso, xxvii Glendearg, Tctwer of, x, 0 Olendinning, Kdwanl, I I ; objects to the

Hook being taiten away, 70; Father Eustace's views regaixi'ing him, SO; studying with Mary, ill; nbaslicd in iSir Piercie's presence, 121; expostu­lates with Ilalbcrt, 134 ; awakenetl by him, 187; zeal'*to avenge him, 242; reproved by Father Kiisij\co, 254; re-I>orts Haibort alive, 303; his confession, 300 ; sees the Wlillo I.ady, 310; a novice in the monastery, Siil; his diHti"ess at Mary's marriage, 873

Glondinning, Elsiietl/, 10; her gossips witli Tibb Tacket, 20, 837; visited by Father Piiilip, 83; by Father Eustace, 57; her plans regarding Halbcrt, 100; at the monastery, 870

Glondinning, Halbcrt, I I ; his iniiratloncii of study, 92; invokes the White Lady, 1)4; in the fairies'cavern, 09; resents Sir Piercie's Ijehavionr, 124, 132; goes a-hunting witli Martin, 161; seeks ailvlce from the White fjidy, 154; description of him, 168; riTuses the abbot's op-pouitment, 172; ahiwa the bodkin to SirPlorcie, 174; challenged by him, ISO; his troubled thoughts, 185; on the way to the glen, lti3; nins through Sir Piercie, 199; me«ts Wanion, 203; taken into Avcnel Castle, 216; lockeil in his room, 233 ; escajKM, 235; falls in with the pedlar, 333; meets Mun-av's force, 335; interview with him, 837; rcjiels Morton's iusinuation, 342 ; sent forward to Sir John Foster, 345; encounter with Stawarth Bolton, 349; picks up Cathe­rine's infant, 351; marries Mar>'Avcnel, 872

Glendinning, Simon, 9 Glossary, 3S7 'Good evening, sir priest," 72 Goo<l nelghtMurs. Sff Fairies Gordon's Iter SeptentrloiiaU^ quoted, 37s

IIAIO of Dvnierside, xxxi

nandfasting, 228, 379 Heron, Sir George, 352 Uilarius, Brother, the rcfectioner, 140;

recites the advantages of the abbot's forester, 165

UiUslap tower, x

ISDCLGZSCES, to monks, 323, 3S2 r

JACK-MEX, 60. Ste also Christie of the Ciinthill

Jonson, Ben, quoted, 378, 3S1

KKXXAQCHAIR, monastic ruins at, xxiv; description of, 1, 303

Kitchener, 103 Knave, miller's, 108, 377 Kyle, David, of George Inn, MeAose,

xx\ii

LocnsiCE tower, 379 ' Look on mv girdle," 15S Lyly, John, 120, 378

MAcFAni-AXE's getse, 112, 377 ' ^laiden, whose sorrows," 2S7 ' Many a fathom dark and deep," 99 ' March, march, Ettrick and TeWotdale,"

232 Jlartin, the shepherd, 15; guides the way

to Glendearg, 17; 'resents Cliristie's manner, 117; his talk with Ilalbert, 150

Melrose, See Kennnquhair ' Merrily swim we,' 40 Mill dues, 105, lOS, 377 lliller, dues of, 104, 108, 377; of CArtsCs • Kirk on the Green, 104; Chaucer's, 377 Miller, Hob, 104,130 Jlisericord, 177, 370 ^fonasffrj;, the novel, vii Miinastery of St. Mary's. See Kenna-

qubair Monks, indulgences to, 323,3S2 ' Mortal warp and mortal woof," 101 Jlorlon, Eari of, 340; his insinuation

against Ualbert, 342; speaks privily with Foster, 852; interview with Abbot Eustace, SOS

Slurray, Lord James, 337; hears tidinjjs from Jlorton, 342; interview with Sir John Foster, 351; with Abbot Eustace, SOS

Mysie of the Mill, 105, 109; contrasted nith Mary Avcnel, 114; helps in the kitchen, 136; her compassion for Sir Piercie, 200; aids his escape, 264; her distress at his leaving her, 272; con­stitutes herself Lis page, 260; his wife, 371

NICOLAS, Father, 150, 379 •

PEDI-AB, the, 3.33; guides Halbert, 334 Peel-towers, 3 P.ter, the bridge->vartl, 38; his claiuis

examined into by Father Eustace, 47; conciliated by him, 75

Philip, Father, sent to confess Lady

396 INDEX

Ayencl a t Glcntloarc, 82; carries off the Book, 3-1; liis ailventurc with iho White JLidy, 39; his sorry plight, 50; in counsel with the abbot, 322; rings the bell on Miirniy's approacli, SfiO

Pinkie Cleuch, battle of, 9 Points, trussing of, 160, 879

, ' RASH thy deed," 101 Keformation, Refonners, in Scotland, 43,

20S, 227. Su also Warden, Henry Boman Catholic Church, in Scotland, time

of tale, 44, 20). Sec aUo Boniface, Abbot, and Eustace, Father

SCOTTISH affairs, time of tale, 43, 294, 323,

Seqlels, miller's dues, lOS 377 Shafton, Sir Fiercie, Author's explanation

regarding, x^'; arrives a t Glcndears, 116 ; his flne speccli, 120,131 ; soliloquy on his situation, 135; hi.s explanations to Abbot Boniface, 142; Kho\ra the bodkin, 174; clialienges Ifalbert, ISO; on the way to the glen, 193 ; falls, 190 ; accused of munler, 241; his account of the duel, 247; oscaMs froui Glendearg, 268; gives Mysio the gold clmin, 272; travels towards Kdinburgli, 274; pro-pose.< to m.arch against .Murray, 356; exposure of h#u, 3fi9; introduces bis wife, 371 ; explauation of tlie bodkin affair, 385

Khagrani, Jlartiu's pony, 17 Sidney, Sir Philip, his Astrophtl, 182 Soramerviile, or SoinorviUe, Loni, xxix;

foppery of, 360 Some, to, 72, 376

Stuart family, pcdigroD of, 806, 886 Htukcly, Thonia.f, 14S, 379

• TACKHT, Tibb, 15; her gossips with Dame

Olen.iiHuing, 20, 237 'Thoy ride about in such a rage,' 00 'This is the day,'160 • „ 'Tl.ou who seek'st my fountalu lone,' 311 Thnec to the holly brake,' PS, 15J

•Tliy craven fear my truth accused,' 9S lieck, his Peter Mtiiinchcn, 386 Town, to\™sliip, ill Scotland,.8

WAnoKS-, Henry, meets Ilalbcrt, 203; led into Avencl CasUe, 210; reproves Julian, 22S; imprisoSed by him, 231; carried prisoner to Glendoarg, 290; hi.s history, 295; brought before Father Eustace, 290; left a t Glendearg on parole, 314; surrenders himself to Abbot Eustace, S6S; intervenes between Morton and JIurray, 366

Watt, James, xlvi ' What I am I niu.st not show,' 97 MTliitc I>ady, Author's explanation of, xii;

appears to Sfary, 18; Tibb's account cf, 20 ; encounter with Father I^hilip, 3P; with I''atlier li'iistnce, 72; invoked by Halbert, 94; ^ivcs him tlio bodkin, 159; apjicirs in Halbert's bedroom, ISO; revf^ls the book to Jtary, 2S7; appears to Edward,* 310, 373 ; her last appearance, 374

' Witliin that awful volume lies,' 98

YoBKE, Rowland, 148, 37S ' Youth of tho dark eye,' 90

END OF XUE llOXASTEUT «

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" A n interesting book, which will please the reader the more the better he knon-s the author. — The Spectator.

" It is a volume that should be added to all collections of Thacker.iy's works."—^rt'"T' D/ Revten'S,

" T h e book is very agreeable and entertain­ing rending, and will be a useful and acceptable comp.tnion to the volumes of Hardy's West Country novels. The book^ we should add, is profusely illustrated with charming vignettes." —Somersei AJveriiser.

"It is a delighliul cofintry to visit, and the associations wlui the Wcssex novels doubles the interest; while Mr. Harper's sketches help both those who have been there and those who fain would go."—The Scotsman.

" T h i s is, in fact, another of the eicellent road books which pretty nearly exh.iust infor­mation for tourists of every place."—TheTimes.

The Kentish Bjcfress says:—"In his best style-j-a style that fascmates—Mr. Harper describes the various places covered by the ' Ingoldsby Legends.' Not a spot docs he miss, not a villageor hamlet, and the text is inter­spersed with illustrations."

"The_ book abounds in really interestint; anU'quarian knowledge, in local history, descrip­tion, gossip, anecdote, and lore. It will be found both interesting and v.iluable to dwellers in those p.\rts, and as to the summer Pilgrim, it i-, prec'isely what he wants."— Tribune,

"Mr. Snell has discharged his task in a manner deserving of the highest praise. Hi: had an inspiring theme, and the result is one of the most delightful books on the West Counlri-that has been produced for a long time. . . . —North Devon Journal.

" A capital book, licaling with Thomas of London, his nuirder, his cult, and his miracles; with Geoffrey Chaucer and his pilgrims, and with the Pilgrims' Way. It is written in bright, breezy fashion. The jl lustrations are numerous, and are very interesting."—Academy.

" There will be few of those who read Mr. Ward's delightful book and study the beautiful photographs who will not come to the conclusion that an ideal summer holiday might be spent in a walk along the Pilgrims' Way described."— Monting Aavertiser,

• PUBLISHED BY A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.

THE WAVERLEY NOVELL BY SIR WALTER SCOTl"

THE AUTHENTIC EDITIONS OF SCOTT ARE PUBLISHED SOLELY

BY A. & C. BLACK, WHO PURCHASED ALONG WITH THE COPY­

RIGHT THE INTERLEAVED SET OI» THE WAVERLEY NOVELS IN

WHICH SIR WALTER SCOTT NOTED CORRECTIONS AND IliPROVE-

MENTS ALMOST TO THE DAY OF HIS DEATH. ALL THE RECENT

EDITIONS PUBLISHED BY A. & C. BLACK HAVE BEEfJ COLLATED

WORD rOR WORD WITH THIS SET, AND MANY INACCURACIES,

SOME o r THEM LUDICROUS, CORRECTED.

List of volumes uniform with this.

1. Waverley : or, " T i s Sixty Years Since." 2. Guy Mannering j or. The Astrologer. 3. The Antiquary.

, 4 . ^ob Roy. 5. The Black Dwarf, and A Legend of Moptrose. 6. Old Mortality. 7. The Heart of Midlothian. 8. The Bride of Lamraermoor. 9. Ivanhoe : A Romance.

10. The Monastery. XI, The Abbot: A Sequel. 12. Kenilworth. 13. The Pirate. 14. The Fortunes of Nigel. 15. Peveril of the Peak. , 16. Quentin Durward. t-17. S t Ronan's Well. 18. Redgauntlet. ig. The Betrothed, and The Highland Widow. 20. The Talisman: A Tale of the Crusaders. 21. Woodstock ; or. The Cavalier. 23. The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, S t Valentine's Day. 23, Anne of Geierstein ; or. The Maiden of the Mist 24. Count Robert of Paris. 2S The Surgeon's Daughter, and Castle Dangerous.

LONDON: ADAM & CHARLES BLACK. SOHO SQUARE.