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Chapter the Twenty-Fourth.


  I'll walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with caution,
  My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon,
  Like him who ventures on a lion's den.
                             OLD PLAY.

When, 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 looked with earnest attention upon 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 outline 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 spread its long dusky pennon through the clear ether, indicated
that it was inhabited. But no corn-fields or enclosed pasture-grounds
on the side of the lake showed that provident attention to comfort and
subsistence which usually appeared near the houses of the greater, and
even of the lesser barons. There were no cottages 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 lower ground; nothing
which intimated the occasional prosecution of the arts of peace and of
industry. It was plain that the inhabitants, whether few or numerous,
must be 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 petra
scandali!_" and then, turning to Halbert Glendinning, he added, "We
may say of yonder fort as King James did of another fastness in this
province, that he who built it was a thief in his heart." [Footnote:
It was of Lochwood, the hereditary fortress of the Johnstones of
Aunandale, a strong castle situated in the centre of a quaking bog,
that James VI. made this remark.]

"But it was not so," answered Glendinning; "yonder castle was built by
the old lords of Avenel, men as much beloved in peace as they were
respected in war. They were the bulwark of the frontiers against
foreigners, and the protectors of the natives from domestic
oppression. The present usurper of their inheritance no more resembles
them, than the night-prowling owl resembles a falcon, because she
builds on the same rock."

"This Julian Avenel, then, holds no high place in the love and regard of
his neighbours?" said Warden.

"So little," answered Halbert, "that besides the jack-men and riders
with whom he has associated himself, and of whom he has many at his
disposal, I know of few who voluntarily associate with him. He has
been more than once outlawed both by England and Scotland, his lands
declared forfeited, and his head set at a price. But in these unquiet
times, a man so daring as Julian Avenel has ever found some friends
willing to protect him against the penalties of the law, on condition
of his secret services."

"You describe a dangerous man," replied Warden.

"You may have experience of that," replied the youth, "if you deal not
the more warily;--though it may be that he also has forsaken the
community of the church, and gone astray in the path of heresy."

"What your blindness terms the path of heresy," answered the reformer,
"is indeed the straight and narrow way, wherein he who walks turns not
aside, whether for worldly wealth or for worldly passions. Would to
God this man were moved by no other and no worse spirit than that
which prompts my poor endeavours to extend the kingdom of Heaven! This
Baron of Avenel is personally 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 safety," said Halbert, "and believe
that it is founded upon the usage of this country and its inhabitants.
If you can better shift for yourself, go not to the Castle of
Avenel--if you do risk going thither, obtain from him, if possible,
his safe conduct, and beware that he swears it by the Black Rood--And
lastly, observe whether he eats with you at the board, or pledges you
in the cup; for if he gives you not these signs of welcome, his
thoughts are evil towards you."

"Alas!" said the preacher, "I 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?"

"I," answered Halbert, "am in no danger. I am well known to Christie
of the Clinthill, the henchman of this Julian Avenel; and, what is a
yet better protection, I have nothing either to provoke malice or to
tempt plunder."

The tramp of a steed, which clattered along the shingly banks of the
loch, was now heard behind them; and, when they looked back, a rider
was visible, his steel cap and the point of his long lance glancing in
the setting sun, as he rode rapidly towards them.

Halbert Glendinning soon recognized Christie of the Clinthill, and made
his companion aware that the henchman of Julian Avenel was approaching.

"Ha, youngling!" said Christie to Halbert, as he came up to them,
"thou hast made good my word at last, and come to take service with my
noble master, hast thou not? Thou shalt find a good friend and a true;
and ere Saint Barnaby come round again, thou shalt know every pass
betwixt Millburn Plain and Netherby, as if thou hadst been born with a
jack on thy back, and a lance in thy hand.--What old carle hast thou
with thee?--He is not of the brotherhood of Saint Mary's--at least he
has not the buist [Footnote: _Buist_--The brand, or mark, set
upon sheep or cattle, by their owners.] of these black cattle."

"He is a wayfaring man," said Halbert, "who has concerns with Julian
of Avenel. For myself, I intend to go to Edinburgh to see the court
and the Queen, and when I return hither we will talk of your proffer.
Meantime, as thou hast often invited me to the castle, I crave
hospitality there to-night for myself and my companion."

"For thyself and welcome, young comrade," replied Christie; "but we
harbour no pilgrims, nor aught that looks like a pilgrim."

"So please you," said Warden, "I have letters of commendation to thy
master from a sure friend, whom he will right willingly oblige in higher
matters than in affording me a brief protection.--And I am no pilgrim,
but renounce the same, with all its superstitious observances."
He offered his letters to the horseman, who shook his head.

"These," he said, "are matters for my master, and it will be well if he
can read them himself; for me, sword and lance are my 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 errand."

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 horseman passed it, and disappeared under
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, in dark red freestone, 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 uncertain, but the figure was generally
supposed to represent the mysterious being called the White Lady of
Avenel. [Footnote: There is an ancient English family, I believe,
which bears, or did bear, a ghost or spirit passant sable in a field
argent. This seems to have been a device of a punning or
_canting_ herald.] The sight of this mouldering shield awakened
in the mind of Halbert the strange circumstances which had connected
his fate with that of Mary Avenel, and with the doings of the
spiritual being who was attached to her house, and whom he saw here,
represented in stone, as he had before seen her effigy upon 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.

"You sigh, my son," said the old man, observing the impression made on
his youthful companion's countenance, but mistaking the cause; "if you
fear to enter, we may yet return."

"That can ye not," said Christie of the Clinthill, who emerged at that
instant from the side-door under the archway. "Look yonder, and choose
whether you will return skimming the water like a wild-duck, or winging
the air like a plover."

They looked, and saw that the drawbridge which they had just crossed
was again raised, and now interposed its planks betwixt the setting
sun and the portal of the castle, deepening the gloom of the arch
under which they stood. Christie laughed and bid them follow him,
saying, by way of encouragement, 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 him--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 his chief
domestics, five or six of whom, strong, athletic, savage-looking men,
paced up and down the lower end 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
buff, formed the principal part of their dress, and steel-bonnets, or
large slouched hats with Spanish plumes 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 had 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 buff, 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 sustained a large and heavy sword on
one side, and on the other that gay poniard which had once called Sir
Piercie 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 Avenel'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 with gray, but age had neither tamed the fire of his eye
nor the enterprise of his disposition. His countenance had been
handsome, for beauty was an attribute of the family; but the lines
were roughened by fatigue and exposure to the weather, and rendered
coarse by the habitual indulgence of violent passions.

He seemed in deep and moody reflection, and was pacing at a distance
from his dependents along the upper end of the hall, sometimes
stopping from time to time to caress and feed a gos-hawk, which sat
upon his wrist, with its jesses (_i. e._ the leathern straps
fixed to its legs) wrapt around his hand. The bird, which seemed not
insensible to its master's attention, answered his caresses by
ruffling 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 repassed so often without
bestowing on it a transient glance.

This was a woman of exceeding beauty, rather gaily than richly
attired, who sat on a low seat close by the huge hall chimney. The
gold chains round her neck and arms,--the gay gown of green which
swept the floor,--the silver embroidered girdle, with its bunch of
keys, depending in house-wifely pride by a silver chain,--the yellow
silken _couvrechef_ (Scottice, _curch_) which was disposed
around her head, and partly concealed her dark profusion of
hair,--above all, the circumstance so delicately touched in the old
ballad, that "the girdle was too short," the "gown of green all too
strait," for the wearer's present shape, would have intimated the
Baron's lady.  But then the lowly seat,--the expression of deep
melancholy, which was changed into a timid smile whenever she saw the
least chance of catching the eye of Julian Avenel,--the subdued look
of grief, and the starting tear for which that constrained smile was
again exchanged when she saw herself entirely disregarded,--these were
not the attributes of a wife, or they were those of a dejected and
afflicted female, who had yielded her love on less than legitimate
terms.

Julian Avenel, as we have said, continued to pace the hall without
paying any of that mute attention which is rendered to almost 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, to
which, however, the lady seemed to attend, as if studying to find
either an opportunity of speaking to the Baron, or of finding
something enigmatical in the expressions which he used to the bird.
All this the strangers had time enough to remark; for no sooner had
they entered the apartment than their usher, Christie of the
Clinthill, after exchanging a significant glance with the menials or
troopers at the lower end of the apartment, signed to Halbert
Glendinning and to his companion to stand still near the door, while
he himself, advancing nearer the table, placed himself in such a
situation as to catch the Baron's observation when he should be
disposed to look around, but without presuming to intrude himself on
his master's notice. Indeed, the look of this man, naturally bold,
hardy, and audacious, seemed totally changed when he was in presence
of his master, and resembled the dejected and cowering manner of a
quarrelsome dog when rebuked by his owner, or when he finds himself
obliged to deprecate the 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 interested in
the female, who sate by the chimney unnoticed and unregarded. He
marked with what keen and trembling solicitude 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 his feathered favourite,
now giving, now withholding, the morsel with which he was about to
feed the bird, and so exciting its appetite and gratifying it by
turns. "What! more yet?--thou foul kite, thou wouldst never have
done--give thee part thou wilt have all--Ay, prune thy feathers, and
prink thyself gay--much thou wilt make of it now--dost think I know
thee not?--dost think I see not that all that ruffling and pluming of
wing and feathers is not for thy master, but to try what thou canst
make of him, thou greedy gled?--well--there--take it then, and rejoice
thyself--little boon goes far with thee, and with all thy sex--and so
it should."

He ceased to look on the bird, and again traversed the apartment. Then
taking another small piece of raw meat from the trencher, on which it
was placed ready cut for his use, he began once again to tempt and
tease the bird, by offering and withdrawing it, until he awakened its
wild and bold disposition. "What! struggling, fluttering, aiming at me
with beak and single? [Footnote: In the _kindly_ language of
hawking, as Lady Juliana Berners terms it, hawks' talons are called
their _singles_] So la! So la! wouldst mount? wouldst fly? the
jesses are round thy clutches, fool--thou canst neither stir nor soar
but by my will--Beware thou come to reclaim, wench, else I will wring
thy head off one of these days--Well, have it then, and well fare thou
with it.--So ho, Jenkin!" One of the attendants stepped forward--"
Take the foul gled hence to the mew--or, stay; leave her, but look
well to her casting and to her bathing--we will see her fly
to-morrow.--How now, Christie, so soon returned ?"

Christie advanced to his master, and gave an account of himself and
his journey, in the way in which a police-officer holds communication
with his magistrate, that is, as much by signs as by words.

"Noble sir," said that worthy satellite, "the Laird of--," he named no
place, but pointed with his finger in a south-western direction,--"
may not ride with you the day he purposed, because the Lord Warden has
threatened that he will--"

Here another blank, intelligibly enough made up by the speaker
touching his own neck with his left fore-finger, and leaning his head
a little to one side.

"Cowardly caitiff!" said Julian; "by Heaven! the whole world 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 fathers is dead amongst us--the very brutes
are degenerated--the cattle we bring at our life's risk are mere
carrion--our hawks are riflers [Footnote: So called when they only
caught their prey by the feathers.]--our hounds are turnspits and
trindle-tails--our men are women--and our women are--"

He looked at the female for the first time, and stopped short in the
midst of what he was about to say, though there was something so
contemptuous in the glance, that the blank might have been thus filled
up--"Our women are such as she is."

He said it not, however, and as if desirous of attracting his
attention at all risks, and in whatever manner, she rose and came
forward to him, but with a timorousness ill-disguised by affected
gaiety.--"Our women, Julian--what would you say of the women?"

"Nothing," answered Julian Avenel, "at least nothing but that they are
kind-hearted wenches like thyself, Kate." The female coloured deeply,
and returned to her seat.--"And what strangers hast thou brought with
thee, Christie, that stand yonder like two stone statues?" said the
Baron.

"The taller," answered Christie, "is, so please you, a young fellow
called Halbert Glendinning, the eldest son of the old widow at
Glendearg."

"What brings him here?" said the Baron; "hath he any message from
Mary Avenel?"

"Not as I think," said Christie; "the youth is roving the country--he
was always a wild slip, for I have known him since he was the height of
my sword."

"What qualities hath he?" said the Baron.

"All manner of qualities," answered his follower--"he can strike a
buck, track a deer, fly a hawk, halloo to a hound--he shoots in the
long and crossbow to a hair's breadth--wields a lance or sword 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 who," said the Baron, "is the old miser [Footnote: Miser, used in
the sense in which it often occurs in Spenser, and which is indeed its
literal import--"wretched old man."] who stands beside him?"

"Some cast of a priest as I fancy--he says he is charged with letters to
you."

"Bid them come forward," said the Baron; and no sooner had they
approached him more nearly, than, struck by the fine form and strength
displayed by Halbert Glendinning, he addressed him thus: "I am told,
young Swankie, that you are roaming the world to seek your fortune,--if
you will serve Julian Avenel, you may find it without going farther."

"So please you," answered Glendinning, "something has chanced to me
that makes it better I should leave this land, and I am bound for
Edinburgh."

"What!--thou hast stricken some of the king's deer, I warrant,--or
lightened the meadows of Saint Mary's of some of their beeves--or thou
hast taken a moonlight leap over the border?"

"No, sir," said Halbert, "my case is entirely different."

"Then I warrant thee," 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."

Ineffably disgusted at his tone and manner, Halbert Glendinning
remained silent, while the thought darted across his mind, what would
Julian Avenel have said, had he known the quarrel of which he spoke so
lightly, had arisen on account of his own brother's daughter! "But be
thy cause of flight what it will," said Julian, in continuation, "dost
thou think the law or its emissaries can follow thee into this island,
or arrest thee under the standard of Avenel?--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 comrade injured, or if
I, their master, 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 thou wouldst
pass an old market-woman, and ne'er a cur which follows him shall dare
to bay at thee!"

"I thank you for your offers, noble sir," replied Halbert, "but I must
answer in brief, that I cannot profit by 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, Christie, 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 scarce worth the arrow that
ends them: this youngster is limbed like Saint 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 his
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 have
sought in my greener days."

"Nay, understand me, friend," said the Baron; "if thou art satisfied
with thy buckram gown and long staff, I also am well content thou
shouldst be as poor and contemptible as is good for the health of thy
body and soul--All I care to know of thee is, the cause which hath
brought thee to my castle, where few crows of thy kind care to settle.
Thou art, I warrant 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 pilgrim with a budget of lies
from Saint James of Compostella, or Our Lady of Loretto; or thou
mayest be some pardoner with his budget of relics from Rome, forgiving
sins at a penny a-dozen, and one to the tale.--Ay, I guess why I find
thee in this boy's company, and doubtless thou wouldst have such a
strapping lad as he to carry thy wallet, and relieve thy lazy
shoulders; but by the mass 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
country with an old knave like Simmie and his brother. [Footnote: Two
_quaestionarii_, or begging friars, whose accoutrements and
roguery make the subject of an old Scottish satirical poem] 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 have them
loose the hounds on thee."

Warden waited with the greatest patience until Julian Avenel, astonished
that the threats 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 me?"

"When you have done speaking," said Warden, in the same composed
manner, "it will be full time to reply."

"Say on man, in the devil's name--but take heed--beg not here--were it
but for the rinds of cheese, the refuse of the rats, or a morsel that
my dogs would turn from--neither a grain of meal, nor the nineteenth
part of a gray groat, will I give to any feigned limmer of thy coat,"

"It may be," answered Warden, "that you would have less quarrel with
my coat if you knew what it covers, I am neither a friar nor
mendicant, and would be right glad to hear thy testimony against these
foul deceivers of God's church, and usurpers of his rights over the
Christian flock, were it given in Christian charity."

"And who or what art thou, then," said Avenel, "that thou comest to this
Border land, and art neither monk, nor soldier, nor broken man?"

"I am an humble teacher of the holy word," answered Warden. "This
letter from a most noble person 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. He then fixed his eyes on the stranger, and said, in a
menacing tone, "I think thou darest not betray me or deceive me?"

"I am not the man to attempt either," was the concise reply.

Julian Avenel carried the letter to the window, where he perused, or
at least attempted to peruse it more than once, often looking from the
paper and gazing on the stranger who had delivered it, as if he meant
to read the purport of the missive in the face of the messenger.
Julian at length called to the female,--"Catherine, bestir thee, and
fetch me presently that letter which I bade thee keep ready at hand in
thy casket, having no sure lockfast place of my own."

Catherine went with the readiness of one willing to be employed; and
as she walked, the situation which requires 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 paper, and was rewarded with a cold--"I thank thee,
wench; thou art a careful secretary."

This second paper he also perused and reperused more than once, and
still, as he read it, bent from time to time a wary and observant eye
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 unmoved as under the gaze of
an ordinary and peaceful peasant. At length Julian Avenel folded both
papers, and having put them into the pocket of his cloak, cleared his
brow, and, coming forward, addressed his female companion.
"Catherine," said he, "I have done this good man injustice, when I
mistook him for one of the drones of Rome.  He is a preacher,
Catherine--a preacher of the--the new doctrine of the Lords of the
Congregation."

"The doctrine of the blessed Scriptures," said the preacher, "purified
from the devices of men."

"Sayest thou?" said Julian Avenel--"Well, thou mayest call it what
thou lists; but to me it is recommended, because it flings off all
those sottish dreams about saints and angels and devils, and unhorses
lazy monks that have ridden us so long, and spur-galled us so hard. No
more masses and corpse-gifts--no more tithes and offerings to make men
poor--no more prayers or psalms to make men cowards-no more
christenings and penances, and confessions and marriages."

"So please you," 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, peace, man," said the Baron; "we of the laity care not what
you set up, so you pull merrily down what stands in our way. Specially
it suits well with us of the Southland fells; for it is our profession
to turn the world upside down, and we live ever the blithest life when
the downer side is uppermost."

Warden would have replied; but the Baron allowed him not time,
striking the table with the hilt of his dagger, and crying out,--"Ha!
you loitering knaves, bring our supper-meal quickly. See you not this
holy man is exhausted for lack of food? heard ye ever of priest or
preacher that devoured not his five meals a-day?"

The attendants bustled to and fro, and speedily brought in several
large smoking platters filled with huge pieces of beef, boiled and
roasted, but without any variety whatsoever; without vegetables, and
almost without bread, though there was at the upper end a few
oat-cakes in a basket. Julian Avenel 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 Avenel; "what need of naming names, so we
understand each other? I meant but to speak in reference to your
safety and comfort, of which he desires us to be chary. Now, for your
safety, look at my walls and water. But touching your comfort, we have
no corn of our own, and the meal-girnels of the south are less easily
transported than their beeves, seeing they have no legs to walk upon.
But what though? a stoup of wine thou shalt have, and of the
best--thou shalt sit betwixt 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
Catherine sate down, and courteously pointed to a seat betwixt them for
their reverend guest. But notwithstanding the influence both of hunger
and fatigue, Henry Warden retained his standing posture.




Chapter the Twenty-Fifth.


  When lovely woman stoops to folly,
  And finds too late that men betray--

Julian Avenel saw with surprise the demeanour of the reverend
stranger. "Beshrew me," he said, "these new-fashioned religioners have
fast-days, I warrant me--the old ones used to confer these blessings
chiefly on the laity."

"We acknowledge no such rule," said the preacher--"We hold that our
faith consists not in using or abstaining from special meats on special
days; and in fasting we rend our hearts, and not our garments."

"The better--the 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 thy office, mutter thy charm."

"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 misunderstood. It is my duty so to bear me, that in my
person, however unworthy, my Master's dignity may be respected, and
that sin may take not confidence from relaxation of the bonds of
discipline."

"Ho la! halt there," said the Baron; "thou wert sent hither for thy
safety, but not, I think, to preach to me, or control me. What is it
thou wouldst have, Sir Preacher? Remember thou speakest to one
somewhat short of patience, who loves a short health and a long
draught."

"In a word, then," said Henry Warden, "that lady--"

"How?" said the Baron, starting--"what of her?--what hast thou to
say of that dame?"

"Is she thy house-dame?" said the preacher, after a moment's pause, in
which, he seemed to seek for the best mode of expressing what he had
to say--"Is she, in brief, thy wife?"

The unfortunate young woman pressed both her hands on her face, as if
to hide it, but the deep blush which crimsoned her brow and neck,
showed that her cheeks were also glowing; and the bursting tears,
which found their way betwixt her slender fingers, bore witness to her
sorrow, as well as to her shame.

"Now, by my father's ashes!" said the Baron, rising and spurning from
him his footstool with such violence, that it hit the wall on the
opposite side of the apartment--then instantly constraining himself,
he muttered, "What need to run myself into trouble for a fool's
word?"--then resuming his seat, he answered coldly and
scornfully--"No, Sir Priest or Sir Preacher, Catherine is not my
wife--Cease thy whimpering, thou foolish wench--she is not my wife,
but she is handfasted with me, and that makes her as honest a woman."

"Handfasted?"--repeated Warden.

"Knowest thou not that rite, holy man?" said Avenel, in the same tone
of derision; "then I will tell thee. We Border-men are more wary than
your 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, we are 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 marry them for life--and this we call
handfasting." [Footnote: This custom of handfasting actually prevailed
in the upland days. It arose partly from the want of priests. While
the convents subsisted, monks were detached on regular circuits
through the wilder districts, to marry those who had lived in this
species of connexion. A practice of the same kind existed in the Isle
of Portland.]

"Then," said the preacher, "I tell thee, noble Baron, in brotherly
love to thy soul, it is a custom licentious, gross, and corrupted,
and, if persisted in, dangerous, yea, damnable. It binds thee to the
frailer being while she is the object of desire--it relieves thee when
she is most the subject of pity--it gives all to brutal sense, and
nothing to generous and gentle affection.  I say to thee, that he who
can meditate the breach of such an engagement, abandoning the deluded
woman and the helpless offspring, is worse than the birds of prey; for
of them the males remain with their mates until the nestlings can take
wing. Above all, I say it is contrary to the pure Christian doctrine,
which assigns woman to man as the partner of his labour, the soother
of his evil, his helpmate in peril, his friend in affliction; 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 Baron;
"quaintly conceived and curiously pronounced, and to a well-chosen
congregation.  Hark ye, Sir Gospeller! trow ye to have a fool in hand?
Know I not that your sect rose by bluff Harry Tudor, merely because ye
aided him to change _his_ Kate; and wherefore should I not use
the same Christian liberty with _mine?_ Tush, man! bless the good
food, and meddle not with what concerns thee not--thou hast no gull in
Julian Avenel."

"He hath gulled and cheated himself," said the preacher, "should he
even incline to do that poor sharer of his domestic cares the
imperfect justice that remains to him. Can he now raise her to the
rank of a pure and uncontaminated matron?--Can he deprive his child of
the misery of owing birth to a mother who has erred? He can indeed
give them both the rank, the state of married wife and of lawful son;
but, in public opinion, their names will be smirched and sullied with
a stain which his tardy efforts cannot entirely efface. Yet render it
to them, Baron of Avenel, render to them this late and imperfect
justice. Bid me 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
have the chance been that has drawn me to this castle, though I come
driven by calamity, and unknowing where my course is bound, like a
leaf travelling on the north wind."

The plain, and even coarse features, of the zealous speaker, were
warmed at once and ennobled by the dignity of his enthusiasm; and the
wild Baron, lawless as he was, and accustomed to spurn at the control
whether of religious or moral law, felt, for the first time perhaps in
his life, that he was 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 by the weight of the just rebuke thus
boldly fulminated against him.

The unfortunate young woman, conceiving hopes from her tyrant's
silence and apparent indecision, forgot both her fear and shame in her
timid expectation that Avenel would relent; and fixing upon him her
anxious and beseeching eyes, gradually drew near and nearer to his
seat, till at length, laying a trembling hand on his cloak, she
ventured to utter, "O noble Julian, listen to the good man!"

The speech and the motion were ill-timed, and wrought on that proud and
wayward spirit the reverse of her wishes.

The fierce Baron started up in a fury, exclaiming, "What! thou foolish
callet, art thou confederate with this strolling vagabond, whom thou
hast seen beard me in my own hall! Hence with thee, and think that I
ana 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, endeavoured to obey his
orders, and tottered towards the door. Her limbs failed in the
attempt, and she fell on the stone floor in a manner which her
situation might have rendered fatal--The blood gushed from her
face.--Halbert Glendinning 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 through the body
of the cruel and hard-hearted ruffian. But Christie of the Clinthill,
guessing his intention, threw his arms around him, and prevented him
from stirring to execute his purpose.

The impulse to such an act of violence was indeed but momentary, as it
instantly appeared that Avenel himself, shocked at the effects of his
violence, was lifting up and endeavouring to soothe in his own way 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
happen an thou dost bear me a stout boy. There--there--dry thy
tears--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 termed their mistress or their
companion.  She showed little sign of life, except by groaning 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 table, filled and drank a deep goblet
of wine; then, putting an obvious restraint on his passions, turned to
the preacher, who stood horror-struck at the scene he had witnessed,
and said, "You have borne too hard on us, Sir Preacher--but coming
with the commendations which 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 me--Spur not an unbroken
horse--put 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, therefore, down, and pledge me in old
sack, and we will talk over these matters."

"It is _from_ spiritual bondage," said the preacher, in the same
tone of admonitory reproof, "that I came to deliver you--it is from a
bondage more fearful than than that of the heaviest earthly gyves--it
is from your own evil passions."

"Sit down," said Avenel, 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 he refuse to
sit down, I would not give a gray groat for his head."

"Lord Baron," said Warden, "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 and death be the
consequence, counting my life as nothing in comparison of the ministry
to which I am called."

Julian Avenel, 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
from the other cast off the hawk, which flew wildly through the
apartment. His first motion was to lay hand 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 man--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 symptoms of terror, by two of the Baron's satellites. Julian
Avenel walked the apartment for a short time in sullen silence, and
despatching one of his attendants with a whispered message, which
probably related to the health of the unfortunate Catherine, he said
aloud, "These rash and meddling priests--By Heaven! they make us worse
than we would be without them."

[Footnote: If it were necessary to name a prototype for this brutal,
licentious and cruel Border chief, in an age which showed but too many
such, the Laird of Black Ormiston might be selected for that purpose.
He was a friend and confidant of Bothwell, and an agent in Henry
Darnley's murder. At his last stage, he was, like other great
offenders, a seeming penitent; and, as his confession bears, divers
gentlemen and servants being in the chamber, he said, "For God's sake,
sit down and pray for me, for I have been a great sinner otherwise,"
(that is, besides his share in Darnley's death,) "for the which God is
this day punishing me; for of all men on the earth, I have been one of
the proudest, and most high-minded, and most unclean of my body.  But
specially I have shed the innocent blood of one Michael Hunter with my
own hands. Alas, therefore! because the said Michael, having me lying
on my back, having a fork in his hand, might have slain me if he had
pleased, and did it not, which of all things grieves me most in
conscience. Also, in a rage, I hanged a poor man for a horse;--with
many other wicked deeds, for whilk I ask my God mercy. It is not
marvel I have been wicked, considering the wicked company that ever I
have been in, but specially within the seven years by-past, in which I
never saw two good men or one good deed, but all kind of wickedness,
and yet God would not suffer me to be lost."--See the whole confession
in the State Trials.

Another worthy of the Borders, called Geordy Bourne, of somewhat
subordinate rank, was a similar picture of profligacy. He had fallen
into the hands of Sir Robert Carey, then Warden of the English East
Marches, who gives the following account of his prisoner's
confession:--

"When all things were quiet, and the watch set at night, after supper,
about ten of the clock, I took one of my men's liveries, and put it
about me, and took two other of my servants with me in their liveries;
and we three, as the Warden's men, came to the Provost Marshal's where
Bourne was, and were let into his chamber. We sate down by him, and
told him that we were desirous to see him, because we heard he was
stout and valiant, and true to his friend, and that we were sorry our
master could not be moved to save his life. He voluntarily of himself
said, that he had lived long enough to do so many villanies as he had
done; and withal told us, that he had lain with above forty men's
wives, what in England what in Scotland; and that he had killed seven
Englishmen with his own hands, cruelly murdering them; and that he had
spent his whole time in whoring, drinking, stealing, and taking deep
revenge for slight offences. He seemed to be very penitent, and much
desired a minister for the comfort of his soul. We promised him to let
our master know his desire, who, we knew would promptly grant it. We
took leave of him; and presently I took order that Mr Selby, a very
honest preacher, should go to him, and not stir from him till his
execution the next morning; for after I had heard his own confession,
I was resolved no conditions should save his life, and so took order,
that at the gates opening the next morning, he should be carried to
execution, which accordingly was performed."--_Memoirs of Sir
Robert Carey, Earl of Monmouth._]

The answer which he presently received seemed somewhat to pacify his
angry mood, and he took his place at the board, commanding his retinue
to the like. All sat down in silence, and began the repast.

During the meal Christie in vain attempted to engage his youthful
companion in carousal, or, at least, in conversation. Halbert
Glendinning pleaded fatigue, and expressed himself unwilling 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, "What, 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.
Much eaten without either 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 thee."

The young man looked first 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 unmelodious voice, sung the
following ditty to the ancient air of "Blue bonnets over the Border."

                 I.

  March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
    Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?
  March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
    All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border
        Many a banner spread,
        Flutters above your head,
    Many a crest that is famous in story;
        Mount and make ready then,
        Sons of the mountain glen,
    Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory!

                 II.

  Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing,
    Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
  Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
    Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
        Trumpets are sounding,
        War-steeds are bounding,
    Stand to your arms then, and march in good order;
        England shall many a day
        Tell of the bloody fray,
    When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border!

The song, rude as it was, had in it that warlike character which at
any other time would have roused Halbert's spirit; but at present the
charm of minstrelsy had no effect upon him. He made it his request to
Christie to suffer him to retire to rest, a request with which that
worthy person, seeing no chance of making a favourable impression on
his intended proselyte in his present humour, was at length pleased to
comply. But no Sergeant Kite, who ever practised the profession of
recruiting, was more attentive that his object should not escape him,
than was Christie of the Clinthill.  He indeed conducted Halbert
Glendinning to a small apartment overlooking the lake, which was
accommodated with a truckle bed. But before quitting him, Christie
took special care to give a look to the bars which crossed the outside
of the window, and when he left the apartment, he failed not to give
the key a double turn; circumstances which convinced young Glendinning
that there was no intention of suffering him to depart from the Castle
of Avenel at his own time and pleasure. He judged it, however, most
prudent to let these alarming symptoms pass without observation.

No sooner did he find himself in undisturbed solitude, than he ran
rapidly over the events of the day in his recollection, and to his
surprise found that his own precarious fate, and even the death of
Piercie Shafton, made less impression on him 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 Reformation in Scotland, a body 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 seeking the advancement of the great cause in which they laboured
by the roughest road, provided it were the shortest. The 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 manners would have been ill-adapted, but
they were singularly successful in their mission to the rude people to
whom it was addressed.

Owing to these reasons, Halbert Glendinning, who had resisted and
repelled the arguments of the preacher, was forcibly struck by the
firmness of his demeanour in the dispute with Julian Avenel. It might
be discourteous, and most certainly it was incautious, to choose such
a place and such an audience, for upbraiding with his transgressions a
baron, whom both manners and situation placed in full possession 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 afford; and Glendinning, who had viewed the
conduct of Avenel with the deepest abhorrence, was proportionally
interested in the brave old man, who had 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 in
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.