The monk perceived with surprise, that Edward, with his extreme
diffidence, humility, and obedient assiduity, for such were his
general characteristics, 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, his frame was agitated, and the
extremity of his desire for vengeance seemed to give a vehemence to
his manner resembling the restlessness of joy.

"May God help us," said Father Eustace, "for, frail wretches as we are,
we cannot help ourselves under sudden and strong temptation.--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 Avenel, 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
Glendinning 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 doubted the 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
incredulous on the score of the wonderful wound and recovery of Sir
Piercie Shafton, and prevented him from at once condemning as
impossible that which was altogether improbable. Then he was at a loss
how to control the fraternal affections of Edward, with respect to
whom he felt something 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 keeper and to all mankind.

How to restrain and mitigate an ire which the universal example of the
times rendered deadly and inveterate, was sufficient cause of anxiety
to Father Eustace. But he had also to consider the situation of his
community, dishonoured and degraded by submitting to suffer the
slaughter of a vassal to pass unavenged; a circumstance which of
itself might in those times have afforded pretext for a revolt among
their wavering adherents, or, on the other hand, exposed the community
to imminent danger, should they proceed against a subject of England
of high degree, connected with the house of Northumberland, and other
northern families of high rank, who, as they possessed the means,
could not be supposed to lack inclination, to wreak upon the patrimony
of Saint Mary of Kennaquhair, 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 be ruled either by reason or by evidence, and he groaned in spirit
when, upon counting up the chances which arose in this ambiguous
dilemma, he found he had only a choice of difficulties. He was a monk,
but he felt also as a man, indignant at the supposed slaughter of
young Glendinning by one skilful in all the practice of arms, in which
the vassal of the Monastery was most likely to be deficient; and to
aid the resentment which he felt for the loss of a youth whom he had
known from infancy, came in full force the sense of dishonour arising
to his community from passing over so gross an insult unavenged. Then
the light in which it might be viewed by those who at present presided
in the stormy Court of Scotland, attached as they were to the
Reformation, and allied by common faith and common interest with Queen
Elizabeth, was a formidable subject of apprehension. The Sub-Prior
well knew how they lusted after the revenues of the Church, (to
express it in the ordinary phrase of the religious of the time,) and
how readily they would grasp at such a pretext for encroaching on
those of Saint Mary's, as would be afforded by the suffering to pass
unpunished the death of a native Scottishman by a Catholic Englishman,
a rebel to Queen Elizabeth.

On the other hand, to deliver up to England, or, which was nearly the
same thing, the Scottish administration, an English knight leagued
with the Piercie by kindred and political intrigue, a faithful
follower of the Catholic Church, who had fled to the Halidome for
protection, was, in the estimation of the Sub-Prior, an act most
unworthy in itself, and meriting the malediction of Heaven, besides
being, moreover, fraught with great temporal 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 which agitated that tumultuous country, she
might find herself at the head of her own affairs, and able to protect
those of her own faith. Then, if the Court of England and its Queen
were zealously Protestant, the northern counties, whose friendship or
enmity were of most consequence in the first instance to the community
of Saint Mary's, contained many Catholics, the heads of whom were
able, and must be supposed willing, to avenge any injury suffered by
Sir Piercie 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 stand by the helm like a
resolute pilot, watch every contingence, do his best to weather each
reef and shoal, and commit the rest to heaven and his patroness.

As he left the apartment, the knight called after him, beseeching he
would order his trunk-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.

[Footnote: Sir Piercie Shafton's extreme love of dress was an
attribute of the coxcombs of this period. The display made by their
forefathers was in the numbers of their retinue; but as the actual
influence of the nobility began to be restrained both in France and
England by the increasing power of the crown, the indulgence of vanity
in personal display became more inordinate. There are many allusions
to this change of custom in Shakspeare and other dramatic writers,
where the reader may find mention made of

  "Bonds enter'd into
  For gay apparel against the triumph day."

Jonson informs us, that for the first entrance of a gallant, "'twere
good you turned four or five hundred acres of your best land into two
or three trunks of apparel."--_Every Man out of his Humour._

In the Memorie of the Somerville family, a curious instance occurs of
this fashionable species of extravagance.  In the year 1537, when
James V. brought over his shortlived bride from France, the Lord
Somerville of the day was so profuse in the expense of his apparel,
that the money which he borrowed on the occasion was compensated by a
perpetual annuity of threescore pounds Scottish, payable out of the
barony of Carnwarth till doomsday, which was assigned by the creditor
to Saint Magdalen's Chapel. By this deep expense the Lord Somerville
had rendered himself so glorious in apparel, that the King, who saw so
brave a gallant enter the gate of Holyrood, followed, by only two
pages, called upon several of the courtiers to ascertain who it could
be who was so richly dressed and so slightly attended, and he was not
recognised until he entered the presence-chamber. "You are very brave,
my lord," said the King, as he received his homage; "but where are all
your men and attendants?" The Lord Somerville readily answered, "If it
please your Majesty, here they are," pointing to the lace that was on
his own and his pages' clothes: whereat the King laughed heartily, and
having surveyed the finery more nearly, bade him have away with it
all, and let him have his stout band of spears again.

There is a scene in Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," (Act IV.
Scene 6.) in which a Euphuist of the time gives an account of the
effects of a duel on the clothes of himself and his opponent, and
never departs a syllable from the catalogue of his wardrobe. We shall
insert it in evidence that the foppery of our ancestors was not
inferior to that of our own time.

"_Fastidius_. Good faith, Signior, now you speak of a quarrel,
I'll acquaint you with a difference that happened between a gallant
and myself, Sir Puntarvolo. You know him if I should name him--Signor
Luculento.

"_Punt_. Luculento! What inauspicious chance interposed itself to
your two lives?

"_Fast_. Faith, sir, the same that sundered Agamemnon, and great
Thetis' son; but let the cause escape, sir. He sent me a challenge,
mixt with some few braves, which I restored; and, in fine, we met. Now
indeed, sir, I must tell you, he did offer at first very desperately,
but without judgment; for look you, sir, I cast myself into this
figure; now he came violently on, and withal advancing his rapier to
strike, I thought to have took his arm, for he had left his body to my
election, and I was sure he could not recover his guard.  Sir, I mist
my purpose in his arm, rashed his doublet sleeves, ran him close by
the left cheek and through his hair. He, again, light me here--I had
on a gold cable hat-band, then new come up, about a murrey French 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 the force of the blow; nevertheless
it grazed on my shoulder, takes me away six purls of an Italian
cut-work band I wore, cost me three pounds in the Exchange but three
days before.

"_Punt_. This was a strange encounter.

"_Fast_. Nay, you shall hear, sir. With this, we both fell out
and breathed. Now, upon the second sign of his assault, I betook me to
my former manner of defence; he, on the other side, abandoned his body
to the same danger as before, and follows me still with blows; but I,
being loath to take the deadly advantage that lay before me of his
left side, made a kind of stramazoun, ran him up to the hilt through
the doublet, through the shirt, and yet missed the skin. He, making a
reverse blow, falls upon my embossed girdle,--I had thrown off the
hangers a little before,--strikes off a skirt of a thick-laced satin
doublet I had, lined with four taffetas, cuts off two panes
embroidered with pearl, rends through the drawings-out of tissue,
enters the linings, and spiks the flesh.

"_Car_. I wonder he speaks not of his wrought shirt.

"_Fast_. Here, in the opinion of mutual damage, we paused. But,
ere I proceed, I must tell you, signior, that in the last encounter,
not having leisure to put off my silver spurs, one of the rowels
catched hold of the ruffles of my boot, and, being Spanish leather and
subject to tear, overthrows me, rends me two pair of silk stockings
that I put on, being somewhat of a raw morning, a peach colour and
another, and strikes me some half-inch deep into the side of the calf:
He, seeing the blood come, presently takes horse and away; I having
bound up my wound with a piece of my wrought shirt--

"_Car_. O, comes it in there.

"_Fast_. Ride after him, and, lighting at the court gate both
together, embraced, and marched hand in hand up into the presence. Was
not this business well carried?

"_Maci_. Well! yes; and by this we can guess what apparel the
gentleman wore.

"_Punt_. 'Fore valour! it was a designment begun with much
resolution, maintained with as much prowess, and ended with more
humanity."]

"Ay, ay," said the monk, muttering as he went up the winding stair,
"carry him his trumpery with all despatch. Alas! that man, with so
many noble objects of pursuit, 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 well-nigh inconsolable, a mother
weeping for her first-born."

Advancing, after a gentle knock, into the apartment of the women, he
found that Mary Avenel had retired to bed, extremely indisposed, and
that Dame Glendinning and Tibb were indulging their sorrows 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 apron 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 faithful Tibb echoed her complaints, and, more violently
clamorous, made deep promises of revenge on Sir Piercie Shafton, "if
there were a man left in the south who could draw a whinger, or a
woman that could thraw a rape." The presence of the Sub-Prior imposed
silence on these clamours. He sate down by the unfortunate mother, and
essayed, by such topics as his religion and reason suggested, to
interrupt the current of Dame Glendinning's feelings; 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 had lost their eldest-born by means of a guest received at his
command, should experience particular protection at the hands of the
community; and that the fief which belonged to Simon Glendinning
should, with extended bounds and added privileges, be conferred on
Edward.

But it was only for a very brief space that the mother's sobs were
apparently softer, and her grief more mild. She soon blamed herself
for casting a moment's thought upon world's gear while poor Halbert
was lying stretched in his bloody shirt. The Sub-Prior was not more
fortunate, when he promised that Halbert's body "should be removed to
hallowed ground, and his soul secured 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.




Chapter the Twenty-Eighth.


  He is at liberty, I have ventured for him!
  -----------------------------if the law
  Find and condemn me for't, some living wenches,
  Some honest-hearted maids will sing my dirge,
  And tell to memory my death was noble,
  Dying almost a martyr.
                            THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

The Sub-Prior of Saint Mary's, in taking his departure from the spence
which Sir Piercie Shafton was confined, and in which some preparations
were made for his passing the night as the room which might be most
conveniently guarded, left 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
sleeping apartment, which upon ordinary occasions, was that of Mary
Avenel, and which, in the unusual number of guests who had come to the
tower on the former evening, had also accommodated Mysie Happer, the
Miller's daughter; for anciently, as well as in the present day, a
Scottish house was always rather too narrow and limited for the extent
of the owner's hospitality, and some shift and contrivance was
necessary, upon any unusual occasion, to ensure the accommodation of
all the guests.

The fatal news of Halbert Glendinning's death had thrown all former
arrangements 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 prisoner. Poor Mysie
had been altogether overlooked, and had naturally enough betaken
herself to the little apartment which she had hitherto occupied,
ignorant that the spence, through which lay the only access to it, was
to be the sleeping chamber of Sir Piercie Shafton. The measures taken
for securing him there had been so sudden, that she was not aware of
it, until she found that the other females had been removed from the
spence by the Sub-Prior's direction, and having once missed the
opportunity of retreating along with them, bashfulness, and the high
respect which she was taught to bear to the monks, prevented her
venturing forth alone, and intruding herself on the presence of Father
Eustace, while in secret conference with the Southron. There appeared
no remedy but to wait till their interview was over; and, as the door
was thin, and did not shut very closely, she could hear every word
that passed betwixt them.

It thus happened, that without any intended intrusion 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 Edward
arrived successively at the tower. These circumstances led her to
entertain most serious apprehension that the life of Sir Piercie
Shafton was in great and instant peril.

Woman is naturally compassionate, and not less willingly so when youth
and fair features are on the side of him who claims her sympathy. The
handsome presence, elaborate dress and address, of Sir Piercie
Shafton, which had failed to make any favorable impression on the
grave and lofty character of Mary Avenel, had completely dazzled and
bewildered the poor Maid of the Mill. The knight had perceived this
result, and, flattered by seeing that his merit was not universally
underrated, he had bestowed on Mysie a good deal more of his courtesy
than in his opinion her rank warranted. It was not cast away, but
received with a devout sense of his condescension, and with gratitude
for his personal notice, which, joined to her fears for his safety,
and the natural tenderness of her disposition, began to make wild work
in her heart.

"To be sure it was very wrong in him to slay Halbert Glendinning," (it
was thus she argued the case with herself,) "but then he was a
gentleman born, and a soldier, and so gentle and courteous withal,
that she was sure the quarrel had been all of young Glendinning's own
seeking; for it was well known that both these lads were so taken up
with that Mary Avenel, that they never looked at another lass in the
Halidome, more than if they were of a different degree. And then
Halbert's dress was as clownish as his manners were haughty; and this
poor young gentleman, (who was habited like any prince,) banished from
his own land, was first drawn into a quarrel by a rude brangler, and
then 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 skill, and spoke with so much grace, she began to
consider whether she could not render him some assistance in this
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 persecuted stranger. She was of a simple and
affectionate, 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
save him," she thought, "that is the first thing to be resolved--and
then I wonder what he will say to the poor Miller's maiden, that has
done for him what all the dainty dames in London or Holyrood would
have been afraid to venture upon."

Prudence began to pull her sleeve as she indulged 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 Prudence, thou mayest say with
our moral teacher,

  "I preach for ever, but I preach in vain."

The Miller's maiden, while you pour your warning into her unwilling
bosom, has glanced her eye on the small mirror by which she has placed
her little lamp, and it returns to her a countenance and eyes, pretty
and sparkling at all times, but ennobled at present with the energy of
expression proper to those who have dared to form, and stand prepared
to execute, deeds of generous audacity. "Will these features--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?"

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 fortune for the rest."

Banishing, therefore, from her mind every thing that was personal to
herself, the rash but generous girl turned her whole thoughts to the
means of executing this enterprise.

The difficulties which interposed were of no ordinary nature. The
vengeance of the men of that country, in cases of deadly feud, that
is, in cases of a quarrel 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 could be no doubt that he would be as signal in his revenge as
the customs of the country authorized.  There were to be passed the
inner door of the apartment, the two gates of the tower itself, and
the gate of the court-yard, ere the prisoner was at liberty; and then
a guide and means of flight were to be provided, otherwise ultimate
escape was impossible. But where the will of woman is strongly bent on
the accomplishment of such a purpose, her wit is seldom baffled by
difficulties, however embarrassing.

The Sub-Prior had not long left the apartment, ere Mysie had devised a
scheme for Sir Piercie Shafton's freedom, daring, indeed, but likely
to be successful, if dexterously conducted. It was necessary, however,
that she should remain where she was till so late an hour, that all in
the tower should have betaken themselves to repose, excepting those
whose duty made them watchers. The interval she employed in observing
the movements of the person in whose service 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, agreeable 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 examining and arranging. Then she could
hear him resume his walk through the room, and, 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
temporary couch which had been allotted to him, after muttering his
prayers hastily, and in a short time she concluded he must be fast
asleep.

She employed the moment which intervened in considering her enterprise
under every different aspect; and dangerous as it was, the steady
review which she took of the various perils accompanying 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 united, and championed her to the last
extremity of hazard.

It was an hour past midnight. All in the tower slept sound but those
who had undertaken 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 griefs to
attend to external sounds.  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 purpose, when she found herself in the same room with the
sleeping 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 while 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
surprise.

Mysie's bashfulness was conquered by her fear. She placed her fingers
on her lips, in token that he must observe the most strict silence,
and then pointed to the door to intimate that it was watched.

Sir Piercie Shafton 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. The
romantic imagination of the gallant would soon have coined some
compliment proper for the occasion, but Mysie left him not time.

"I come," she said, "to save your life, which is else in great
peril--if you answer me, speak as low as you can, for they have
sentinelled your door with armed men."

"Comeliest of miller's daughters," answered Sir Piercie, who by this
time was sitting upright on 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) of their most uncivil relation,
so I am under no apprehension whatever for the issue of this
restraint, seeing that it cannot but be harmless to me. Natheless, to
thee, O most Molendinar beauty, I return the thanks which thy courtesy
may justly claim."

"Nay, but, Sir Knight," answered the maiden, in a whisper as low as it
was tremulous, "I deserve no thanks unless you will act by my counsel.
Edward Glendinning hath sent for Dan of the Howlet-hirst, and young
Adie 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 vassals are so wilful now, that the Abbot himself dare not
control them, for fear they turn heretics, and refuse to pay their
feu-duties."

"In faith," said Sir Piercie Shafton, "it may be a shrewd temptation,
and perchance the monks may rid themselves of trouble and cumber, by
handing me over the march to Sir John Foster or Lord Hundson, the
English wardens, and so make peace with their vassals and with England
at once.  Fairest Molinara, I will for once walk by thy rede, and if
thou dost contrive to extricate me 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 gipsey in comparison of my Molinara."

"I pray you, then, be silent," said the Miller's daughter; "for if your
speech betrays that you are awake, my scheme fails utterly, and it is
Heaven's mercy and Our Lady's that we are not already overheard and
discovered."

"I am silent," replied the Southron, "even as the starless night--but
yet--if this contrivance of thine should endanger thy safety, fair and
no less kind than fair damsel, it were utterly unworthy 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 you out of this dangerous
dwelling--if you would provide yourself with any part of your apparel
or goods, 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 wardrobe, 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 Mysie
left him to make his selections at 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 found him still indecisive, she insisted in plain terms, that he
should either make up his baggage for the enterprise, 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 the door of the apartment, having first carefully
extinguished her lamp, and motioning to the knight to stand close
behind her, tapped once or twice at the door. She was at length
answered by Edward Glendinning, who demanded to know who knocked
within, and what was desired.

"Speak low," said Mysie Happer, "or you will awaken the English
knight. It is I, Mysie 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 surprise.

"Yes," answered the Miller's daughter, "you have locked me up into this
room--I was in Mary Avenel's sleeping apartment."

"And can you not remain there till morning," replied Edward, "since it
has so chanced?"

"What!" said the Miller's daughter, in a tone of offended delicacy, "I
remain here a moment longer than I can get out without discovery!--I
would not, for all the Halidome of St. Mary's, remain a minute longer
in the neighbourhood of a man's apartment than I can help it--For
whom, or for what do you hold me? I promise you my father's daughter
has been better brought up than to put in peril her good name."

"Come forth then, and get to thy chamber in silence," said Edward.  So
saying, he undid the bolt. The staircase without was in utter
darkness, as Mysie had before ascertained. So soon as she stept out,
she took hold of Edward as if to support herself, thus interposing her
person betwixt him and Sir Piercie Shaffcon, by whom she was closely
followed. Thus screened from observation, the Englishman slipped past
on tiptoe, unshod and in silence, while the damsel complained to
Edward that she wanted a light.

"I cannot get you a light," said he, "for I cannot leave this post; but
there is a fire below."

"I will sit below till morning," said the Maid of the Mill; and,
tripping down stairs, heard Edward bolt and bar the door of the now
tenantless apartment with vain caution.

At the foot of the stair 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 instructed 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 unemployed, in case
any one came into the apartment.

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
adventurous project. At length she saw, to her great joy, the first
peep of the morning brighten upon the gray 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 her prayer, she started at feeling a man's arm across her
shoulder, while a rough voice spoke in her ear--"What! menseful Mysie
of the Mill so soon at her prayers?--now, benison on the bonny eyes
that open so early!--I'll have a kiss for good morrow's sake."

Dan of the Howlet-hirst, 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 rustic gallantry, was rewarded with a cuff,
which Dan received as a fine gentleman receives a tap 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 from your
guard over the English knight, to plague quiet folks with your
horse-tricks!"

"Truly you are mistaken, pretty Mysie," said the clown, "for I have
not yet relieved Edward 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 you these two hours."

"Oh, you have hours and hours enough to see any one," said Mysie; "but
you must think of the distress of the household even now, and get Edward
to sleep for a while, for he has kept watch this whole night."

"I will have another kiss first," answered Dan of the Howlet-hirst.

But 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 up stairs to relieve the guard of his comrade. Stealing to the
door, she heard the new sentinel hold a brief conversation with
Edward, after which the latter withdrew, and the former entered upon
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
courtyard gate."

"And for what purpose?" 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 byre a' morning, and
the family in such distress, that there is na ane fit to do a turn but
the byre-woman and myself?"

"And where is the byre-woman?" said Dan.

"Sitting with me in the kitchen, in case these distressed folks want any
thing."

"There are the keys, then, Mysie Dorts," said the sentinel.

"Many thanks, Dan Ne'er-do-weel," answered the Maid of the Mill, and
escaped down stairs 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 undid the gates of the tower, and
made towards the byre, or cow-house, which stood in one corner of the
courtyard.  Sir Piercie Shafton remonstrated against the delay which
this would occasion.

"Fair and generous Molinara," he said, "had we not better undo the
outward 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?"

"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 beasts'
own; and I have no mind any one shall leave the tower in a hurry to
follow us.  Besides, you must have your horse, for you will need a
fleet one ere all be done."

So saying, she locked and double-locked both the inward and outward
door of the tower, proceeded to the cow-house, turned out the cattle,
and, giving the knight his own horse to lead, drove them before her
out at the court-yard gate, intending to return for her own palfrey.
But the noise attending the first operation caught the wakeful
attention of Edward, who, starting to the bartizan, called to know
what the matter was.

Mysie answered with great readiness, that "she was driving out the cows,
for that they would be spoiled for want of looking to."

"I thank thee, kind maiden," said Edward--"and yet," he added, after
a moment's pause, "what damsel is that thou hast with thee?"

Mysie was about to answer, when Sir Piercie Shafton, who apparently
did not desire that the great work of his liberation should be
executed without the interposition of his own ingenuity, exclaimed
from beneath, "I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge
are placed the milky mothers of the herd."

"Hell and darkness!" exclaimed Edward, in a transport of fury and
astonishment, "it is Piercie Shafton--What! treason!
treason!--ho!--Dan--Jasper--Martin--the villain escapes!"

"To horse! to horse!" cried Mysie, and in an instant mounted behind
the knight, who was already in the saddle.

Edward caught up a cross-bow, and let fly a bolt, which whistled so
near 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 dashed past the cows, and down the
knoll on which the tower was situated. Then taking the road 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 flying in different
directions at the same time, each accused of being the other's murderer.




Chapter the Twenty-Ninth.


  -------------Sure he cannot
  Be so unmanly as to leave me here;
  If he do, maids will not so easily
  Trust men again.
                  THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

The knight continued 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
in crystal beauty, displaying on its opposite bank the huge gray
Monastery of St.  Mary's, whose towers and pinnacles were scarce yet
touched by the newly-risen sun, so deeply the edifice lies shrouded
under the mountains which rise to the southward.

Turning to the left, the knight continued his road down to the northern
bank of the river, until they arrived nearly opposite to the weir, or
dam-dike, where Father Philip concluded his extraordinary aquatic
excursion.

Sir Piercie Shafton, whose brain seldom admitted more than one idea at
a time, had hitherto pushed forward without very distinctly
considering where he was going. But the sight of the Monastery so near
to him, reminded, him that he was still on dangerous ground, and that
he must necessarily provide for his safety by choosing some settled
plan of escape. The situation of his guide and deliverer also occurred
to him, for he was far from being either selfish or ungrateful. He
listened, and discovered that the Miller's daughter was sobbing and
weeping bitterly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"What ails thee," he said, "my generous Molinara?--is there aught that
Piercie Shafton can do which may show his gratitude to his deliverer?"
Mysie pointed with her finger across the river, but ventured not to
turn her eyes in that direction. "Nay, but speak plain, most generous
damsel," said the knight, who, for once, was puzzled as much as his
own elegance of speech 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, imagining he had found out the source of
her grief.  "Wo worth the hour that Piercie Shafton, in attention to
his own safety, neglected the accommodation of any female, far less of
his most beneficent liberatrice! Dismount, then, O lovely Molinara,
unless thou wouldst rather that I should transport thee on horseback
to the house of thy molendinary 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 devoted 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
bitterly, and, when placed on the ground, seemed scarce able to
support herself, or at least still clung, though, as it appeared,
unconsciously, to the support he had afforded. He carried her to a
weeping birch tree, which grew on the green-sward 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 struggled
with, and half overcame, his acquired affectation, while he said,
"Credit me, most generous damsel, the service you have done to Piercie
Shafton he would have deemed too dearly bought, had he foreseen it was
to cost you these tears and singults. Show me the cause of your grief,
and if I can do aught to remove it, believe that the rights you have
acquired over me 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 champion. What are your orders?"

"Only that you will fly and save yourself," said Mysie, mustering up her
utmost efforts to utter these few words.

"Yet," said the knight, "let me not leave you without some token of
remembrance." Mysie would have said there needed none, and most truly
would she have spoken, could she have spoken for weeping. "Piercie
Shafton is poor," he continued, "but let this chain testify he is not
ungrateful to his deliverer."

He took from his neck the rich chain and medallion we have formerly
mentioned, and put it into the powerless hand of the poor maiden, who
neither received nor rejected it, but, occupied with more intense
feelings, seemed scarce aware of what he was doing.

"We shall meet again," said Sir Piercie Shafton, "at least I 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 Mysie's ear.
She dried her tears; and when the knight, in all kind and chivalrous
courtesy, stooped to embrace her at their parting, she rose humbly up
to receive the proffered honour in a posture of more deference, and
meekly and gratefully accepted the offered salute. Sir Piercie Shafton
mounted his horse, and began to ride off, but curiosity, or perhaps a
stronger feeling, soon induced him to look back, when he beheld the
Miller's daughter standing still motionless on the spot where they had
parted, her eyes turned after him, and the unheeded chain hanging from
her hand.

It was at this moment that a glimpse of the real state of Mysie's
affections, and of the motive from which she had acted in the whole
matter, glanced on Sir Piercie Shafton'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 are 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. It 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, where, as on the present 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 Happer, than a first-rate beauty in the boxes
dreams of the fatal wound which her charms may inflict on some
attorney's romantic apprentice in the pit. I suppose, in any ordinary
case, the pride of rank and distinction would have pronounced on the
humble admirer the doom which Beau Fielding denounced against the
whole female world, "Let them look and die;" but the obligations 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 embarrassed, yet a little flattered at the
same time, he rode back to try what could be done for the damsel's
relief.

The innate modesty of poor Mysie could not prevent her showing too
obvious signs of joy at Sir Piercie Shafton's return. She was betrayed
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 on their foreheads, and even amid their vanities preserved
still the decaying spirit of chivalry, which inspired of yore the very
gentle Knight of Chaucer,

     Who in his port was modest as a maid.

Mysie blushed deeply, with her eyes fixed on the ground, and Sir Piercie
proceeded in the same tone of embarrassed kindness. "Are you afraid to
return home alone, my kind Molinara?--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!" said Shafton; "says my generous Molinara she hath no
home, when yonder stands the house of her father, and but a crystal
stream between?"


"Alas!" answered the Miller's maiden, "I have no longer either home
or father. He is a devoted servant to the Abbey--I have offended 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 the forces of my cousin of
Northumberland shall lay the Monastery so flat, that a horse shall not
stumble as he rides over it, if they should dare to injure a hair of
your head! Therefore be hopeful and content, kind Mysinda, and know
you have obliged one who can and will avenge the slightest wrong
offered to you."

He sprung from his horse as he spoke, and, in the animation of his
argument, grasped the willing hand of Mysie, (or Mysinda 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 showed within a
line of teeth as white as pearl. All this was dangerous to look upon,
and Sir. Piercie Shafton, after repeating with 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 with him--"At
least," he added, "until 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 the Southron
Knight, by knitting her bundle closer, and preparing to resume her
seat _en croupe_. "And what is your pleasure that I should do
with this?" she said, holding up the chain as if she had been for the
first time aware that it was in her hand.

"Keep it, fairest Mysinda, for my sake," said the Knight.

"Not 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 any thing bearing the appearance of reward,
would be to place the service she had rendered him on a mercenary
footing. In short, she would only agree to conceal the chain, lest it
might prove the means of detecting the owner, until Sir Piercie should
be placed in perfect safety.

They mounted and resumed their journey, of which Mysie, as bold and
sharp-witted in some points as she was simple and susceptible in
others, now took in some degree the direction, having only inquired
its general destination, and learned that Sir Piercie Shafton desired
to go to Edinburgh, where he hoped to find friends and protection.
Possessed of this 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 reformed doctrines, and upon whose limits, at least, she
thought their pursuers would not attempt to hazard any violence.  She
was not indeed very apprehensive of a pursuit, reckoning with some
confidence that the inhabitants of the Tower of Glendearg would find
it a matter of difficulty to surmount the obstacles arising from their
own bolts and bars, with which she had carefully secured them before
setting forth on the retreat.

They journeyed on, therefore, in tolerable security, and Sir Piercie
Shafton found leisure to amuse the time in high-flown speeches and
long anecdotes of the court of Feliciana, to which Mysie bent an ear
not a whit less attentive, that she did not understand 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. Thus passed the
morning, and noon brought them within sight of a winding stream, on
the side of which arose an ancient baronial castle, surrounded by some
large trees. At a small distance from the gate of the mansion,
extended, as in those days was usual, a straggling hamlet, having a
church in the centre.