Henry Warden was led in, his hands still bound, but his feet at liberty.

"Clear the apartment," said the Sub-Prior, "of all but the necessary
guard on the prisoner."

All retired except Christie of the Clinthill, who, having dismissed
the inferior troopers whom he commanded, unsheathed his sword, and
placed himself beside the door, as if taking upon him the character of
sentinel.

The judge and the accused met face to face, and in that of both was
enthroned the noble confidence of rectitude. The monk was about, at
the utmost risk to himself and his community, to exercise what in his
ignorance he conceived to be his duty. The preacher, actuated by a
better-informed, yet not a more ardent zeal, was prompt to submit to
execution for God's sake, and to seal, were it necessary, his mission
with his blood. Placed at such a distance of time as better enables us
to appreciate the tendency of the principles on which they severally
acted, we cannot doubt to which the palm ought to be awarded. But the
zeal of Father Eustace was as free from passion and personal views as
if it had been exerted in a better cause.

They approached each other, armed each and prepared for intellectual
conflict, and each intently regarding his opponent, as if either hoped
to spy out some defect, some chasm in the armour of his antagonist.--
As they gazed on each other, old recollections began to awake in
either bosom, at the sight of features long unseen and much altered,
but not forgotten.  The brow of the Sub-Prior dismissed by degrees its
frown of command, the look of calm yet stern defiance gradually
vanished from that of Warden, and both lost for an instant that of
gloomy solemnity. They had been ancient and intimate friends in youth
at a foreign university, but had been long separated from each other;
and the change of name, which the preacher had adopted from motives of
safety, and the monk from the common custom of the convent, had
prevented the possibility of their hitherto recognizing each other in
the opposite parts which they had been playing in the great polemical
and political drama. But now the Sub-Prior exclaimed, "Henry
Wellwood!" and the preacher replied, "William Allan!"--and, stirred by
the old familiar names, and never-to-be-forgotten recollections of
college studies and college intimacy, their hands were for a moment
locked in each other.

"Remove his bonds," said the Sub-Prior, and assisted Christie in
performing that office with his own hands, although the prisoner
scarcely would consent to be unbound, repeating with emphasis, that he
rejoiced in the cause for which he suffered shame. When his hands were
at liberty, however, he showed his sense of the kindness by again
exchanging a grasp and a look of affection with the Sub-Prior.

The salute was frank and generous on either side, yet it was but the
friendly recognition and greeting which are wont to take place betwixt
adverse champions, who do nothing in hate but all in honour. As each
felt the pressure of the situation in which they stood, he quitted the
grasp of the other's hand, and fell back, confronting each other with
looks more calm and sorrowful than expressive of any other passion.
The Sub-Prior was the first to speak.

"And is this, then, the end of that restless activity of mind, that
bold and indefatigable love of truth that urged investigation to its
utmost limits, and seemed to take heaven itself by storm--is this the
termination of Wellwood's career?--And having known and loved him
during the best years of our youth, do we meet in our old age as judge
and criminal?"

"Not as judge and criminal," said Henry Warden,--for to avoid
confusion we describe him by his later and best known name--"Not as
judge and criminal do we meet, but as a misguided oppressor and his
ready and devoted victim. I, too, may ask, are these the harvest of
the rich hopes excited by the classical learning, acute logical
powers, and varied knowledge of William Allan, that he should sink to
be the solitary drone of a cell, graced only above the swarm with the
high commission of executing Roman malice on all who oppose Roman
imposture?"

"Not to thee," answered the Sub-Prior, "be assured--not unto thee, nor
unto mortal man, will I render an account of the power with which the
church may have invested me. It was granted but as a deposit for her
welfare--for her welfare it shall at every risk be exercised, without
fear and without favour."

"I expected no less from your misguided zeal," answered the preacher;
"and in me have you met one on whom you may fearlessly exercise your
authority, secure that his mind at least will defy your influence, as
the snows of that Mont Blanc which we saw together, shrink not under
the heat of the hottest summer sun."

"I do believe thee," said the Sub-Prior, "I do believe that thine is
indeed metal unmalleable by force. Let it yield then to persuasion.
Let us debate these matters of faith, as we once were wont to conduct
our scholastic disputes, when hours, nay, days, glided past in the
mutual exercise of our intellectual powers. It may be thou mayest yet
hear the voice of the shepherd, and return to the universal fold."

"No, Allan," replied the prisoner, "this is no vain question, devised
by dreaming scholiasts, on which they may whet their intellectual
faculties until the very metal be wasted away. The errors which I
combat are like those fiends which are only cast out by fasting and
prayer. Alas! not many wise, not many learned are chosen; the cottage
and the hamlet shall in our days bear witness against the schools and
their disciples. Thy very wisdom, which is foolishness, hath made
thee, as the Greeks of old, hold as foolishness that which is the only
true wisdom."

"This," said the Sub-Prior, sternly, "is the mere cant of ignorant
enthusiasm, which appealeth from learning and from authority, from the
sure guidance of that lamp which God hath afforded us in the Councils
and in the Fathers of the Church, to a rash, self-willed, and
arbitrary interpretation of the Scriptures, wrested according to the
private opinion of each speculating heretic."

"I disdain to reply to the charge," replied Warden. "The question at
issue between your Church and mine, is, whether we will be judged by
the Holy Scriptures, or by the devices and decisions of men not less
subject to error than ourselves, and who have defaced our holy
religion with vain devices, reared up idols of stone and wood, in form
of those, who, when they lived, were but sinful creatures, to share
the worship due only to the Creator--established a toll-house betwixt
heaven and hell, that profitable purgatory of which the Pope keeps the
keys, like an iniquitous judge commutes punishment for bribes,
and----"

"Silence, blasphemer," said the Sub-Prior, sternly, "or I will have thy
blatant obloquy stopped with a gag!"

"Ay," replied Warden, "such is the freedom of the Christian conference
to which Rome's priests so kindly invite us!--the gag--the rack--the
axe--is the _ratio ultima Romae_. But know thou, mine ancient
friend, that the character of thy former companion is not so changed
by age, but that he still dares to endure for the cause of truth all
that thy proud hierarchy shall dare to inflict."

"Of that," said the monk, "I nothing doubt--Thou wert ever a lion to
turn against the spear of the hunter, not a stag to be dismayed at the
sound of his bugle."--He walked through the room in silence.
"Wellwood," he said at length, "we can no longer be friends. Our
faith, our hope, our anchor on futurity, is no longer the same."

"Deep is my sorrow that thou speakest truth. May God so judge me,"
said the Reformer, "as I would buy the conversion of a soul like thine
with my dearest heart's blood."

"To thee, and with better reason, do I return the wish," replied the
Sub-Prior; "it is such an arm as thine that should defend the bulwarks
of the Church, and it is now directing the battering-ram against them,
and rendering practicable the breach through which all that is greedy,
and all that is base, and all that is mutable and hot-headed in this
innovating age, already hope to advance to destruction and to spoil.
But since such is our fate, that we can no longer fight side by side
as friends, let us at least act as generous enemies. You cannot have
forgotten,

  'O gran bonta dei caralieri antiqui!
  Erano nemici, eran' de fede diversa'--

Although, perhaps," he added, stopping short in his quotation, "your new
faith forbids you to reserve a place in your memory, even for what high
poets have recorded of loyal faith and generous sentiment."

"The faith of Buchanan," replied the preacher, "the faith of Buchanan
and of Beza, cannot be unfriendly to literature. But the poet you have
quoted affords strains fitter for a dissolute court than for a convent."

"I might retort on your Theodore Beza," said the Sub-Prior, smiling;
"but I hate the judgment that, like the flesh-fly, skims over whatever
is sound, to detect and settle upon some spot which is tainted. But to
the purpose. If I conduct thee or send thee a prisoner to St. Mary's,
thou art to-night a tenant of the dungeon, to-morrow a burden to the
gibbet-tree. If I were to let thee go hence at large, I were thereby
wronging the Holy Church, and breaking mine own solemn vow. Other
resolutions may be adopted in the capital, or better times may
speedily ensue. Wilt thou remain a true prisoner upon thy parole,
rescue or no rescue, as is the phrase amongst the warriors of this
country? Wilt thou solemnly promise that thou wilt do so, and at my
summons thou wilt present thyself before the Abbot and Chapter at
Saint Mary's, and that thou wilt not stir from this house above a
quarter of a mile in any direction? Wilt thou, I say, engage me thy
word for this? and such is the sure trust which I repose in thy good
faith, that thou shalt remain here unharmed and unsecured, a prisoner
at large, subject only to appear before our court when called upon."

The preacher paused--"I am unwilling," he said, "to fetter my native
liberty by any self-adopted engagement. But I am already in your
power, and you may bind me to my answer. By such promise, to abide
within a certain limit, and to appear when called upon, I renounce not
any liberty which I at present possess, and am free to exercise; but,
on the contrary, being in bonds, and at your mercy, I acquire thereby
a liberty which I at present possess not. I will therefore accept of
thy proffer, as what is courteously offered on thy part, and may be
honourably accepted on mine."

"Stay yet," said the Sub-Prior; "one important part of thy engagement
is forgotten--thou art farther to promise, that while thus left at
liberty, thou wilt not preach or teach, directly or indirectly, any of
those pestilent heresies by which so many souls have been in this our
day won over from the kingdom of light to the kingdom of darkness."

"There we break off our treaty," said Warden, firmly--"Wo unto me if
I preach not the Gospel!"

The Sub-Prior's countenance became clouded, and he again paced the
apartment, and muttered, "A plague upon the self-willed fool!" then
stopped short in his walk, and proceeded in his argument.--"Why, by
thine own reasoning, Henry, thy refusal here is but peevish obstinacy.
It is in my power to place you where your preaching can reach no human
ear; in promising therefore to abstain from it, you grant nothing
which you have it in your power to refuse."

"I know not that," replied Henry Warden; "thou mayest indeed cast me
into a dungeon, but can I foretell that my Master hath not task-work
for me to perform even in that dreary mansion? The chains of saints
have, ere now, been the means of breaking the bonds of Satan. In a
prison, holy Paul found the jailor whom he brought to believe the word
of salvation, he and all his house."

"Nay," said the Sub-Prior, in a tone betwixt anger and scorn, "if you
match yourself with the blessed Apostle, it were time we had done--
prepare to endure what thy folly, as well as thy heresy,
deserves.--Bind him, soldier."

With proud submission to his fate, and regarding the Sub-Prior with
something which almost amounted to a smile of superiority, the preacher
placed his arms so that the bonds could be again fastened round him.

"Spare me not," he said to Christie; for even that ruffian hesitated
to draw the cord straitly.

The Sub-Prior, meanwhile, looked at him from under his cowl, which he
had drawn over his head, and partly over his face, as if he wished to
shade his own emotions. They were those of a huntsman within
point-blank shot of a noble stag, who is yet too much struck with his
majesty of front and of antler to take aim at him. They were those of
a fowler, who, levelling his gun at a magnificent eagle, is yet
reluctant to use his advantage when he sees the noble sovereign of the
birds pruning himself in proud defiance of whatever may be attempted
against him. The heart of the Sub-Prior (bigoted as he was) relented,
and he doubted if he ought to purchase, by a rigorous discharge of
what he deemed his duty, the remorse he might afterwards feel for the
death of one so nobly independent in thought and character, the
friend, besides, of his own happiest years, during which they had,
side by side, striven in the noble race of knowledge, and indulged
their intervals of repose in the lighter studies of classical and
general letters.

The Sub-Prior's hand pressed his half-o'ershadowed cheek, and his eye,
more completely obscured, was bent on the ground, as if to hide the
workings of his relenting nature.

"Were but Edward safe from the infection," he thought to
himself--"Edward, whose eager and enthusiastic mind presses forward in
the chase of all that hath even the shadow of knowledge, I might trust
this enthusiast with the women, after due caution to them that they
cannot, without guilt, attend to his reveries."

As the Sub-Prior revolved these thoughts, and delayed the definitive
order which was to determine the fate of the prisoner, a sudden noise
at the entrance of the tower diverted his attention for an instant,
and, his cheek and brow inflamed with all the glow of heat and
determination, Edward Glendinning rushed into the room.

       *       *       *       *       *



Chapter the Thirty-Second.


  Then in my gown of sober gray
    Along the mountain path I'll wander,
  And wind my solitary way
    To the sad shrine that courts me yonder.

  There, in the calm monastic shade,
    All injuries may be forgiven;
  And there for thee, obdurate maid,
    My orisons shall rise to heaven.
          THE CRUEL LADY OF THE MOUNTAINS.

The first words which Edward uttered were,--"My brother is safe,
reverend father--he is safe, thank God, and lives!--There is not in
Corri-nan-shian a grave, nor a vestige of a grave. The turf around
the fountain has neither been disturbed by pick-axe, spade, nor
mattock, since the deer's-hair first sprang there. He lives as surely
as I live!"

The earnestness of the youth--the vivacity with which he looked and
moved--the springy step, outstretched hand, and ardent eye, reminded
Henry Warden of Halbert, so lately his guide. The brothers had indeed
a strong family resemblance, though Halbert was far more athletic and
active in his person, taller and better knit in the limbs, and though
Edward had, on ordinary occasions, a look of more habitual acuteness
and more profound reflection. The preacher was interested as well as
the Sub-Prior.

"Of whom do you speak, my son?" he said, in a tone as unconcerned as
if his own fate had not been at the same instant trembling in the
balance, and as if a dungeon and death did not appear to be his
instant doom--"Of whom, I say, speak you? If of a youth somewhat older
than you seem to be--brown-haired, open-featured, taller and stronger
than you appear, yet having much of the same air and of the same tone
of voice--if such a one is the brother whom you seek, it may be I can
tell you news of him."

"Speak, then, for Heaven's sake," said Edward--"life or death lies on
thy tongue!"

The Sub-Prior joined eagerly in the same request, and, without waiting
to be urged, the preacher gave so minute an account of the
circumstances under which he met the elder Glendinning, with so exact
a description of his person, that there remained no doubt as to his
identity. When he mentioned that Halbert Glendinning had conducted him
to a dell in which they found the grass bloody, and a grave newly
closed, and told how the youth accused himself of the slaughter of Sir
Piercie Shafton, the Sub-Prior looked on Edward with astonishment.

"Didst thou not say, even now," he said, "that there was no vestige of a
grave in that spot?"

"No more vestige of the earth having been removed than if the turf had
grown there since the days of Adam," replied Edward Glendinning. "It is
true," he added, "that the adjacent grass was trampled and bloody."

"These are delusions of the Enemy," said the Sub-Prior, crossing
himself.--"Christian men may no longer doubt of it."

"But an it be so," said Warden, "Christian men might better guard
themselves by the sword of prayer than by the idle form of a
cabalistical spell."

"The badge of our salvation," said the Sub-Prior, "cannot be so
termed--the sign of the cross disarmeth all evil spirits."

"Ay," answered Henry Warden, apt and armed for controversy, "but it
should be borne in the heart, not scored with the fingers in the air.
That very impassive air, through which your hand passes, shall as soon
bear the imprint of your action, as the external action shall avail
the fond bigot who substitutes vain motions of the body, idle
genuflections, and signs of the cross, for the living and heart-born
duties of faith and good works."

"I pity thee," said the Sub-Prior, as actively ready for polemics as
himself,--"I pity thee, Henry, and reply not to thee. Thou mayest as
well winnow forth and measure the ocean with a sieve, as mete out the
power of holy words, deeds, and signs, by the erring gauge of thine
own reason."

"Not by mine own reason would I mete them," said Warden; "but by
His holy Word, that unfading and unerring lamp of our paths, compared to
which human reason is but as a glimmering and fading taper, and your
boasted tradition only a misleading wildfire. Show me your Scripture
warrant for ascribing virtue to such vain signs and motions!"

"I offered thee a fair field of debate," said the Sub-Prior, "which
thou didst refuse. I will not at present resume the controversy."

"Were these my last accents," said the reformer, "and were they
uttered at the stake, half-choked with smoke, and as the fagots
kindled into a blaze around me, with that last utterance I would
testify against the superstitious devices of Rome."

The Sub-Prior suppressed with pain the controversial answer which
arose to his lips, and, turning to Edward Glendinning, he said, "there
could be now no doubt that his mother ought presently to be informed
that her son lived."

"I told you that two hours since," said Christie of the Clinthill, "an
you would have believed me. But it seems you are more willing to take
the word of an old gray sorner, whose life has been spent in pattering
heresy, than mine, though I never rode a foray in my life without duly
saying my paternoster."

"Go then," said Father Eustace to Edward; "let thy sorrowing mother
know that her son is restored to her from the grave, like the child of
the widow of Zarephath; at the intercession," he added, looking at
Henry Warden, "of the blessed Saint whom I invoked in his behalf."

"Deceived thyself," said Warden, instantly, "thou art a deceiver of
others. It was no dead man, no creature of clay, whom the blessed
Tishbite invoked, when, stung by the reproach of the Shunamite woman,
he prayed that her son's soul might come into him again."

"It was by his intercession, however," repeated the Sub-Prior; "for
what says the Vulgate? Thus it is written: '_Et exaudivit Dominus
vocem Helie; et reversa est anima pueri intra cum, et
revixit_;'--and thinkest thou the intercession of a glorified saint
is more feeble than when he walks on earth, shrouded in a tabernacle
of clay, and seeing but with the eye of flesh?"

During this controversy Edward Glendinning appeared restless and
impatient, agitated by some internal feeling, but whether of joy,
grief, or expectation, his countenance did not expressly declare. He
took now the unusual freedom to break in upon the discourse of the
Sub-Prior, who, notwithstanding his resolution to the contrary, was
obviously kindling in the spirit of controversy, which Edward diverted
by conjuring his reverence to allow him to speak a few words with him
in private.

"Remove the prisoner," said the Sub-Prior to Christie; "look to him
carefully that he escape not; but for thy life do him no injury."

His commands being obeyed, Edward and the monk were left alone, when
the Sub-Prior thus addressed him:

"What hath come over thee, Edward, that thy eye kindles so wildly, and
thy cheek is thus changing from scarlet to pale? Why didst thou break
in so hastily and unadvisedly upon the argument with which I was
prostrating yonder heretic? And wherefore dost thou not tell thy
mother that her son is restored to her by the intercession, as Holy
Church well warrants us to believe, of Blessed Saint Benedict, the
patron of our Order? For if ever my prayers were put forth to him with
zeal, it hath been in behalf of this house, and thine eyes have seen
the result--go tell it to thy mother."

"I must tell her then," said Edward, "that if she has regained one son,
another is lost to her."

"What meanest thou, Edward? what language is this?" said the Sub-Prior.

"Father," said the youth, kneeling down to him, "my sin and my shame
shall be told thee, and thou shalt witness my penance with thine own
eyes."

"I comprehend thee not," said the Sub-Prior. "What canst thou have
done to deserve such self-accusation?--Hast thou too listened," he
added, knitting his brows, "to the demon of heresy, ever most
effectual tempter of those, who, like yonder unhappy man, are
distinguished by their love of knowledge?"

"I am guiltless in that matter," answered Glendinning, "nor have
presumed to think otherwise than thou, my kind father, hast taught me,
and than the Church allows."

"And what is it then, my son," said the Sub-Prior, kindly, "which thus
afflicts thy conscience? speak it to me, that I may answer thee in the
words of comfort; for the Church's mercy is great to those obedient
children who doubt not her power."

"My confession will require her mercy," replied Edward. "My brother
Halbert--so kind, so brave, so gentle, who spoke not, thought not,
acted not, but in love to me, whose hand had aided me in every
difficulty, whose eye watched over me like the eagle's over her
nestlings, when they prove their first flight from the eyry--this
brother, so kind, so gently affectionate--I heard of his sudden, his
bloody, his violent death, and I rejoiced--I heard of his unexpected
restoration, and I sorrowed!"

"Edward," said the father, "thou art beside thyself--what could urge
thee to such odious ingratitude?--In your hurry of spirits you have
mistaken the confused tenor of your feelings--Go, my son, pray and
compose thy mind--we will speak of this another time."

"No, father, no," said Edward, vehemently, "now or never!--I will find
the means to tame this rebellious heart of mine, or I will tear it out
of my bosom--Mistake its passions?--No, father, grief can ill be
mistaken for joy--All wept, all shrieked around me--my mother--the
menials--she too, the cause of my crime--all wept--and I--I could
hardly disguise my brutal and insane joy under the appearance of
revenge--Brother, I said, I cannot give thee tears, but I will give
thee blood--Yes, father, as I counted hour after hour, while I kept
watch upon the English prisoner, and said, I am an hour nearer to hope
and to happiness----"

"I understand thee not, Edward," said the monk, "nor can I conceive in
what way thy brother's supposed murder should have affected thee with
such unnatural joy--Surely the sordid desire to succeed him in his
small possessions----"

"Perish the paltry trash!" said Edward, with the same emotion. "No,
father, it was rivalry--it was jealous rage--it was the love of Mary
Avenel, that rendered me the unnatural wretch I confess myself!"

"Of Mary Avenel!" said the Priest--"of a lady so high above either of
you in name and in rank? How dared Halbert--how dared you, to presume
to lift your eye to her but in honour and respect, as a superior of
another degree from yours?"

"When did love wait for the sanction of heraldry?" replied Edward;
"and in what but a line of dead ancestors was Mary, our mother's guest
and foster-child, different from us, with whom she was brought up?--
Enough, we loved--we both loved her! But the passion of Halbert was
requited. He knew it not, he saw it not--but I was sharper-eyed. I saw
that even when I was more approved, Halbert was more beloved. With me
she would sit for hours at our common task with the cold simplicity
and indifference of a sister, but with Halbert she trusted not
herself. She changed colour, she was fluttered when he approached her;
and when he left her, she was sad, pensive, and solitary. I bore all
this--I saw my rival's advancing progress in her affections--I bore
it, father, and yet I hated him not--I could not hate him!"

"And well for thee that thou didst not," said the father; "wild and
headstrong as thou art, wouldst thou hate thy brother for partaking in
thine own folly?"

"Father," replied Edward, "the world esteems thee wise, and holds thy
knowledge of mankind high; but thy question shows that thou hast never
loved. It was by an effort that I saved myself from hating my kind and
affectionate brother, who, all unsuspicious of my rivalry, was
perpetually loading me with kindness. Nay, there were moods of my
mind, in which I could return that kindness for a time with energetic
enthusiasm. Never did I feel this so strongly as on the night which
parted us. But I could not help rejoicing when he was swept from my
path--could not help sorrowing when he was again restored to be a
stumbling-block in my paths."

"May God be gracious to thee, my son!" said the monk; "this is an
awful state of mind. Even in such evil mood did the first murderer
rise up against his brother, because Abel's was the more acceptable
sacrifice."

"I will wrestle with the demon which has haunted me, father," replied
the youth, firmly--"I will wrestle with him, and I will subdue him.
But first I must remove from the scenes which are to follow here. I
cannot endure that I should see Mary Avenel's eyes again flash with
joy at the restoration of her lover. It were a sight to make indeed a
second Cain of me!  My fierce, turbid, and transitory joy discharged
itself in a thirst to commit homicide, and how can I estimate the
frenzy of my despair?"

"Madman!" said the Sub-Prior, "at what dreadful crime does thy fury
drive?"

"My lot is determined, father," said Edward, in a resolute tone; "I
will embrace the spiritual state which you have so oft recommended. It
is my purpose to return with you to Saint Mary's, and, with the
permission of the Holy Virgin and of Saint Benedict, to offer my
profession to the Abbot."

"Not now, my son," said the Sub-Prior, "not in this distemperature of
mind. The wise and good accept not gifts which are made in heat of
blood, and which may be after repented of; and shall we make our
offerings to wisdom and to goodness itself with less of solemn
resolution and deep devotion of mind, than is necessary to make them
acceptable to our own frail companions in this valley of darkness?
This I say to thee, my son, not as meaning to deter thee from the good
path thou art now inclined to prefer, but that thou mayst make thy
vocation and thine election sure."

"There are actions, father," returned Edward, "which brook no delay,
and this is one. It must be done this very _now_; or it may never
be done. Let me go with you; let me not behold the return of Halbert
into this house.  Shame, and the sense of the injustice I have already
done him, will join with these dreadful passions which urge me to do
him yet farther wrong.  Let me then go with you."

"With me, my son," said the Sub-Prior, "thou shalt surely go; but our
rule, as well as reason and good order, require that you should dwell
a space with us as a probationer, or novice, before taking upon thee
those final vows, which, sequestering thee for ever from the world,
dedicate thee to the service of Heaven."

"And when shall we set forth, father?" said the youth, as eagerly as
if the journey which he was now undertaking led to the pleasures of a
summer holiday.

"Even now, if thou wilt," said the Sub-Prior, yielding to his
impetuosity--"go, then, and command them to prepare for our
departure.--Yet stay," he said, as Edward, with all the awakened
enthusiasm of his character, hastened from his presence, "come hither,
my son, and kneel down."

Edward obeyed, and kneeled down before him. Notwithstanding his slight
figure and thin features, the Sub-Prior could, from the energy of his
tone, and the earnestness of his devotional manner, impress his pupils
and his penitents with no ordinary feelings of personal reverence. His
heart always was, as well as seemed to be, in the duty which he was
immediately performing; and the spiritual guide who thus shows a deep
conviction of the importance of his office, seldom fails to impress a
similar feeling upon his hearers. Upon such occasions as the present,
his puny body seemed to assume more majestic stature--his spare and
emaciated countenance bore a bolder, loftier, and more commanding
port--his voice, always beautiful, trembled as labouring under the
immediate impulse of the Divinity--and his whole demeanour seemed to
bespeak, not the mere ordinary man, but the organ of the Church in
which she had vested her high power for delivering sinners from their
load of iniquity.

"Hast thou, my fair son," said he, "faithfully recounted the
circumstances which have thus suddenly determined thee to a religious
life?"

"The sins I have confessed, my father," answered Edward, "but I have
not yet told of a strange appearance, which, acting in my mind, hath, I
think, aided to determine my resolution."

"Tell it, then, now," returned the Sub-Prior; "it is thy duty to leave
me uninstructed in nought, so that thereby I may understand the
temptation that besets thee."

"I tell it with unwillingness," said Edward; "for although, God wot, I
speak but the mere truth, yet even while my tongue speaks it as truth,
my own ears receive it as fable."

"Yet say the whole," said Father Eustace; "neither fear rebuke from
me, seeing I may know reasons for receiving as true that which others
might regard as fabulous."

"Know, then, father," replied Edward, "that betwixt hope and
despair--and, heavens! what a hope!--the hope to find the corpse
mangled and crushed hastily in amongst the bloody clay which the foot
of the scornful victor had trod down upon my good, my gentle, my
courageous brother,--I sped to the glen called Corri-nan-shian; but,
as your reverence has been already informed, neither the grave, which
my unhallowed wishes had in spite of my better self longed to see, nor
any appearance of the earth having been opened, was visible in the
solitary spot where Martin had, at morning yesterday, seen the fatal
hillock. You know your dalesmen, father. The place hath an evil name,
and this deception of the sight inclined them to leave it. My
companions became affrighted, and hastened down the glen as men caught
in trespass. My hopes were too much blighted, my mind too much
agitated, to fear either the living or the dead. I descended the glen
more slowly than they, often looking back, and not ill pleased with
the poltroonery of my companions, which left me to my own perplexed
and moody humour, and induced them to hasten into the broader dale.
They were already out of sight, and lost amongst the windings of the
glen, when, looking back, I saw a female form standing beside the
fountain----"

"How, my fair son?" said the Sub-Prior, "beware you jest not with your
present situation!"

"I jest not, father," answered the youth; "it may be I shall never
jest again--surely not for many a day. I saw, I say, the form of a
female clad in white, such as the Spirit which haunts the house of
Avenel is supposed to be. Believe me, my father, for, by heaven and
earth, I say nought but what I saw with these eyes!"

"I believe thee, my son," said the monk; "proceed in thy strange
story."

"The apparition," said Edward Glendinning, "sung, and thus ran her
lay; for, strange as it may seem to you, her words abide by my
remembrance as if they had been sung to me from infancy upward:--

  'Thou who seek'st my fountain lone,
  With thoughts and hopes thou dar'st not own;
  Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad
  When most his brow seem'd dark and sad;
  Hie thee back, thou find'st not here
  Corpse or coffin, grave or bier;
  The Dead Alive is gone and fled--
  Go thou, and join the Living Dead!

  'The Living Dead, whose sober brow
  Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now,
  Whose hearts within are seldom cured
  Of passions by their vows abjured;
  Where, under sad and solemn show,
  Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow.
  Seek the convent's vaulted room,
  Prayer and vigil be thy doom;
  Doff the green, and don the gray,
  To the cloister hence away!'"

"'Tis a wild lay," said the Sub-Prior, "and chanted, I fear me, with
no good end. But we have power to turn the machinations of Satan to
his shame. Edward, thou shalt go with me as thou desirest; thou shalt
prove the life for which I have long thought thee best fitted--thou
shalt aid, my son, this trembling hand of mine to sustain the Holy
Ark, which bold unhallowed men press rashly forward to touch and to
profane.--Wilt thou not first see thy mother?"

"I will see no one," said Edward, hastily; "I will risk nothing that
may shake the purpose of my heart. From Saint Mary's they shall learn
my destination--all of them shall learn it. My mother--Mary Avenel--my
restored and happy brother--they shall all know that Edward lives no
longer to the world to be a clog on their happiness. Mary shall no
longer need to constrain her looks and expressions to coldness because
I am nigh.  She shall no longer----"

"My son," said the Sub-Prior, interrupting him, "it is not by looking
back on the vanities and vexations of this world, that we fit
ourselves for the discharge of duties which are not of it. Go, get our
horses ready, and, as we descend the glen together, I will teach thee
the truths through which the fathers and wise men of old had that
precious alchemy, which can convert suffering into happiness."




Chapter the Thirty-Third.


  Now, on my faith, this gear is all entangled,
  Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter,
  Dragg'd by the frolic kitten through the cabin,
  While the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire!
  Masters, attend; 'twill crave some skill to clear it.
                                       OLD PLAY.

Edward, with the speed of one who doubts the steadiness of his own
resolution, hastened to prepare the horses for their departure, and at
the same time thanked and dismissed the neighbours who had come to his
assistance, and who were not a little surprised both at the suddenness
of his proposed departure, and at the turn affairs had taken.

"Here's cold hospitality," quoth Dan of the Howlet-hirst to his
comrades; "I trow the Glendinnings may die and come alive right oft,
ere I put foot in stirrup again for the matter."

Martin soothed them by placing food and liquor before them. They ate
sullenly, however, and departed in bad humour.

The joyful news that Halbert Glendinning lived, was quickly
communicated through the sorrowing family. The mother wept and thanked
Heaven alternately; until her habits of domestic economy awakening as
her feelings became calmer, she observed, "It would be an unco task to
mend the yetts, and what were they to do while they were broken in
that fashion? At open doors dogs come in."

Tibb remarked, "She aye thought Halbert was ower gleg at his weapon to
be killed sae easily by ony Sir Piercie of them a'. They might say of
these Southrons as they liked; but they had not the pith and wind of a
canny Scot, when it came to close grips."

On Mary Avenel the impression was inconceivably deeper. She had but
newly learned to pray, and it seemed to her that her prayers had been
instantly answered--that the compassion of Heaven, which she had
learned to implore in the words of Scripture, had descended upon her
after a manner almost miraculous, and recalled the dead from the grave
at the sound of her lamentations. There was a dangerous degree of
enthusiasm in this strain of feeling, but it originated in the purest
devotion.

A silken and embroidered muffler, one of the few articles of more
costly attire which she possessed, was devoted to the purpose of
wrapping up and concealing the sacred volume, which henceforth she was
to regard as her chiefest treasure, lamenting only that, for want of a
fitting interpreter, much must remain to her a book closed and a
fountain sealed. She was unaware of the yet greater danger she
incurred, of putting an imperfect or even false sense upon some of the
doctrines which appeared most comprehensible. But Heaven had provided
against both these hazards.

While Edward was preparing the horses, Christie of the Clinthill again
solicited his orders respecting the reformed preacher, Henry Warden,
and again the worthy monk laboured to reconcile in his own mind the
compassion and esteem which, almost in spite of him, he could not help
feeling for his former companion, with the duty which he owed to the
Church. The unexpected resolution of Edward had removed, he thought,
the chief objection to his being left at Glendearg.

"If I carry this Well-wood, or Warden, to the Monastery." he thought,
"he must die--die in his heresy--perish body and soul. And though such
a measure was once thought advisable, to strike terror into the
heretics, yet such is now their daily increasing strength, that it may
rather rouse them to fury and to revenge. True, he refuses to pledge
himself to abstain from sowing his tares among the wheat; but the
ground here is too barren to receive them. I fear not his making
impression on these poor women, the vassals of the Church, and bred up
in due obedience to her behests. The keen, searching, inquiring, and
bold disposition of Edward, might have afforded fuel to the fire; but
that is removed, and there is nothing left which the flame may catch
to.--Thus shall he have no power to spread his evil doctrines abroad,
and yet his life shall be preserved, and it may be his soul rescued as
a prey from the fowler's net. I will myself contend with him in
argument; for when we studied in common, I yielded not to him, and
surely the cause for which I struggle will support me, were I yet more
weak than I deem myself. Were this man reclaimed from his errors, an
hundred-fold more advantage would arise to the Church from his
spiritual regeneration, than from his temporal death."

Having finished these meditations, in which there was at once goodness
of disposition and narrowness of principle, a considerable portion of
self-opinion, and no small degree of self-delusion, the Sub-Prior
commanded the prisoner to be brought into his presence.

"Henry," he said, "whatever a rigid sense of duty may demand of me,
ancient friendship and Christian compassion forbid me to lead thee to
assured death. Thou wert wont to be generous, though stern and
stubborn in thy resolves; let not thy sense of what thine own thoughts
term duty, draw thee farther than mine have done. Remember, that every
sheep whom thou shalt here lead astray from the fold, will be demanded
in time and through eternity of him who hath left thee the liberty of
doing such evil. I ask no engagement of thee, save that thou remain a
prisoner on thy word at this tower, and wilt appear when summoned."

"Thou hast found an invention to bind my hands," replied the preacher,
"more sure than would have been the heaviest shackles in the prison of
thy convent. I will not rashly do what may endanger thee with thy
unhappy superiors, and I will be the more cautious, because, if we had
farther opportunity of conference, I trust thine own soul may yet be
rescued as a brand from the burning, and that, casting from thee the
livery of Anti-Christ, that trader in human sins and human souls, I
may yet assist thee to lay hold on the Rock of Ages."

The Sub-Prior heard the sentiment, so similar to that which had
occurred to himself, with the same kindly feelings with which the
game-cock hears and replies to the challenge of his rival.

"I bless God and Our Lady," said he, drawing himself up, "that my
faith is already anchored on that Rock on which Saint Peter founded
his Church."

"It is a perversion of the text," said the eager Henry Warden,
"grounded on a vain play upon words--a most idle paronomasia."

The controversy would have been rekindled, and in all probability--for
what can insure the good temper and moderation of polemics?--might
have ended in the preacher's being transported a captive to the
Monastery, had not Christie of the Clinthill observed that it was
growing late, and that he, having to descend the glen, which had no
good reputation, cared not greatly for travelling there after sunset.
The Sub-Prior, therefore, stifled his desire of argument, and again
telling the preacher, that he trusted to his gratitude and generosity,
he bade him farewell.

"Be assured, my old friend," replied Warden, "that no willing act of
mine shall be to thy prejudice. But if my Master shall place work
before me, I must obey God rather than man."

These two men, both excellent from natural disposition and acquired
knowledge, had more points of similarity than they themselves would
have admitted. In truth, the chief distinction betwixt them was, that
the Catholic, defending a religion which afforded little interest to
the feelings, had, in his devotion to the cause he espoused, more of
the head than of the heart, and was politic, cautious, and artful;
while the Protestant, acting under the strong impulse of more
lately-adopted conviction, and feeling, as he justly might, a more
animated confidence in his cause, was enthusiastic, eager, and
precipitate in his desire to advance it. The priest would have been
contented to defend, the preacher aspired to conquer; and, of course,
the impulse by which the latter was governed, was more active and more
decisive. They could not part from each other without a second
pressure of hands, and each looked in the face of his old companion,
as he bade him adieu, with a countenance strongly expressive of
sorrow, affection, and pity.

Father Eustace then explained briefly to Dame Glendinning, that this
person was to be her guest for some days, forbidding her and her whole
household, under high spiritual censures, to hold any conversation
with him on religious subjects, but commanding her to attend to his
wants in all other particulars.

"May Our Lady forgive me, reverend father," said Dame Glendinning,
somewhat dismayed at this intelligence, "but I must needs say, that
ower mony guests have been the ruin of mony a house, and I trow they
will bring down Glendearg. First came the Lady of Avenel--(her soul be
at rest--she meant nae ill)--but she brought with her as mony bogles
and fairies, as hae kept the house in care ever since, sae that we
have been living as it were in a dream. And then came that English
knight, if it please you, and if he hasna killed my son outright, he
has chased him aff the gate, and it may be lang eneugh ere I see him
again--forby the damage done to outer door and inner door. And now
your reverence has given me the charge of a heretic, who, it is like,
may bring the great horned devil himself down upon us all; and they
say that it is neither door nor window will serve him, but he will
take away the side of the auld tower along with him. Nevertheless,
reverend father, your pleasure is doubtless to be done to our power."

"Go to, woman," said the Sub-Prior; "send for workmen from the
clachan, and let them charge the expense of their repairs to the
Community, and I will give the treasurer warrant to allow them.
Moreover, in settling the rental mails, and feu-duties, thou shalt
have allowance for the trouble and charges to which thou art now put,
and I will cause strict search to be made after thy son."

The dame curtsied deep and low at each favourable expression; and when
the Sub-Prior had done speaking, she added her farther hope that the
Sub-Prior would hold some communing with her gossip the Miller,
concerning the fate of his daughter, and expound to him that the
chance had by no means happened through any negligence on her part.

"I sair doubt me, father," she said, "whether Mysie finds her way back
to the Mill in a hurry; but it was all her father's own fault that let
her run lamping about the country, riding on bare-backed naigs, and
never settling to do a turn of wark within doors, unless it were to
dress dainties at dinner-time for his ain kyte."

"You remind me, dame, of another matter of urgency," said Father
Eustace; "and, God knows, too many of them press on me at this moment.
This English knight must be sought out, and explanation given to him
of these most strange chances. The giddy girl must also be recovered.
If she hath suffered in reputation by this unhappy mistake, I will not
hold myself innocent of the disgrace. Yet how to find them out I know
not."

"So please you," said Christie of the Clinthill, "I am willing to take
the chase, and bring them back by fair means or foul; for though you
have always looked as black as night at me, whenever we have
forgathered, yet I have not forgotten that had it not been for you, my
neck would have kend the weight of my four quarters. If any man can
track the tread of them, I will say in the face of both Merse and
Teviotdale, and take the Forest to boot, I am that man. But first I
have matters to treat of on my master's score, if you will permit me
to ride down the glen with you."

"Nay, but my friend," said the Sub-Prior, "thou shouldst remember I
have but slender cause to trust thee for a companion through a place
so solitary."

"Tush! tush!" said the Jackman, "fear me not; I had the worst too
surely to begin that sport again. Besides, have I not said a dozen of
times, I owe you a life? and when I owe a man either a good turn or a
bad, I never fail to pay it sooner or later. Moreover, beshrew me if I
care to go alone down the glen, or even with my troopers, who are,
every loon of them, as much devil's bairns as myself; whereas, if your
reverence, since that is the word, take beads and psalter, and I come
along with jack and spear, you will make the devils take the air, and
I will make all human enemies take the earth."

Edward here entered, and told his reverence that his horse was
prepared. At this instant his eye caught his mother's, and the
resolution which he had so strongly formed was staggered when he
recollected the necessity of bidding her farewell. The Sub-Prior saw
his embarrassment, and came to his relief.

"Dame," said he, "I forgot to mention that your son Edward goes with
me to Saint Mary's, and will not return for two or three days."

"You'll be wishing to help him to recover his brother? May the saints
reward your kindness!"

The Sub-Prior returned the benediction which, in this instance, he had
not very well deserved, and he and Edward set forth on their route.
They were presently followed by Christie, who came up with his
followers at such a speedy pace, as intimated sufficiently that his
wish to obtain spiritual convoy through the glen, was extremely
sincere. He had, however, other matters to stimulate his speed, for he
was desirous to communicate to the Sub-Prior a message from his master
Julian, connected with the delivery of the prisoner Warden; and having
requested the Sub-Prior to ride with him a few yards before Edward,
and the troopers of his own party, he thus addressed him, sometimes
interrupting his discourse in a manner testifying that his fear of
supernatural beings was not altogether lulled to rest by his
confidence in the sanctity of his fellow-traveller.

"My master," said the rider, "deemed he had sent you an acceptable
gift in that old heretic preacher; but it seems, from the slight care
you have taken of him, that you make small account of the boon."

"Nay," said the Sub-Prior, "do not thus judge of it. The Community
must account highly of the service, and will reward it to thy master in
goodly fashion. But this man and I are old friends, and I trust to bring
him back from the paths of perdition."

"Nay," said the moss-trooper, "when I saw you shake hands at the
beginning I counted that you would fight it all out in love and
honour, and that there would be no extreme dealings betwixt ye--
however it is all one to my master--Saint Mary! what call you yon, Sir
Monk?"

"The branch of a willow streaming across the path betwixt us and the
sky."

"Beshrew me," said Christie, "if it looked not like a man's hand
holding a sword.--But touching my master, he, like a prudent man, hath
kept himself aloof in these broken times, until he could see with
precision what footing he was to stand upon. Right tempting offers he
hath had from the Lords of Congregation, whom you call heretics; and
at one time he was minded, to be plain with you, to have taken their
way--for he was assured that the Lord James [Footnote: Lord James
Stewart, afterwards the Regent Murray.] was coming this road at the
head of a round body of cavalry. And accordingly Lord James did so far
reckon upon him, that he sent this man Warden, or whatsoever be his
name, to my master's protection, as an assured friend; and, moreover,
with tidings that he himself was marching hitherward at the head of a
strong body of horse."