"Methinks it were easy to tell whether he be the one or the other,"
said the smith.

"Content you, my friend," said Simon, "with knowing that, if you
judge Father Clement by what you see him do and hear him say, you
will think of him as the best and kindest man in the world, with a
comfort for every man's grief, a counsel for every man's difficulty,
the rich man's surest guide, and the poor man's best friend. But if
you listen to what the Dominicans say of him, he is--Benedicite!
--(here the glover crossed himself on brow and bosom)--a foul
heretic, who ought by means of earthly flames to be sent to those
which burn eternally."

The smith also crossed himself, and exclaimed: "St. Mary! father
Simon, and do you, who are so good and prudent that you have been
called the Wise Glover of Perth, let your daughter attend the
ministry of one who--the saints preserve us!--may be in league
with the foul fiend himself! Why, was it not a priest who raised
the devil in the Meal Vennel, when Hodge Jackson's house was blown
down in the great wind? Did not the devil appear in the midst of
the Tay, dressed in a priest's scapular, gambolling like a pellack
amongst the waves, the morning when our stately bridge was swept
away?"

"I cannot tell whether he did or no," said the glover; "I only know
I saw him not. As to Catharine, she cannot be said to use Father
Clement's ministry, seeing her confessor is old Father Francis
the Dominican, from whom she had her shrift today. But women will
sometimes be wilful, and sure enough she consults with Father
Clement more than I could wish; and yet when I have spoken with
him myself, I have thought him so good and holy a man that I could
have trusted my own salvation with him. There are bad reports of
him among the Dominicans, that is certain. But what have we laymen
to do with such things, my son? Let us pay Mother Church her dues,
give our alms, confess and do our penances duly, and the saints
will bear us out."

"Ay, truly; and they will have consideration," said the smith, "for
any rash and unhappy blow that a man may deal in a fight, when his
party was on defence, and standing up to him; and that's the only
creed a man can live upon in Scotland, let your daughter think
what she pleases. Marry, a man must know his fence, or have a short
lease of his life, in any place where blows are going so rife.
Five nobles to our altar have cleared me for the best man I ever
had misfortune with."

"Let us finish our flask, then," said the old glover; "for I
reckon the Dominican tower is tolling midnight. And hark thee, son
Henry; be at the lattice window on our east gable by the very peep
of dawn, and make me aware thou art come by whistling the smith's
call gently. I will contrive that Catharine shall look out at the
window, and thus thou wilt have all the privileges of being a gallant
Valentine through the rest of the year; which, if thou canst not
use to thine own advantage, I shall be led to think that, for all
thou be'st covered with the lion's hide, nature has left on thee
the long ears of the ass."

"Amen, father," said the armourer, "a hearty goodnight to you; and
God's blessing on your roof tree, and those whom it covers. You
shall hear the smith's call sound by cock crowing; I warrant I put
sir chanticleer to shame."

So saying, he took his leave; and, though completely undaunted,
moved through the deserted streets like one upon his guard, to his
own dwelling, which was situated in the Mill Wynd, at the western
end of Perth.



CHAPTER IV.

What's all this turmoil crammed into our parts?
Faith, but the pit-a-pat of poor young hearts.

DRYDEN.


The sturdy armourer was not, it may be believed, slack in keeping
the appointment assigned by his intended father in law. He went
through the process of his toilet with more than ordinary care,
throwing, as far as he could, those points which had a military
air into the shade. He was far too noted a person to venture to go
entirely unarmed in a town where he had indeed many friends, but
also, from the character of many of his former exploits, several
deadly enemies, at whose hands, should they take him at advantage,
he knew he had little mercy to expect. He therefore wore under his
jerkin a "secret," or coat of chain mail, made so light and flexible
that it interfered as little with his movements as a modern under
waistcoat, yet of such proof as he might safely depend upon, every
ring of it having been wrought and joined by his own hands. Above
this he wore, like others of his age and degree, the Flemish hose
and doublet, which, in honour of the holy tide, were of the best
superfine English broadcloth, light blue in colour, slashed out
with black satin, and passamented (laced, that is) with embroidery
of black silk. His walking boots were of cordovan leather; his
cloak of good Scottish grey, which served to conceal a whinger, or
couteau de chasse, that hung at his belt, and was his only offensive
weapon, for he carried in his hand but a rod of holly. His black
velvet bonnet was lined with steel, quilted between the metal and
his head, and thus constituted a means of defence which might safely
be trusted to.

Upon the whole, Henry had the appearance, to which he was well
entitled, of a burgher of wealth and consideration, assuming, in
his dress, as much consequence as he could display without stepping
beyond his own rank, and encroaching on that of the gentry. Neither
did his frank and manly deportment, though indicating a total
indifference to danger, bear the least resemblance to that of the
bravoes or swashbucklers of the day, amongst whom Henry was sometimes
unjustly ranked by those who imputed the frays in which he was so
often engaged to a quarrelsome and violent temper, resting upon a
consciousness of his personal strength and knowledge of his weapon.
On the contrary, every feature bore the easy and good-humoured
expression of one who neither thought of inflicting mischief nor
dreaded it from others.

Having attired himself in his best, the honest armourer next placed
nearest to his heart (which throbbed at its touch) a little gift
which he had long provided for Catharine Glover, and which his
quality of Valentine would presently give him the title to present,
and her to receive, without regard to maidenly scruples. It was a
small ruby cut into the form of a heart, transfixed with a golden
arrow, and was inclosed in a small purse made of links of the
finest work in steel, as if it had been designed for a hauberk to
a king. Round the verge of the purse were these words:

Loves darts
Cleave hearts
Through mail shirts.

This device had cost the armourer some thought, and he was much
satisfied with his composition, because it seemed to imply that
his skill could defend all hearts saving his own.

He wrapped himself in his cloak, and hastened through the still
silent streets, determined to appear at the window appointed a
little before dawn.

With this purpose he passed up the High Street, and turned down
the opening where St. John's Church now stands, in order to proceed
to Curfew Street; when it occurred to him, from the appearance of
the sky, that he was at least an hour too early for his purpose,
and that it would be better not to appear at the place of rendezvous
till nearer the time assigned. Other gallants were not unlikely
to be on the watch as well as himself about the house of the Fair
Maid of Perth; and he knew his own foible so well as to be sensible
of the great chance of a scuffle arising betwixt them.

"I have the advantage," he thought, "by my father Simon's friendship;
and why should I stain my fingers with the blood of the poor
creatures that are not worthy my notice, since they are so much
less fortunate than myself? No--no, I will be wise for once, and
keep at a distance from all temptation to a broil. They shall have
no more time to quarrel with me than just what it may require for
me to give the signal, and for my father Simon to answer it. I
wonder how the old man will contrive to bring her to the window? I
fear, if she knew his purpose, he would find it difficult to carry
it into execution."

While these lover-like thoughts were passing through his brain,
the armourer loitered in his pace, often turning his eyes eastward,
and eyeing the firmament, in which no slight shades of grey were
beginning to flicker, to announce the approach of dawn, however
distant, which, to the impatience of the stout armourer, seemed
on that morning to abstain longer than usual from occupying her
eastern barbican. He was now passing slowly under the wall of St.
Anne's Chapel (not failing to cross himself and say an ace, as he
trode the consecrated ground), when a voice, which seemed to come
from behind one of the flying buttresses of the chapel, said, "He
lingers that has need to run."

"Who speaks?" said the armourer, looking around him, somewhat
startled at an address so unexpected, both in its tone and tenor.

"No matter who speaks," answered the same voice. "Do thou make
great speed, or thou wilt scarce make good speed. Bandy not words,
but begone."

"Saint or sinner, angel or devil," said Henry, crossing himself,
"your advice touches me but too dearly to be neglected. St. Valentine
be my speed!"

So saying, he instantly changed his loitering pace to one with which
few people could have kept up, and in an instant was in Couvrefew
Street. He had not made three steps towards Simon Glover's, which
stood in the midst of the narrow street, when two men started from
under the houses on different sides, and advanced, as it were by
concert, to intercept his passage. The imperfect light only permitted
him to discern that they wore the Highland mantle.

"Clear the way, cateran," said the armourer, in the deep stern
voice which corresponded with the breadth of his chest.

They did not answer, at least intelligibly; but he could see that
they drew their swords, with the purpose of withstanding him by
violence. Conjecturing some evil, but of what kind he could not
anticipate, Henry instantly determined to make his way through
whatever odds, and defend his mistress, or at least die at her
feet. He cast his cloak over his left arm as a buckler, and advanced
rapidly and steadily to the two men. The nearest made a thrust at
him, but Henry Smith, parrying the blow with his cloak, dashed his
arm in the man's face, and tripping him at the same time, gave him
a severe fall on the causeway; while almost at the same instant
he struck a blow with his whinger at the fellow who was upon his
right hand, so severely applied, that he also lay prostrate by his
associate. Meanwhile, the armourer pushed forward in alarm, for
which the circumstance of the street being guarded or defended
by strangers who conducted themselves with such violence afforded
sufficient reason. He heard a suppressed whisper and a bustle
under the glover's windows--those very windows from which he had
expected to be hailed by Catharine as her Valentine. He kept to
the opposite side of the street, that he might reconnoitre their
number and purpose. But one of the party who were beneath the window,
observing or hearing him, crossed the street also, and taking him
doubtless for one of the sentinels, asked, in a whisper, "What
noise was yonder, Kenneth? why gave you not the signal?"

"Villain," said Henry, "you are discovered, and you shall die the
death."

As he spoke thus, he dealt the stranger a blow with his weapon,
which would probably have made his words good, had not the man,
raising his arm, received on his hand the blow meant for his head.
The wound must have been a severe one, for he staggered and fell
with a deep groan.

Without noticing him farther, Henry Smith sprung forward upon
a party of men who seemed engaged in placing a ladder against the
lattice window in the gable. Henry did not stop ether to count their
numbers or to ascertain their purpose. But, crying the alarm word
of the town, and giving the signal at which the burghers were wont
to collect, he rushed on the night walkers, one of whom was in the
act of ascending the ladder. The smith seized it by the rounds,
threw it down on the pavement, and placing his foot on the body
of the man who had been mounting, prevented him from regaining his
feet. His accomplices struck fiercely at Henry, to extricate their
companion. But his mail coat stood him in good stead, and he repaid
their blows with interest, shouting aloud, "Help--help, for bonny
St. Johnston! Bows and blades, brave citizens! bows and blades!
they break into our houses under cloud of night."

These words, which resounded far through the streets, were accompanied
by as many fierce blows, dealt with good effect among those whom
the armourer assailed. In the mean time, the inhabitants of the
district began to awaken and appear on the street in their shirts,
with swords and targets, and some of them with torches. The assailants
now endeavoured to make their escape, which all of them effected
excepting the man who had been thrown down along with the ladder.
Him the intrepid armourer had caught by the throat in the scuffle,
and held as fast as the greyhound holds the hare. The other wounded
men were borne off by their comrades.

"Here are a sort of knaves breaking peace within burgh," said Henry
to the neighbours who began to assemble; "make after the rogues.
They cannot all get off, for I have maimed some of them: the blood
will guide you to them."

"Some Highland caterans," said the citizens; "up and chase,
neighbours!"

"Ay, chase--chase! leave me to manage this fellow," continued
the armourer.

The assistants dispersed in different directions, their lights
flashing and their cries resounding through the whole adjacent
district.

In the mean time the armourer's captive entreated for freedom, using
both promises and threats to obtain it. "As thou art a gentleman,"
he said, "let me go, and what is past shall be forgiven."

"I am no gentleman," said Henry--"I am Hal of the Wynd, a burgess
of Perth; and I have done nothing to need forgiveness."

"Villain, then hast done thou knowest not what! But let me go, and
I will fill thy bonnet with gold pieces."

"I shall fill thy bonnet with a cloven head presently," said the
armourer, "unless thou stand still as a true prisoner."

"What is the matter, my son Harry?" said Simon, who now appeared
at the window. "I hear thy voice in another tone than I expected.
What is all this noise; and why are the neighbours gathering to
the affray?"

"There have been a proper set of limmers about to scale your
windows, father Simon; but I am like to prove godfather to one of
them, whom I hold here, as fast as ever vice held iron."

"Hear me, Simon Glover," said the prisoner; "let me but speak one
word with you in private, and rescue me from the gripe of this iron
fisted and leaden pated clown, and I will show thee that no harm
was designed to thee or thine, and, moreover, tell thee what will
much advantage thee."

"I should know that voice," said Simon Glover, who now came to the
door with a dark lantern in his hand. "Son Smith, let this young
man speak with me. There is no danger in him, I promise you. Stay
but an instant where you are, and let no one enter the house, either
to attack or defend. I will be answerable that this galliard meant
but some St. Valentine's jest."

So saying, the old man pulled in the prisoner and shut the door,
leaving Henry a little surprised at the unexpected light in which
his father-in-law had viewed the affray.

"A jest!" he said; "it might have been a strange jest, if they had
got into the maiden's sleeping room! And they would have done so,
had it not been for the honest friendly voice from betwixt the
buttresses, which, if it were not that of the blessed saint--
though what am I that the holy person should speak to me?--could
not sound in that place without her permission and assent, and for
which I will promise her a wax candle at her shrine, as long as my
whinger; and I would I had had my two handed broadsword instead,
both for the sake of St. Johnston and of the rogues, for of a
certain those whingers are pretty toys, but more fit for a boy's
hand than a man's. Oh, my old two handed Trojan, hadst thou been
in my hands, as thou hang'st presently at the tester of my bed,
the legs of those rogues had not carried their bodies so clean off
the field. But there come lighted torches and drawn swords. So ho
--stand! Are you for St. Johnston? If friends to the bonny burgh,
you are well come."

"We have been but bootless hunters," said the townsmen. "We followed
by the tracks of the blood into the Dominican burial ground, and
we started two fellows from amongst the tombs, supporting betwixt
them a third, who had probably got some of your marks about him,
Harry. They got to the postern gate before we could overtake them,
and rang the sanctuary bell; the gate opened, and in went they.
So they are safe in girth and sanctuary, and we may go to our cold
beds and warm us."

"Ay," said one of the party, "the good Dominicans have always some
devout brother of their convent sitting up to open the gate of the
sanctuary to any poor soul that is in trouble, and desires shelter
in the church."

"Yes, if the poor hunted soul can pay for it," said another "but,
truly, if he be poor in purse as well as in spirit, he may stand
on the outside till the hounds come up with him."

A third, who had been poring for a few minutes upon the ground
by advantage of his torch, now looked upwards and spoke. He was a
brisk, forward, rather corpulent little man, called Oliver Proudfute,
reasonably wealthy, and a leading man in his craft, which was that
of bonnet makers; he, therefore, spoke as one in authority.

"Canst tell us, jolly smith"--for they recognised each other by
the lights which were brought into the streets--"what manner of
fellows they were who raised up this fray within burgh?"

"The two that I first saw," answered the armourer, "seemed to me,
as well as I could observe them, to have Highland plaids about
them."

"Like enough--like enough," answered another citizen, shaking
his head. "It's a shame the breaches in our walls are not repaired,
and that these landlouping Highland scoundrels are left at liberty
to take honest men and women out of their beds any night that is
dark enough."

"But look here, neighbours," said Oliver Proudfute, showing a bloody
hand which he had picked up from the ground; "when did such a hand
as this tie a Highlandman's brogues? It is large, indeed, and bony,
but as fine as a lady's, with a ring that sparkles like a gleaming
candle. Simon Glover has made gloves for this hand before now, if
I am not much mistaken, for he works for all the courtiers."

The spectators here began to gaze on the bloody token with various
comments.

"If that is the case," said one, "Harry Smith had best show a
clean pair of heels for it, since the justiciar will scarce think
the protecting a burgess's house an excuse for cutting off a
gentleman's hand. There be hard laws against mutilation."

"Fie upon you, that you will say so, Michael Webster," answered
the bonnet maker; "are we not representatives and successors of
the stout old Romans, who built Perth as like to their own city as
they could? And have we not charters from all our noble kings and
progenitors, as being their loving liegemen? And would you have us
now yield up our rights, privileges, and immunities, our outfang
and infang, our handhaband, our back bearand, and our blood suits,
and amerciaments, escheats, and commodities, and suffer an honest
burgess's house to be assaulted without seeking for redress? No,
brave citizens, craftsmen, and burgesses, the Tay shall flow back
to Dunkeld before we submit to such injustice!"

"And how can we help it?" said a grave old man, who stood leaning
on a two handed sword. "What would you have us do?"

"Marry, Bailie Craigdallie, I wonder that you, of all men, ask the
question. I would have you pass like true men from this very place
to the King's Grace's presence, raise him from his royal rest, and
presenting to him the piteous case of our being called forth from
our beds at this season, with little better covering than these
shirts, I would show him this bloody token, and know from his Grace's
own royal lips whether it is just and honest that his loving lieges
should be thus treated by the knights and nobles of his deboshed
court. And this I call pushing our cause warmly."

"Warmly, sayst thou?" replied the old burgess; "why, so warmly,
that we shall all die of cold, man, before the porter turn a key to
let us into the royal presence. Come, friends, the night is bitter,
we have kept our watch and ward like men, and our jolly smith hath
given a warning to those that would wrong us, which shall be worth
twenty proclamations of the king. Tomorrow is a new day; we will
consult on this matter on this self same spot, and consider what
measures should be taken for discovery and pursuit of the villains.
And therefore let us dismiss before the heart's blood freeze in
our veins."

"Bravo--bravo, neighbour Craigdallie! St. Johnston for ever!"

Oliver Proudfute would still have spoken; for he was one of those
pitiless orators who think that their eloquence can overcome all
inconveniences in time, place, and circumstances. But no one would
listen, and the citizens dispersed to their own houses by the light
of the dawn, which began now to streak the horizon.

They were scarce gone ere the door of the glover's house opened,
and seizing the smith by the hand, the old man pulled him in.

"Where is the prisoner?" demanded the armourer.

"He is gone--escaped--fled--what do I know of him?" said the
glover. "He got out at the back door, and so through the little
garden. Think not of him, but come and see the Valentine whose
honour and life you have saved this morning."

"Let me but sheathe my weapon," said the smith, "let me but wash
my hands."

"There is not an instant to lose, she is up and almost dressed.
Come on, man. She shall see thee with thy good weapon in thy hand,
and with villain's blood on thy fingers, that she may know what is
the value of a true man's service. She has stopped my mouth overlong
with her pruderies and her scruples. I will have her know what a
brave man's love is worth, and a bold burgess's to boot."



CHAPTER V.

Up! lady fair, and braid thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air,
Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour,
Long have the rooks caw'd round the tower.

JOANNA BAILLIE.


Startled from her repose by the noise of the affray, the Fair Maid
of Perth had listened in breathless terror to the sounds of violence
and outcry which arose from the street. She had sunk on her knees
to pray for assistance, and when she distinguished the voices of
neighbours and friends collected for her protection, she remained in
the same posture to return thanks. She was still kneeling when her
father almost thrust her champion, Henry Smith, into her apartment;
the bashful lover hanging back at first, as if afraid to give
offence, and, on observing her posture, from respect to her devotion.

"Father," said the armourer, "she prays; I dare no more speak to
her than to a bishop when he says mass."

"Now, go thy ways, for a right valiant and courageous blockhead,"
said her father--and then speaking to his daughter, he added,
"Heaven is best thanked, my daughter, by gratitude shown to our
fellow creatures. Here comes the instrument by whom God has rescued
thee from death, or perhaps from dishonour worse than death. Receive
him, Catharine, as thy true Valentine, and him whom I desire to
see my affectionate son."

"Not thus--father," replied Catharine. "I can see--can speak
to no one now. I am not ungrateful--perhaps I am too thankful to
the instrument of our safety; but let me thank the guardian saint
who sent me this timely relief, and give me but a moment to don my
kirtle."

"Nay, God-a-mercy, wench, it were hard to deny thee time to busk thy
body clothes, since the request is the only words like a woman that
thou hast uttered for these ten days. Truly, son Harry, I would my
daughter would put off being entirely a saint till the time comes
for her being canonised for St. Catherine the Second."

"Nay, jest not, father; for I will swear she has at least one
sincere adorer already, who hath devoted himself to her pleasure,
so far as sinful man may. Fare thee well, then, for the moment,
fair maiden," he concluded, raising his voice, "and Heaven send
thee dreams as peaceful as thy waking thoughts. I go to watch thy
slumbers, and woe with him that shall intrude on them!"

"Nay, good and brave Henry, whose warm heart is at such variance
with thy reckless hand, thrust thyself into no farther quarrels
tonight; but take the kindest thanks, and with these, try to assume
the peaceful thoughts which you assign to me. Tomorrow we will
meet, that I may assure you of my gratitude. Farewell."

"And farewell, lady and light of my heart!" said the armourer,
and, descending the stair which led to Catharine's apartment, was
about to sally forth into the street, when the glover caught him
by the arm.

"I shall like the ruffle of tonight," said he, "better than I
ever thought to do the clashing of steel, if it brings my daughter
to her senses, Harry, and teaches her what thou art worth. By St.
Macgrider! I even love these roysterers, and am sorry for that poor
lover who will never wear left handed chevron again. Ay! he has
lost that which he will miss all the days of his life, especially
when he goes to pull on his gloves; ay, he will pay but half a fee
to my craft in future. Nay, not a step from this house tonight,"
he continued "Thou dost not leave us, I promise thee, my son."

"I do not mean it. But I will, with your permission, watch in the
street. The attack may be renewed."

"And if it be," said Simon, "thou wilt have better access to drive
them back, having the vantage of the house. It is the way of fighting
which suits us burghers best--that of resisting from behind stone
walls. Our duty of watch and ward teaches us that trick; besides,
enough are awake and astir to ensure us peace and quiet till morning.
So come in this way."

So saying, he drew Henry, nothing loth, into the same apartment
where they had supped, and where the old woman, who was on foot,
disturbed as others had been by the nocturnal affray, soon roused
up the fire.

"And now, my doughty son," said the glover, "what liquor wilt thou
pledge thy father in?"

Henry Smith had suffered himself to sink mechanically upon a seat
of old black oak, and now gazed on the fire, that flashed back a
ruddy light over his manly features. He muttered to himself half
audibly: "Good Henry--brave Henry. Ah! had she but said, dear
Henry!"

"What liquors be these?" said the old glover, laughing. "My cellar
holds none such; but if sack, or Rhenish, or wine of Gascony can
serve, why, say the word and the flagon foams, that is all."

"The kindest thanks," said the armourer, still musing, "that's more
than she ever said to me before--the kindest thanks--what may
not that stretch to?"

"It shall stretch like kid's leather, man," said the glover, "if
thou wilt but be ruled, and say what thou wilt take for thy morning's
draught."

"Whatever thou wilt, father," answered the armourer, carelessly,
and relapsed into the analysis of Catharine's speech to him. "She
spoke of my warm heart; but she also spoke of my reckless hand.
What earthly thing can I do to get rid of this fighting fancy?
Certainly I were best strike my right hand off, and nail it to the
door of a church, that it may never do me discredit more."

"You have chopped off hands enough for one night," said his friend,
setting a flagon of wine on the table. "Why dost thou vex thyself,
man? She would love thee twice as well did she not see how thou
doatest upon her. But it becomes serious now. I am not to have the
risk of my booth being broken and my house plundered by the hell
raking followers of the nobles, because she is called the Fair Maid
of Perth, an't please ye. No, she shall know I am her father, and
will have that obedience to which law and gospel give me right.
I will have her thy wife, Henry, my heart of gold--thy wife, my
man of mettle, and that before many weeks are over. Come--come,
here is to thy merry bridal, jolly smith."

The father quaffed a large cup, and filled it to his adopted son,
who raised it slowly to his head; then, ere it had reached his
lips, replaced it suddenly on the table and shook his head.

"Nay, if thou wilt not pledge me to such a health, I know no one
who will," said Simon. "What canst thou mean, thou foolish lad? Here
has a chance happened, which in a manner places her in thy power,
since from one end of the city to the other all would cry fie on
her if she should say thee nay. Here am I, her father, not only
consenting to the cutting out of the match, but willing to see you
two as closely united together as ever needle stitched buckskin.
And with all this on thy side--fortune, father, and all--thou
lookest like a distracted lover in a ballad, more like to pitch
thyself into the Tay than to woo a lass that may be had for the
asking, if you can but choose the lucky minute."

"Ay, but that lucky minute, father? I question much if Catharine
ever has such a moment to glance on earth and its inhabitants as
might lead her to listen to a coarse ignorant borrel man like me.
I cannot tell how it is, father; elsewhere I can hold up my head
like another man, but with your saintly daughter I lose heart and
courage, and I cannot help thinking that it would be well nigh robbing
a holy shrine if I could succeed in surprising her affections. Her
thoughts are too much fitted for Heaven to be wasted on such a one
as I am."

"E'en as you like, Henry," answered the glover. "My daughter is
not courting you any more than I am--a fair offer is no cause
offend; only if you think that I will give in to her foolish notions
of a convent, take it with you that I will never listen to them.
I love and honour the church," he said, crossing himself, "I pay
her rights duly and cheerfully--tithes and alms, wine and wax,
I pay them as justly, I say, as any man in Perth of my means doth
--but I cannot afford the church my only and single ewe lamb that
I have in the world. Her mother was dear to me on earth, and is now
an angel in Heaven. Catharine is all I have to remind me of her I
have lost; and if she goes to the cloister, it shall be when these
old eyes are closed for ever, and not sooner. But as for you, friend
Gow, I pray you will act according to your own best liking, I want
to force no wife on you, I promise you."

"Nay, now you beat the iron twice over," said Henry. "It is thus
we always end, father, by your being testy with me for not doing
that thing in the world which would make me happiest, were I to
have it in my power. Why, father, I would the keenest dirk I ever
forged were sticking in my heart at this moment if there is one
single particle in it that is not more your daughter's property than
my own. But what can I do? I cannot think less of her, or more of
myself, than we both deserve; and what seems to you so easy and
certain is to me as difficult as it would be to work a steel hauberk
out of bards of flax. But here is to you, father," he added, in a
more cheerful tone; "and here is to my fair saint and Valentine,
as I hope your Catharine will be mine for the season. And let me
not keep your old head longer from the pillow, but make interest
with your featherbed till daybreak; and then you must be my guide
to your daughter's chamber door, and my apology for entering it,
to bid her good morrow, for the brightest that the sun will awaken,
in the city or for miles round."

"No bad advice, my son," said the honest glover, "But you, what will
you do? Will you lie down beside me, or take a part of Conachar's
bed?"

"Neither," answered Harry Gow; "I should but prevent your rest, and
for me this easy chair is worth a down bed, and I will sleep like
a sentinel, with my graith about me." As he spoke, he laid his hand
on his sword.

"Nay, Heaven send us no more need of weapons. Goodnight, or rather
good morrow, till day peep; and the first who wakes calls up the
other."

Thus parted the two burghers. The glover retired to his bed, and,
it is to be supposed, to rest. The lover was not so fortunate. His
bodily frame easily bore the fatigue which he had encountered in
the course of the night, but his mind was of a different and more
delicate mould. In one point of view, he was but the stout burgher
of his period, proud alike of his art in making weapons and wielding
them when made; his professional jealousy, personal strength, and
skill in the use of arms brought him into many quarrels, which
had made him generally feared, and in some instances disliked. But
with these qualities were united the simple good nature of a child,
and at the same time an imaginative and enthusiastic temper, which
seemed little to correspond with his labours at the forge or his
combats in the field. Perhaps a little of the hare brained and
ardent feeling which he had picked out of old ballads, or from
the metrical romances, which were his sole source of information
or knowledge, may have been the means of pricking him on to some
of his achievements, which had often a rude strain of chivalry in
them; at least, it was certain that his love to the fair Catharine
had in it a delicacy such as might have become the squire of low
degree, who was honoured, if song speaks truth, with the smiles of
the King of Hungary's daughter. His sentiments towards her were
certainly as exalted as if they had been fixed upon an actual
angel, which made old Simon, and others who watched his conduct,
think that his passion was too high and devotional to be successful
with maiden of mortal mould. They were mistaken, however. Catharine,
coy and reserved as she was, had a heart which could feel and
understand the nature and depth of the armourer's passion; and
whether she was able to repay it or not, she had as much secret
pride in the attachment of the redoubted Henry Gow as a lady of
romance may be supposed to have in the company of a tame lion, who
follows to provide for and defend her. It was with sentiments of
the most sincere gratitude that she recollected, as she awoke at
dawn, the services of Henry during the course of the eventful night,
and the first thought which she dwelt upon was the means of making
him understand her feelings.

Arising hastily from bed, and half blushing at her own purpose
--"I have been cold to him, and perhaps unjust; I will not be
ungrateful," she said to herself, "though I cannot yield to his
suit. I will not wait till my father compels me to receive him
as my Valentine for the year: I will seek him out, and choose him
myself. I have thought other girls bold when they did something
like this; but I shall thus best please my father, and but discharge
the rites due to good St. Valentine by showing my gratitude to this
brave man."

Hastily slipping on her dress, which, nevertheless, was left a good
deal more disordered than usual, she tripped downstairs and opened
the door of the chamber, in which, as she had guessed, her lover
had passed the hours after the fray. Catharine paused at the door,
and became half afraid of executing her purpose, which not only
permitted but enjoined the Valentines of the year to begin their
connexion with a kiss of affection. It was looked upon as a peculiarly
propitious omen if the one party could find the other asleep, and
awaken him or her by performance of this interesting ceremony.

Never was a fairer opportunity offered for commencing this mystic
tie than that which now presented itself to Catharine. After many
and various thoughts, sleep had at length overcome the stout armourer
in the chair in which he had deposited himself. His features, in
repose, had a more firm and manly cast than Catharine had thought,
who, having generally seen them fluctuating between shamefacedness
and apprehension of her displeasure, had been used to connect with
them some idea of imbecility.

"He looks very stern," she said; "if he should be angry? And then
when he awakes--we are alone--if I should call Dorothy--if
I should wake my father? But no! it is a thing of custom, and done
in all maidenly and sisterly love and honour. I will not suppose
that Henry can misconstrue it, and I will not let a childish
bashfulness put my gratitude to sleep."

So saying, she tripped along the floor of the apartment with a
light, though hesitating, step; and a cheek crimsoned at her own
purpose; and gliding to the chair of the sleeper, dropped a kiss
upon his lips as light as if a rose leaf had fallen on them. The
slumbers must have been slight which such a touch could dispel,
and the dreams of the sleeper must needs have been connected with
the cause of the interruption, since Henry, instantly starting up,
caught the maiden in his arms, and attempted to return in ecstasy
the salute which had broken his repose. But Catharine struggled
in his embrace; and as her efforts implied alarmed modesty rather
than maidenly coyness, her bashful lover suffered her to escape a
grasp from which twenty times her strength could not have extricated
her.

"Nay, be not angry, good Henry," said Catharine, in the kindest tone,
to her surprised lover. "I have paid my vows to St. Valentine, to
show how I value the mate which he has sent me for the year. Let
but my father be present, and I will not dare to refuse thee the
revenge you may claim for a broken sleep."

"Let not that be a hinderance," said the old glover, rushing in
ecstasy into the room; "to her, smith--to her: strike while the
iron is hot, and teach her what it is not to let sleeping dogs lie
still."

Thus encouraged, Henry, though perhaps with less alarming vivacity,
again seized the blushing maiden in his arms, who submitted with a
tolerable grace to receive repayment of her salute, a dozen times
repeated, and with an energy very different from that which had
provoked such severe retaliation. At length she again extricated
herself from her lover's arms, and, as if frightened and repenting
what she had done, threw herself into a seat, and covered her face
with her hands.

"Cheer up, thou silly girl," said her father, "and be not ashamed
that thou hast made the two happiest men in Perth, since thy old
father is one of them. Never was kiss so well bestowed, and meet it
is that it should be suitably returned. Look up, my darling! look
up, and let me see thee give but one smile. By my honest word, the
sun that now rises over our fair city shows no sight that can give
me greater pleasure. What," he continued, in a jocose tone, "thou
thoughtst thou hadst Jamie Keddie's ring, and couldst walk invisible?
but not so, my fairy of the dawning. Just as I was about to rise,
I heard thy chamber door open, and watched thee downstairs, not to
protect thee against this sleepy headed Henry, but to see with my
own delighted eyes my beloved girl do that which her father most
wished. Come, put down these foolish hands, and though thou blushest
a little, it will only the better grace St. Valentine's morn, when
blushes best become a maiden's cheek."

As Simon Glover spoke, he pulled away, with gentle violence, the
hands which hid his daughter's face. She blushed deeply indeed, but
there was more than maiden's shame in her face, and her eyes were
fast filling with tears.

"What! weeping, love?" continued her father; "nay--nay, this is
more than need. Henry, help me to comfort this little fool."

Catharine made an effort to collect herself and to smile, but the
smile was of a melancholy and serious cast.

"I only meant to say, father," said the Fair Maid of Perth, with
continued exertion, "that in choosing Henry Gow for my Valentine,
and rendering to him the rights and greeting of the morning, according
to wonted custom, I meant but to show my gratitude to him for his
manly and faithful service, and my obedience to you. But do not lead
him to think--and, oh, dearest father, do not yourself entertain
an idea--that I meant more than what the promise to be his faithful
and affectionate Valentine through the year requires of me."

"Ay--ay----ay--ay, we understand it all," said Simon, in the
soothing tone which nurses apply to children. "We understand what
the meaning is; enough for once--enough for once. Thou shalt not
be frightened or hurried. Loving, true, and faithful Valentines
are ye, and the rest as Heaven and opportunity shall permit. Come,
prithee, have done: wring not thy tiny hands, nor fear farther
persecution now. Thou hast done bravely, excellently. And now, away
to Dorothy, and call up the old sluggard; we must have a substantial
breakfast, after a night of confusion and a morning of joy, and
thy hand will be needed to prepare for us some of these delicate
cakes which no one can make but thyself; and well hast thou a right
to the secret, seeing who taught it thee. Ah! health to the soul
of thy dearest mother," he added, with a sigh; "how blythe would
she have been to see this happy St. Valentine's morning!"

Catharine took the opportunity of escape which was thus given her,
and glided from the room. To Henry it seemed as if the sun had
disappeared from the heaven at midday, and left the world in sudden
obscurity. Even the high swelled hopes with which the late incident
had filled him began to quail, as he reflected upon her altered
demeanour--the tears in her eyes, the obvious fear which occupied
her features, and the pains she had taken to show, as plainly as
delicacy would permit, that the advances which she had made to him
were limited to the character with which the rites of the day had
invested him. Her father looked on his fallen countenance with
something like surprise and displeasure.

"In the name of good St. John, what has befallen you, that makes you
look as grave as an owl, when a lad of your spirit, having really
such a fancy for this poor girl as you pretend, ought to be as
lively as a lark?"

"Alas, father!" replied the crestfallen lover, "there is that
written on her brow which says she loves me well enough to be my
Valentine, especially since you wish it, but not well enough to be
my wife."

"Now, a plague on thee for a cold, downhearted goosecap," answered
the father. "I can read a woman's brow as well, and better, than
thou, and I can see no such matter on hers. What, the foul fiend,
man! there thou wast lying like a lord in thy elbow chair, as sound
asleep as a judge, when, hadst thou been a lover of any spirit,
thou wouldst have been watching the east for the first ray of the
sun. But there thou layest, snoring I warrant, thinking nought
about her, or anything else; and the poor girl rises at peep of
day, lest any one else should pick up her most precious and vigilant
Valentine, and wakes thee with a grace which--so help me, St.
Macgrider!--would have put life in an anvil; and thou awakest
to hone, and pine, and moan, as if she had drawn a hot iron across
thy lips! I would to St. John she had sent old Dorothy on the
errand, and bound thee for thy Valentine service to that bundle
of dry bones, with never a tooth in her head. She were fittest
Valentine in Perth for so craven a wooer."

"As to craven, father," answered the smith, "there are twenty good
cocks, whose combs I have plucked, can tell thee if I am craven or
no. And Heaven knows that I would give my good land, held by burgess'
tenure, with smithy, bellows, tongs, anvil, and all, providing
it would make your view of the matter the true one. But it is not
of her coyness or her blushes that I speak; it is of the paleness
which so soon followed the red, and chased it from her cheeks; and
it is of the tears which succeeded. It was like the April showers
stealing upon and obscuring the fairest dawning that ever beamed
over the Tay."

"Tutti taitti," replied the glover; "neither Rome nor Perth were
built in a day. Thou hast fished salmon a thousand times, and
mightst have taken a lesson. When the fish has taken the fly, to
pull a hard strain on the line would snap the tackle to pieces,
were it made of wire. Ease your hand, man, and let him rise; take
leisure, and in half an hour thou layest him on the bank. There is
a beginning as fair as you could wish, unless you expect the poor
wench to come to thy bedside as she did to thy chair; and that is
not the fashion of modest maidens. But observe me; after we have
had our breakfast, I will take care thou hast an opportunity to
speak thy mind; only beware thou be neither too backward nor press
her too hard. Give her line enough, but do not slack too fast, and
my life for yours upon the issue."

"Do what I can, father," answered Henry, "you will always lay the
blame on me--either that I give too much head or that I strain
the tackle. I would give the best habergeon I ever wrought, that
the difficulty in truth rested with me, for there were then the
better chance of its being removed. I own, however, I am but an ass
in the trick of bringing about such discourse as is to the purpose
for the occasion."

"Come into the booth with me, my son, and I will furnish thee with
a fitting theme. Thou knowest the maiden who ventures to kiss a
sleeping man wins of him a pair of gloves. Come to my booth; thou
shalt have a pair of delicate kid skin that will exactly suit her
hand and arm. I was thinking of her poor mother when I shaped them,"
added honest Simon, with a sigh; "and except Catharine, I know not
the woman in Scotland whom they would fit, though I have measured
most of the high beauties of the court. Come with me, I say, and
thou shalt be provided with a theme to wag thy tongue upon, providing
thou hast courage and caution to stand by thee in thy wooing."



CHAPTER VI.

Never to man shall Catharine give her hand.

Taming of the Shrew.


The breakfast was served, and the thin soft cakes, made of flour
and honey according to the family receipt, were not only commended
with all the partiality of a father and a lover, but done liberal
justice to in the mode which is best proof of cake as well
as pudding. They talked, jested, and laughed. Catharine, too, had
recovered her equanimity where the dames and damsels of the period
were apt to lose theirs--in the kitchen, namely, and in the
superintendence of household affairs, in which she was an adept. I
question much if the perusal of Seneca for as long a period would
have had equal effect in composing her mind.

Old Dorothy sat down at the board end, as was the homespun fashion
of the period; and so much were the two men amused with their own
conversation, and Catharine occupied either in attending to them
or with her own reflections, that the old woman was the first who
observed the absence of the boy Conachar.

"It is true," said the master glover; "go call him, the idle Highland
loon. He was not seen last night during the fray neither, at least
I saw him not. Did any of you observe him?"

The reply was negative; and Henry's observation followed:

"There are times when Highlanders can couch like their own deer--
ay, and run from danger too as fast. I have seen them do so myself,
for the matter of that."

"And there are times," replied Simon, "when King Arthur and his
Round Table could not make stand against them. I wish, Henry, you
would speak more reverently of the Highlanders. They are often in
Perth, both alone and in numbers, and you ought to keep peace with
them so long as they will keep peace with you."

An answer of defiance rose to Henry's lips, but he prudently
suppressed it. "Why, thou knowest, father," he said, smiling,
"that we handicrafts best love the folks we live by; now, my craft
provides for valiant and noble knights, gentle squires and pages,
stout men at arms, and others that wear the weapons which we make. It
is natural I should like the Ruthvens, the Lindsays, the Ogilvys,
the Oliphants, and so many others of our brave and noble neighbours,
who are sheathed in steel of my making, like so many paladins,
better than those naked, snatching mountaineers, who are ever doing
us wrong, especially since no five of each clan have a rusty shirt
of mail as old as their brattach; and that is but the work of the
clumsy clan smith after all, who is no member of our honourable
mystery, but simply works at the anvil, where his father wrought
before him. I say, such people can have no favour in the eyes of
an honest craftsman."

"Well--well," answered Simon; "I prithee let the matter rest even
now, for here comes the loitering boy, and, though it is a holyday
morn, I want no more bloody puddings."

The youth entered accordingly. His face was pale, his eyes red,
and there was an air of discomposure about his whole person. He
sat down at the lower end of the table, opposite to Dorothy, and
crossed himself, as if preparing for his morning's meal. As he
did not help himself to any food, Catharine offered him a platter
containing some of the cakes which had met with such general approbation.
At first he rejected her offered kindness rather sullenly; but on
her repeating the offer with a smile of goodwill, he took a cake in
his hand, broke it, and was about to eat a morsel, when the effort
to swallow seemed almost too much for him; and though he succeeded,
he did not repeat it.

"You have a bad appetite for St. Valentine's morning, Conachar,"
said his good humoured master; "and yet I think you must have slept
soundly the night before, since I conclude you were not disturbed
by the noise of the scuffle. Why, I thought a lively glune amie
would have been at his master's side, dirk in hand, at the first
sound of danger which arose within a mile of us."

"I heard but an indistinct noise," said the youth, his face glowing
suddenly like a heated coal, "which I took for the shout of some
merry revellers; and you are wont to bid me never open door or
window, or alarm the house, on the score of such folly."

"Well--well," said Simon; "I thought a Highlander would have known
better the difference betwixt the clash of swords and the twanging
on harps, the wild war cry and the merry hunt's up. But let it
pass, boy; I am glad thou art losing thy quarrelsome fashions. Eat
thy breakfast, any way, as I have that to employ thee which requires
haste."