"Father," replied Catharine, "the Prince is a licentious gallant,
whose notice of me tends only to my disgrace and ruin. Can you,
who seemed but now afraid that I acted imprudently in entering into
an ordinary exchange of courtesies with one of my own rank, speak
with patience of the sort of correspondence which the heir of
Scotland dares to fix upon me? Know that it is but two nights since
he, with a party of his debauched followers, would have carried
me by force from my father's house, had I not been rescued by that
same rash spirited Henry Smith, who, if he be too hasty in venturing
on danger on slight occasion, is always ready to venture his life
in behalf of innocence or in resistance of oppression. It is well
my part to do him that justice."

"I should know something of that matter," said the monk, "since
it was my voice that sent him to your assistance. I had seen the
party as I passed your door, and was hastening to the civil power
in order to raise assistance, when I perceived a man's figure coming
slowly towards me. Apprehensive it might be one of the ambuscade,
I stepped behind the buttresses of the chapel of St. John, and
seeing from a nearer view that it was Henry Smith, I guessed which
way he was bound, and raised my voice, in an exhortation which made
him double his speed."

"I am beholden to you, father," said Catharine; "but all this, and
the Duke of Rothsay's own language to me, only show that the Prince
is a profligate young man, who will scruple no extremities which
may promise to gratify an idle passion, at whatever expense to its
object. His emissary, Ramorny, has even had the insolence to tell
me that my father shall suffer for it if I dare to prefer being the
wife of an honest man to becoming the loose paramour of a married
prince. So I see no other remedy than to take the veil, or run
the risk of my own ruin and my poor father's. Were there no other
reason, the terror of these threats, from a man so notoriously
capable of keeping his word, ought as much to prevent my becoming
the bride of any worthy man as it should prohibit me from unlatching
his door to admit murderers. Oh, good father, what a lot is mine!
and how fatal am I likely to prove to my affectionate parent, and
to any one with whom I might ally my unhappy fortunes!"

"Be yet of good cheer, my daughter," said the monk; "there is comfort
for thee even in this extremity of apparent distress. Ramorny is a
villain, and abuses the ear of his patron. The Prince is unhappily
a dissipated and idle youth; but, unless my grey hairs have been
strangely imposed on, his character is beginning to alter. He hath
been awakened to Ramorny's baseness, and deeply regrets having
followed his evil advice. I believe, nay, I am well convinced, that
his passion for you has assumed a nobler and purer character, and
that the lessons he has heard from me on the corruptions of the
church and of the times will, if enforced from your lips, sink
deeply into his heart, and perhaps produce fruits for the world to
wonder as well as rejoice at. Old prophecies have said that Rome
shall fall by the speech of a woman."

"These are dreams, father," said Catharine--"the visions of one
whose thoughts are too much on better things to admit his thinking
justly upon the ordinary affairs of Perth. When we have looked long
at the sun, everything else can only be seen indistinctly."

"Thou art over hasty, my daughter," said Clement, "and thou shalt
be convinced of it. The prospects which I am to open to thee were
unfit to be exposed to one of a less firm sense of virtue, or a
more ambitious temper. Perhaps it is not fit that, even to you, I
should display them; but my confidence is strong in thy wisdom and
thy principles. Know, then, that there is much chance that the Church
of Rome will dissolve the union which she has herself formed, and
release the Duke of Rothsay from his marriage with Marjory Douglas."

Here he paused.

"And if the church hath power and will to do this," replied the
maiden, "what influence can the divorce of the Duke from his wife
produce on the fortunes of Catharine Glover?"

She looked at the priest anxiously as she spoke, and he had some
apparent difficulty in framing his reply, for he looked on the
ground while he answered her.

"What did beauty do for Catharine Logie? Unless our fathers have
told us falsely, it raised her to share the throne of David Bruce."

"Did she live happy or die regretted, good father?" asked Catharine,
in the same calm and steady tone.

"She formed her alliance from temporal, and perhaps criminal,
ambition," replied Father Clement; "and she found her reward in
vanity and vexation of spirit. But had she wedded with the purpose
that the believing wife should convert the unbelieving, or confirm
the doubting, husband, what then had been her reward? Love and
honour upon earth, and an inheritance in Heaven with Queen Margaret
and those heroines who have been the nursing mothers of the church."

Hitherto Catharine had sat upon a stone beside the priest's feet, and
looked up to him as she spoke or listened; but now, as if animated
by calm, yet settled, feelings of disapprobation, she rose up,
and, extending her hand towards the monk as she spoke, addressed
him with a countenance and voice which might have become a cherub,
pitying, and even as much as possible sparing, the feelings of the
mortal whose errors he is commissioned to rebuke.

"And is it even so?" she said, "and can so much of the wishes,
hopes, and prejudices of this vile world affect him who may be
called tomorrow to lay down his life for opposing the corruptions
of a wicked age and backsliding priesthood? Can it be the severely
virtuous Father Clement who advises his child to aim at, or even to
think of, the possession of a throne and a bed which cannot become
vacant but by an act of crying injustice to the present possessor?
Can it be the wise reformer of the church who wishes to rest a
scheme, in itself so unjust, upon a foundation so precarious? Since
when is it, good father, that the principal libertine has altered
his morals so much, to be likely to court in honourable fashion
the daughter of a Perth artisan? Two days must have wrought this
change; for only that space has passed since he was breaking into
my father's house at midnight, with worse mischief in his mind than
that of a common robber. And think you that, if Rothsay's heart
could dictate so mean a match, he could achieve such a purpose
without endangering both his succession and his life, assailed by
the Douglas and March at the same time, for what they must receive
as an act of injury and insult to both their houses? Oh! Father
Clement, where was your principle, where your prudence, when they
suffered you to be bewildered by so strange a dream, and placed
the meanest of your disciples in the right thus to reproach you?"

The old man's eyes filled with tears, as Catharine, visibly and
painfully affected by what she had said, became at length silent.

"By the mouths of babes and sucklings," he said, "hath He rebuked
those who would seem wise in their generation. I thank Heaven,
that hath taught me better thoughts than my own vanity suggested,
through the medium of so kind a monitress. Yes, Catharine, I must
not hereafter wonder or exclaim when I see those whom I have hitherto
judged too harshly struggling for temporal power, and holding all
the while the language of religious zeal. I thank thee, daughter,
for thy salutary admonition, and I thank Heaven that sent it by
thy lips, rather than those of a stern reprover."

Catharine had raised her head to reply, and bid the old man, whose
humiliation gave her pain, be comforted, when her eyes were arrested
by an object close at hand. Among the crags and cliffs which
surrounded this place of seclusion, there were two which stood in
such close contiguity, that they seemed to have been portions of
the same rock, which, rendered by lightning or by an earthquake,
now exhibited a chasm of about four feet in breadth, betwixt the
masses of stone. Into this chasm an oak tree had thrust itself,
in one of the fantastic frolics which vegetation often exhibits in
such situations. The tree, stunted and ill fed, had sent its roots
along the face of the rock in all directions to seek for supplies,
and they lay like military lines of communication, contorted, twisted,
and knotted like the immense snakes of the Indian archipelago.
As Catharine's look fell upon the curious complication of knotty
branches and twisted roots, she was suddenly sensible that two large
eyes were visible among them, fixed and glaring at her, like those
of a wild animal in ambush. She started, and, without speaking,
pointed out the object to her companion, and looking herself with
more strict attention, could at length trace out the bushy red hair
and shaggy beard, which had hitherto been concealed by the drooping
branches and twisted roots of the tree.

When he saw himself discovered, the Highlander, for such he proved,
stepped forth from his lurking place, and, stalking forward,
displayed a colossal person, clothed in a purple, red, and green
checked plaid, under which he wore a jacket of bull's hide. His
bow and arrows were at his back, his head was bare, and a large
quantity of tangled locks, like the glibbs of the Irish, served
to cover the head, and supplied all the purposes of a bonnet. His
belt bore a sword and dagger, and he had in his hand a Danish pole
axe, more recently called a Lochaber axe. Through the same rude
portal advanced, one by one, four men more, of similar size, and
dressed and armed in the same manner.

Catharine was too much accustomed to the appearance of the inhabitants
of the mountains so near to Perth to permit herself to be alarmed,
as another Lowland maiden might have been on the same occasion. She
saw with tolerable composure these gigantic forms arrange themselves
in a semicircle around and in front of the monk and herself, all
bending upon them in silence their large fixed eyes, expressing,
as far as she could judge, a wild admiration of her beauty. She
inclined her head to them, and uttered imperfectly the usual words
of a Highland salutation. The elder and leader of the party returned
the greeting, and then again remained silent and motionless. The
monk told his beads; and even Catharine began to have strange fears
for her personal safety, and anxiety to know whether they were to
consider themselves at personal freedom. She resolved to make the
experiment, and moved forward as if to descend the hill; but when
she attempted to pass the line of Highlanders, they extended their
poleaxes betwixt each other, so as effectually to occupy each
opening through which she could have passed.

Somewhat disconcerted, yet not dismayed, for she could not conceive
that any evil was intended, she sat down upon one of the scattered
fragments of rock, and bade the monk, standing by her side, be of
good courage.

"If I fear," said Father Clement, "it is not for myself; for whether
I be brained with the axes of these wild men, like an ox when, worn
out by labour, he is condemned to the slaughter, or whether I am
bound with their bowstrings, and delivered over to those who will
take my life with more cruel ceremony, it can but little concern
me, if they suffer thee, dearest daughter, to escape uninjured."

"We have neither of us," replied the Maiden of Perth, "any cause
for apprehending evil; and here comes Conachar to assure us of it."

Yet, as she spoke, she almost doubted her own eyes; so altered
were the manner and attire of the handsome, stately, and almost
splendidly dressed youth who, springing like a roebuck from a cliff
of considerable height, lighted just in front of her. His dress
was of the same tartan worn by those who had first made their
appearance, but closed at the throat and elbows with a necklace
and armlets of gold. The hauberk which he wore over his person was
of steel, but so clearly burnished that it shone like silver. His
arms were profusely ornamented, and his bonnet, besides the eagle's
feather marking the quality of chief, was adorned with a chain of
gold, wrapt several times around it, and secured by a large clasp,
glistening with pearls. His brooch, by which the tartan mantle, or
plaid, as it is now called, was secured on the shoulder, was also
of gold, large and curiously carved. He bore no weapon in his hand,
excepting a small sapling stick with a hooked head. His whole
appearance and gait, which used formerly to denote a sullen feeling
of conscious degradation, was now bold, forward, and haughty; and
he stood before Catharine with smiling confidence, as if fully
conscious of his improved appearance, and waiting till she should
recognise him.

"Conachar," said Catharine, desirous to break this state of suspense,
"are these your father's men?"

"No, fair Catharine," answered the young man. "Conachar is no more,
unless in regard to the wrongs he has sustained, and the vengeance
which they demand. I am Ian Eachin MacIan, son to the chief of the
Clan Quhele. I have moulted my feathers, as you see, when I changed
my name. And for these men, they are not my father's followers,
but mine. You see only one half of them collected: they form a band
consisting of my foster father and eight sons, who are my bodyguard,
and the children of my belt, who breathe but to do my will. But
Conachar," he added, in a softer tone of voice, "lives again so
soon as Catharine desires to see him; and while he is the young
chief of the Clan Quhele to all others, he is to her as humble and
obedient as when he was Simon Glover's apprentice. See, here is the
stick I had from you when we nutted together in the sunny braes of
Lednoch, when autumn was young in the year that is gone. I would
not exchange it, Catharine, for the truncheon of my tribe."

While Eachin thus spoke, Catharine began to doubt in her own mind
whether she had acted prudently in requesting the assistance of a
bold young man, elated, doubtless, by his sudden elevation from a
state of servitude to one which she was aware gave him extensive
authority over a very lawless body of adherents.

"You do not fear me, fair Catharine?" said the young chief, taking
her hand. "I suffered my people to appear before you for a few
minutes, that I might see how you could endure their presence; and
methinks you regarded them as if you were born to be a chieftain's
wife."

"I have no reason to fear wrong from Highlanders," said Catharine,
firmly; "especially as I thought Conachar was with them. Conachar
has drunk of our cup and eaten of our bread; and my father has
often had traffic with Highlanders, and never was there wrong or
quarrel betwixt him and them."

"No?" replied Hector, for such is the Saxon equivalent for Eachin,
"what! never when he took the part of the Gow Chrom (the bandy
legged smith) against Eachin MacIan? Say nothing to excuse it, and
believe it will be your own fault if I ever again allude to it. But
you had some command to lay upon me; speak, and you shall be obeyed."

Catharine hastened to reply; for there was something in the young
chief's manner and language which made her desire to shorten the
interview.

"Eachin," she said, "since Conachar is no longer your name, you
ought to be sensible that in claiming, as I honestly might, a service
from my equal, I little thought that I was addressing a person of
such superior power and consequence. You, as well as I, have been
obliged to the religious instruction of this good man. He is now
in great danger: wicked men have accused him with false charges,
and he is desirous to remain in safety and concealment till the
storm shall pass away."

"Ha! the good clerk Clement! Ay, the worthy clerk did much for me,
and more than my rugged temper was capable to profit by. I will
be glad to see any one in the town of Perth persecute one who hath
taken hold of MacIan's mantle!"

"It may not be safe to trust too much to that," said Catharine. "I
nothing doubt the power of your tribe; but when the Black Douglas
takes up a feud, he is not to be scared by the shaking of a Highland
plaid."

The Highlander disguised his displeasure at this speech with a
forced laugh.

"The sparrow," he said, "that is next the eye seems larger than the
eagle that is perched on Bengoile. You fear the Douglasses most,
because they sit next to you. But be it as you will. You will not
believe how wide our hills, and vales, and forests extend beyond
the dusky barrier of yonder mountains, and you think all the world
lies on the banks of the Tay. But this good clerk shall see hills
that could hide him were all the Douglasses on his quest--ay,
and he shall see men enough also to make them glad to get once more
southward of the Grampians. And wherefore should you not go with
the good man? I will send a party to bring him in safety from Perth,
and we will set up the old trade beyond Loch Tay--only no more
cutting out of gloves for me. I will find your father in hides, but
I will not cut them, save when they are on the creatures' backs."

"My father will come one day and see your housekeeping, Conachar
--I mean, Hector. But times must be quieter, for there is feud
between the townspeople and the followers of the noblemen, and
there is speech of war about to break out in the Highlands."

"Yes, by Our Lady, Catharine! and were it not for that same Highland
war, you should nor thus put off your Highland visit, my pretty
mistress. But the race of the hills are no longer to be divided
into two nations. They will fight like men for the supremacy, and
he who gets it will deal with the King of Scotland as an equal, not
as a superior. Pray that the victory may fall to MacIan, my pious
St. Catharine, for thou shalt pray for one who loves thee dearly."

"I will pray for the right," said Catharine; "or rather, I will
pray that there be peace on all sides. Farewell, kind and excellent
Father Clement. Believe I shall never forget thy lessons; remember
me in thy prayers. But how wilt thou be able to sustain a journey
so toilsome?"

"They shall carry him if need be," said Hector, "if we go far
without finding a horse for him. But you, Catharine--it is far
from hence to Perth. Let me attend you thither as I was wont."

"If you were as you were wont, I would not refuse your escort. But
gold brooches and bracelets are perilous company, when the Liddesdale
and Annandale lancers are riding as throng upon the highway as the
leaves at Hallowmass; and there is no safe meeting betwixt Highland
tartans and steel jackets."

She hazarded this remark, as she somewhat suspected that, in
casting his slough, young Eachin had not entirely surmounted the
habits which he had acquired in his humbler state, and that, though
he might use bold words, he would not be rash enough to brave the
odds of numbers, to which a descent into the vicinity of the city
would be likely to expose him. It appeared that she judged correctly;
for, after a farewell, in which she compounded for the immunity of
her lips by permitting him to kiss her hand, she returned towards
Perth, and could obtain at times, when she looked back, an occasional
glance of the Highlanders, as, winding through the most concealed
and impracticable paths, they bent their way towards the North.

She felt in part relieved from her immediate anxiety, as the
distance increased betwixt her and these men, whose actions were
only directed by the will of their chief, and whose chief was a
giddy and impetuous boy. She apprehended no insult on her return
to Perth from the soldiery of any party whom she might meet; for
the rules of chivalry were in those days a surer protection to
a maiden of decent appearance than an escort of armed men, whose
cognizance might not be acknowledged as friendly by any other
party whom they might chance to encounter. But more remote dangers
pressed on her apprehension. The pursuit of the licentious Prince was
rendered formidable by threats which his unprincipled counsellor,
Ramorny, had not shunned to utter against her father, if
she persevered in her coyness. These menaces, in such an age, and
from such a character, were deep grounds for alarm; nor could she
consider the pretensions to her favour which Conachar had scarce
repressed during his state of servitude, and seemed now to avow
boldly, as less fraught with evil, since there had been repeated
incursions of the Highlanders into the very town of Perth, and
citizens had, on more occasions than one, been made prisoners and
carried off from their own houses, or had fallen by the claymore
in the very streets of their city. She feared, too, her father's
importunity on behalf of the smith, of whose conduct on St.
Valentine's Day unworthy reports had reached her; and whose suit,
had he stood clear in her good opinion, she dared not listen to,
while Ramorny's threats of revenge upon her father rung on her ear.
She thought on these various dangers with the deepest apprehension,
and an earnest desire to escape from them and herself, by taking
refuge in the cloister; but saw no possibility of obtaining her
father's consent to the only course from which she expected peace
and protection.

In the course of these reflections, we cannot discover that she
very distinctly regretted that her perils attended her because she
was the Fair Maid of Perth. This was one point which marked that
she was not yet altogether an angel; and perhaps it was another
that, in despite of Henry Smith's real or supposed delinquencies,
a sigh escaped from her bosom when she thought upon St. Valentine's
dawn.



CHAPTER XV.

Oh, for a draught of power to steep
The soul of agony in sleep!

Bertha.


We have shown the secrets of the confessional; those of the sick
chamber are not hidden from us. The darkened apartment, where salves
and medicines showed that the leech had been busy in his craft, a
tall thin form lay on a bed, arrayed in a nightgown belted around
him, with pain on his brow, and a thousand stormy passions agitating
his bosom. Everything in the apartment indicated a man of opulence
and of expense. Henbane Dwining, the apothecary, who seemed to have
the care of the patient, stole with a crafty and catlike step from
one corner of the room to another, busying himself with mixing
medicines and preparing dressings. The sick man groaned once or
twice, on which the leech, advancing to his bedside, asked whether
these sounds were a token of the pain of his body or of the distress
of his mind.

"Of both, thou poisoning varlet," said Sir John Ramorny, "and of
being encumbered with thy accursed company."

"If that is all, I can relieve your knighthood of one of these
ills by presently removing myself elsewhere. Thanks to the feuds
of this boisterous time, had I twenty hands, instead of these two
poor servants of my art (displaying his skinny palms), there is
enough of employment for them--well requited employment, too,
where thanks and crowns contend which shall best pay my services;
while you, Sir John, wreak upon your chirurgeon the anger you ought
only to bear against the author of your wound."

"Villain, it is beneath me to reply to thee," said the patient;
"but every word of thy malignant tongue is a dirk, inflicting wounds
which set all the medicines of Arabia at defiance."

"Sir John, I understand you not; but if you give way to these
tempestuous fits of rage, it is impossible but fever and inflammation
must be the result."

"Why then dost thou speak in a sense to chafe my blood? Why dost
thou name the supposition of thy worthless self having more hands
than nature gave thee, while I, a knight and gentleman, am mutilated
like a cripple?"

"Sir John," replied the chirurgeon, "I am no divine, nor a mainly
obstinate believer in some things which divines tell us. Yet I may
remind you that you have been kindly dealt with; for if the blow
which has done you this injury had lighted on your neck, as it was
aimed, it would have swept your head from your shoulders, instead
of amputating a less considerable member."

"I wish it had, Dwining--I wish it had lighted as it was addressed.
I should not then have seen a policy which had spun a web so fine
as mine burst through by the brute force of a drunken churl. I
should not have been reserved to see horses which I must not mount,
lists which I must no longer enter, splendours which I cannot hope
to share, or battles which I must not take part in. I should not,
with a man's passions for power and for strife, be set to keep place
among the women, despised by them, too, as a miserable, impotent
cripple, unable to aim at obtaining the favour of the sex."

"Supposing all this to be so, I will yet pray of your knighthood
to remark," replied Dwining, still busying himself with arranging
the dressings of the wounds, "that your eyes, which you must have
lost with your head, may, being spared to you, present as rich a
prospect of pleasure as either ambition, or victory in the list or
in the field, or the love of woman itself, could have proposed to
you."

"My sense is too dull to catch thy meaning, leech," replied Ramorny.
"What is this precious spectacle reserved to me in such a shipwreck?"

"The dearest that mankind knows," replied Dwining; and then, in
the accent of a lover who utters the name of his beloved mistress,
and expresses his passion for her in the very tone of his voice,
he added the word "REVENGE!"

The patient had raised himself on his couch to listen with some
anxiety for the solution of the physician's enigma. He laid himself
down again as he heard it explained, and after a short pause asked,
"In what Christian college learned you this morality, good Master
Dwining?"

"In no Christian college," answered his physician; "for, though it
is privately received in most, it is openly and manfully adopted
in none. But I have studied among the sages of Granada, where the
fiery souled Moor lifts high his deadly dagger as it drops with his
enemy's blood, and avows the doctrine which the pallid Christian
practises, though coward-like he dare not name it."

"Thou art then a more high souled villain than I deemed thee," said
Ramorny.

"Let that pass," answered Dwining. "The waters that are the stillest
are also the deepest; and the foe is most to be dreaded who never
threatens till he strikes. You knights and men at arms go straight to
your purpose with sword in hand. We who are clerks win our access
with a noiseless step and an indirect approach, but attain our
object not less surely."

"And I," said the knight, "who have trod to my revenge with a mailed
foot, which made all echo around it, must now use such a slipper
as thine--ha?"

"He who lacks strength," said the wily mediciner, "must attain his
purpose by skill."

"And tell me sincerely, mediciner, wherefore thou wouldst read me
these devil's lessons? Why wouldst thou thrust me faster or farther
on to my vengeance than I may seem to thee ready to go of my own
accord? I am old in the ways of the world, man; and I know that
such as thou do not drop words in vain, or thrust themselves upon
the dangerous confidence of men like me save with the prospect of
advancing some purpose of their own. What interest hast thou in
the road, whether peaceful or bloody, which I may pursue on these
occurrents?"

"In plain dealing, sir knight, though it is what I seldom use,"
answered the leech, "my road to revenge is the same with yours."

"With mine, man?" said Ramorny, with a tone of scornful surprise.
"I thought it had been high beyond thy reach. Thou aim at the same
revenge with Ramorny?"

"Ay, truly," replied Dwining, "for the smithy churl under whose
blow you have suffered has often done me despite and injury. He
has thwarted me in counsel and despised me in action. His brutal
and unhesitating bluntness is a living reproach to the subtlety of
my natural disposition. I fear him, and I hate him."

"And you hope to hind an active coadjutor in me?" said Ramorny, in
the same supercilious tone as before. "But know, the artisan fellow
is too low in degree to be to me either the object of hatred or
of fear. Yet he shall not escape. We hate not the reptile that has
stung us, though we might shake it off the wound, and tread upon it.
I know the ruffian of old as a stout man at arms, and a pretender,
as I have heard, to the favour of the scornful puppet whose beauties,
forsooth, spurred us to our wise and hopeful attempt. Fiends that
direct this nether world, by what malice have ye decided that the
hand which has couched a lance against the bosom of a prince should
be struck off like a sapling by the blow of a churl, and during the
turmoil of a midnight riot? Well, mediciner, thus far our courses
hold together, and I bid thee well believe that I will crush for
thee this reptile mechanic. But do not thou think to escape me
when that part of my revenge is done which will be most easily and
speedily accomplished."

"Not, it may be, altogether so easily accomplished," said the
apothecary; "for if your knighthood will credit me, there will be
found small ease or security in dealing with him. He is the strongest,
boldest, and most skilful swordsman in Perth and all the country
around it."

"Fear nothing; he shall be met with had he the strength of Sampson.
But then, mark me! Hope not thou to escape my vengeance, unless
thou become my passive agent in the scene which is to follow. Mark
me, I say once more. I have studied at no Moorish college, and lack
some of thy unbounded appetite for revenge, but yet I will have
my share of vengeance. Listen to me, mediciner, while I shall thus
far unfold myself; but beware of treachery, for, powerful as thy
fiend is, thou hast taken lessons from a meaner devil than mine.
Hearken--the master whom I have served through vice and virtue,
with too much zeal for my own character, perhaps, but with unshaken
fidelity to him--the very man, to soothe whose frantic folly
I have incurred this irreparable loss, is, at the prayer of his
doating father, about to sacrifice me, by turning me out of his
favour, and leaving me at the mercy of the hypocritical relative
with whom he seeks a precarious reconciliation at my expense. If
he perseveres in this most ungrateful purpose, thy fiercest Moors,
were their complexion swarthy as the smoke of hell, shall blush
to see their revenge outdone. But I will give him one more chance
for honour and safety before my wrath shall descend on him in
unrelenting and unmitigated fury. There, then, thus far thou hast
my confidence. Close hands on our bargain. Close hands, did I say?
Where is the hand that should be the pledge and representative of
Ramorny's plighted word? Is it nailed on the public pillory, or
flung as offal to the houseless dogs, who are even now snarling
over it? Lay thy finger on the mutilated stump, then, and swear
to be a faithful actor in my revenge, as I shall be in yours. How
now, sir leech look you pale--you, who say to death, stand back
or advance, can you tremble to think of him or to hear him named? I
have not mentioned your fee, for one who loves revenge for itself
requires no deeper bribe; yet, if broad lands and large sums
of gold can increase thy zeal in a brave cause, believe me, these
shall not be lacking."

"They tell for something in my humble wishes," said Dwining: "the
poor man in this bustling world is thrust down like a dwarf in a
crowd, and so trodden under foot; the rich and powerful rise like
giants above the press, and are at ease, while all is turmoil around
them."

"Then shalt thou arise above the press, mediciner, as high as gold
can raise thee. This purse is weighty, yet it is but an earnest of
thy guerdon."

"And this Smith, my noble benefactor," said the leech, as he pouched
the gratuity--"this Henry of the Wynd, or what ever is his name
--would not the news that he hath paid the penalty of his action
assuage the pain of thy knighthood's wound better than the balm of
Mecca with which I have salved it?"

"He is beneath the thoughts of Ramorny; and I have no more resentment
against him than I have ill will at the senseless weapon which he
swayed. But it is just thy hate should be vented upon him. Where
is he chiefly to be met with?"

"That also I have considered," said Dwining. "To make the attempt
by day in his own house were too open and dangerous, for he hath
five servants who work with him at the stithy, four of them strong
knaves, and all loving to their master. By night were scarce less
desperate, for he hath his doors strongly secured with bolt of
oak and bar of iron, and ere the fastenings of his house could be
forced, the neighbourhood would rise to his rescue, especially as
they are still alarmed by the practice on St. Valentine's Even."

"Oh, ay, true, mediciner," said Ramorny, "for deceit is thy nature
even with me: thou knewest my hand and signet, as thou said'st,
when that hand was found cast out on the street, like the disgusting
refuse of a shambles--why, having such knowledge, went'st thou
with these jolterheaded citizens to consult that Patrick Charteris,
whose spurs should be hacked off from his heels for the communion
which he holds with paltry burghers, and whom thou brought'st here
with the fools to do dishonour to the lifeless hand, which, had it
held its wonted place, he was not worthy to have touched in peace
or faced in war?"

"My noble patron, as soon as I had reason to know you had been the
sufferer, I urged them with all my powers of persuasion to desist
from prosecuting the feud; but the swaggering smith, and one or
two other hot heads, cried out for vengeance. Your knighthood must
know this fellow calls himself bachelor to the Fair Maiden of Perth,
and stands upon his honour to follow up her father's quarrel; but
I have forestalled his market in that quarter, and that is something
in earnest of revenge."

"How mean you by that, sir leech?" said the patient.

"Your knighthood shall conceive," said the mediciner, "that this
smith doth not live within compass, but is an outlier and a galliard.
I met him myself on St. Valentine's Day, shortly after the affray
between the townsfolk and the followers of Douglas. Yes, I met him
sneaking through the lanes and bye passages with a common minstrel
wench, with her messan and her viol on his one arm and her buxom
self hanging upon the other. What thinks your honour? Is not this
a trim squire, to cross a prince's love with the fairest girl
in Perth, strike off the hand of a knight and baron, and become
gentleman usher to a strolling glee woman, all in the course of
the same four and twenty hours?"

"Marry, I think the better of him that he has so much of a gentleman's
humour, clown though he be," said Ramorny. "I would he had been a
precisian instead of a galliard, and I should have had better heart
to aid thy revenge. And such revenge!--revenge on a smith--in
the quarrel of a pitiful manufacturer of rotten cheverons! Pah! And
yet it shall be taken in full. Thou hast commenced it, I warrant
me, by thine own manoeuvres."

"In a small degree only," said the apothecary. "I took care that
two or three of the most notorious gossips in Curfew street, who
liked not to hear Catharine called the Fair Maid of Perth, should
be possessed of this story of her faithful Valentine. They opened
on the scent so keenly, that, rather than doubt had fallen on the
tale, they would have vouched for it as if their own eyes had seen
it. The lover came to her father's within an hour after, and your
worship may think what a reception he had from the angry glover, for
the damsel herself would not be looked upon. And thus your honour
sees I had a foretaste of revenge. But I trust to receive the
full draught from the hands of your lordship, with whom I am in a
brotherly league, which--"

"Brotherly!" said the knight, contemptuously. "But be it so, the
priests say we are all of one common earth. I cannot tell, there
seems to me some difference; but the better mould shall keep faith
with the baser, and thou shalt have thy revenge. Call thou my page
hither."

A young man made his appearance from the anteroom upon the physician's
summons.

"Eviot," said the knight, "does Bonthron wait? and is he sober?"

"He is as sober as sleep can make him after a deep drink," answered
the page.

"Then fetch him hither, and do thou shut the door."

A heavy step presently approached the apartment, and a man entered,
whose deficiency of height seemed made up in breadth of shoulders
and strength of arm.

"There is a man thou must deal upon, Bonthron," said the knight. The
man smoothed his rugged features and grinned a smile of satisfaction.

"That mediciner will show thee the party. Take such advantage of
time, place, and circumstance as will ensure the result; and mind
you come not by the worst, for the man is the fighting Smith of
the Wynd."

"It Will be a tough job," growled the assassin; "for if I miss my
blow, I may esteem myself but a dead man. All Perth rings with the
smith's skill and strength."

"Take two assistants with thee," said the knight.

"Not I," said Bonthron. "If you double anything, let it be the
reward."

"Account it doubled," said his master; "but see thy work be thoroughly
executed."

"Trust me for that, sir knight: seldom have I failed."

"Use this sage man's directions," said the wounded knight, pointing
to the physician. "And hark thee, await his coming forth, and drink
not till the business be done."

"I will not," answered the dark satellite; "my own life depends on
my blow being steady and sure. I know whom I have to deal with."

"Vanish, then, till he summons you, and have axe and dagger in
readiness."

Bonthron nodded and withdrew.

"Will your knighthood venture to entrust such an act to a single
hand?" said the mediciner, when the assassin had left the room.
"May I pray you to remember that yonder party did, two nights since,
baffle six armed men?"

"Question me not, sir mediciner: a man like Bonthron, who knows
time and place, is worth a score of confused revellers. Call Eviot;
thou shalt first exert thy powers of healing, and do not doubt that
thou shalt, in the farther work, be aided by one who will match
thee in the art of sudden and unexpected destruction."

The page Eviot again appeared at the mediciner's summons, and at
his master's sign assisted the chirurgeon in removing the dressings
from Sir John Ramorny's wounded arm. Dwining viewed the naked stump
with a species of professional satisfaction, enhanced, no doubt,
by the malignant pleasure which his evil disposition took in the
pain and distress of his fellow creatures. The knight just turned
his eye on the ghastly spectacle, and uttered, under the pressure
of bodily pain or mental agony, a groan which he would fain have
repressed.

"You groan, sir," said the leech, in his soft, insinuating tone
of voice, but with a sneer of enjoyment, mixed with scorn, curling
upon his lip, which his habitual dissimulation could not altogether
disguise--"you groan; but be comforted. This Henry Smith knows
his business: his sword is as true to its aim as his hammer to the
anvil. Had a common swordsman struck this fatal blow, he had harmed
the bone and damaged the muscles, so that even my art might not
have been able to repair them. But Henry Smith's cut is clean,
and as sure as that with which my own scalpel could have made the
amputation. In a few days you will be able, with care and attention
to the ordinances of medicine, to stir abroad."

"But my hand--the loss of my hand--"

"It may be kept secret for a time," said the mediciner. "I have
possessed two or three tattling fools, in deep confidence, that
the hand which was found was that of your knighthood's groom, Black
Quentin, and your knighthood knows that he has parted for Fife, in
such sort as to make it generally believed."

"I know well enough," said Ramorny, "that the rumour may stifle
the truth for a short time. But what avails this brief delay?"

"It may be concealed till your knighthood retires for a time from
the court, and then, when new accidents have darkened the recollection
of the present stir, it may be imputed to a wound received from
the shivering of a spear, or from a crossbow bolt. Your slave will
find a suitable device, and stand for the truth of it."

"The thought maddens me," said Ramorny, with another groan of mental
and bodily agony; "yet I see no better remedy."

"There is none other," said the leech, to whose evil nature his
patron's distress was delicious nourishment. "In the mean while, it
is believed you are confined by the consequences of some bruises,
aiding the sense of displeasure at the Prince's having consented
to dismiss you from his household at the remonstrance of Albany,
which is publicly known."

"Villain, thou rack'st me!" exclaimed the patient.

"Upon the whole, therefore," said Dwining, "your knighthood has
escaped well, and, saving the lack of your hand, a mischance beyond
remedy, you ought rather to rejoice than complain; for no barber
chirurgeon in France or England could have more ably performed the
operation than this churl with one downright blow."

"I understand my obligation fully," said Ramorny, struggling with
his anger, and affecting composure; "and if Bonthron pays him not
with a blow equally downright, and rendering the aid of the leech
unnecessary, say that John of Ramorny cannot requite an obligation."

"That is spoke like yourself, noble knight!" answered the mediciner.
"And let me further say, that the operator's skill must have been
vain, and the hemorrhage must have drained your life veins, but
for the bandages, the cautery, and the styptics applied by the good
monks, and the poor services of your humble vassal, Henbane Dwining."

"Peace," exclaimed the patient, "with thy ill omened voice and
worse omened name! Methinks, as thou mentionest the tortures I have
undergone, my tingling nerves stretch and contract themselves as
if they still actuated the fingers that once could clutch a dagger."

"That," explained the leech, "may it please your knighthood, is
a phenomenon well known to our profession. There have been those
among the ancient sages who have thought that there still remained
a sympathy between the severed nerves and those belonging to the
amputated limb; and that the several fingers are seen to quiver
and strain, as corresponding with the impulse which proceeds from
their sympathy with the energies of the living system. Could we
recover the hand from the Cross, or from the custody of the Black
Douglas, I would be pleased to observe this wonderful operation of
occult sympathies. But, I fear me, one might as safely go to wrest
the joint from the talons of an hungry eagle."

"And thou mayst as safely break thy malignant jests on a wounded
lion as on John of Ramorny," said the knight, raising himself
in uncontrollable indignation. "Caitiff, proceed to thy duty;
and remember, that if my hand can no longer clasp a dagger, I can
command an hundred."

"The sight of one drawn and brandished in anger were sufficient,"
said Dwining, "to consume the vital powers of your chirurgeon. But
who then," he added in a tone partly insinuating, partly jeering
--"who would then relieve the fiery and scorching pain which my
patron now suffers, and which renders him exasperated even with
his poor servant for quoting the rules of healing, so contemptible,
doubtless, compared with the power of inflicting wounds?"

Then, as daring no longer to trifle with the mood of his dangerous
patient, the leech addressed himself seriously to salving the
wound, and applied a fragrant balm, the odour of which was diffused
through the apartment, while it communicated a refreshing coolness,
instead of the burning heat--a change so gratifying to the fevered
patient, that, as he had before groaned with agony, he could not
now help sighing for pleasure, as he sank back on his couch to
enjoy the ease which the dressing bestowed.

"Your knightly lordship now knows who is your friend," said Dwining;
"had you yielded to a rash impulse, and said, 'Slay me this worthless
quacksalver,' where, within the four seas of Britain, would you
have found the man to have ministered to you as much comfort?"

"Forget my threats, good leech," said Ramorny, "and beware how you
tempt me. Such as I brook not jests upon our agony. See thou keep
thy scoffs, to pass upon misers [that is, miserable persons, as
used in Spenser and other writers of his time, though the sense is
now restricted to those who are covetous] in the hospital."

Dwining ventured to say no more, but poured some drops from a phial
which he took from his pocket into a small cup of wine allayed with
water.

"This draught," said the man of art, "is medicated to produce a
sleep which must not be interrupted."

"For how long will it last?" asked the knight.

"The period of its operation is uncertain--perhaps till morning."

"Perhaps for ever," said the patient. "Sir mediciner, taste me that
liquor presently, else it passes not my lips."

The leech obeyed him, with a scornful smile. "I would drink the
whole with readiness; but the juice of this Indian gum will bring
sleep on the healthy man as well as upon the patient, and the
business of the leech requires me to be a watcher."

"I crave your pardon, sir leech," said Ramorny, looking downwards,
as if ashamed to have manifested suspicion.

"There is no room for pardon where offence must not be taken,"
answered the mediciner. "An insect must thank a giant that he does
not tread on him. Yet, noble knight, insects have their power of
harming as well as physicians. What would it have cost me, save a
moment's trouble, so to have drugged that balm, as should have made
your arm rot to the shoulder joint, and your life blood curdle in
your veins to a corrupted jelly? What is there that prevented me
to use means yet more subtle, and to taint your room with essences,
before which the light of life twinkles more and more dimly, till
it expires, like a torch amidst the foul vapours of some subterranean
dungeon? You little estimate my power, if you know not that these
and yet deeper modes of destruction stand at command of my art.
But a physician slays not the patient by whose generosity he lives,
and far less will he the breath of whose nostrils is the hope
of revenge destroy the vowed ally who is to favour his pursuit of
it. Yet one word; should a necessity occur for rousing yourself--
for who in Scotland can promise himself eight hours' uninterrupted
repose?--then smell at the strong essence contained in this
pouncet box. And now, farewell, sir knight; and if you cannot think
of me as a man of nice conscience, acknowledge me at least as one
of reason and of judgment."

So saying, the mediciner left the room, his usual mean and shuffling
gait elevating itself into something more noble, as conscious of
a victory over his imperious patient.

Sir John Ramorny remained sunk in unpleasing reflections until he
began to experience the incipient effects of his soporific draught.
He then roused himself for an instant, and summoned his page.

"Eviot! what ho! Eviot! I have done ill to unbosom myself so far
to this poisonous quacksalver. Eviot!"

The page entered.

"Is the mediciner gone forth?"

"Yes, so please your knighthood."

"Alone or accompanied?"

"Bonthron spoke apart with him, and followed him almost immediately
--by your lordship's command, as I understood him."

"Lackaday, yes! he goes to seek some medicaments; he will return
anon. If he be intoxicated, see he comes not near my chamber, and
permit him not to enter into converse with any one. He raves when
drink has touched his brain. He was a rare fellow before a Southron
bill laid his brain pan bare; but since that time he talks gibberish
whenever the cup has crossed his lips. Said the leech aught to you,
Eviot?"

"Nothing, save to reiterate his commands that your honour be not
disturbed."

"Which thou must surely obey," said the knight. "I feel the summons
to rest, of which I have been deprived since this unhappy wound.
At least, if I have slept it has been but for a snatch. Aid me to
take off my gown, Eviot."

"May God and the saints send you good rest, my lord," said the page,
retiring after he had rendered his wounded master the assistance
required.

As Eviot left the room, the knight, whose brain was becoming more
and more confused, muttered over the page's departing salutation.

"God--saints--I have slept sound under such a benison. But now,
methinks if I awake not to the accomplishment of my proud hopes
of power and revenge, the best wish for me is, that the slumbers
which now fall around my head were the forerunners of that sleep
which shall return my borrowed powers to their original nonexistence
--I can argue it no farther."

Thus speaking, he fell into a profound sleep.



CHAPTER XVI.

On Fastern's E'en when we war fou.

Scots Song.


The night which sunk down on the sickbed of Ramorny was not doomed
to be a quiet one. Two hours had passed since curfew bell, then
rung at seven o'clock at night, and in those primitive times all
were retired to rest, excepting such whom devotion, or duty, or
debauchery made watchers; and the evening being that of Shrovetide,
or, as it was called in Scotland, Fastern's E'en, the vigils of
gaiety were by far the most frequented of the three.

The common people had, throughout the day, toiled and struggled
at football; the nobles and gentry had fought cocks, and hearkened
to the wanton music of the minstrel; while the citizens had gorged
themselves upon pancakes fried in lard, and brose, or brewis--the
fat broth, that is, in which salted beef had been boiled, poured
upon highly toasted oatmeal, a dish which even now is not ungrateful
to simple, old fashioned Scottish palates. These were all exercises
and festive dishes proper to the holiday. It was no less a solemnity
of the evening that the devout Catholic should drink as much good
ale and wine as he had means to procure; and, if young and able, that
he should dance at the ring, or figure among the morrice dancers,
who, in the city of Perth, as elsewhere, wore a peculiarly fantastic
garb, and distinguished themselves by their address and activity.
All this gaiety took place under the prudential consideration
that the long term of Lent, now approaching, with its fasts and
deprivations, rendered it wise for mortals to cram as much idle
and sensual indulgence as they could into the brief space which
intervened before its commencement.