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  Chapter the Tenth.

  Here we stand-- Woundless and well, may Heaven's high name be bless'd for't! As erst, ere treason couch'd a lance against us. Decker.

  No sooner was the Sub-Prior hurried into the refectory by his rejoicingcompanions, than the first person on whom he fixed his eye proved to beChristie of the Clinthill. He was seated in the chimney-corner, fetteredand guarded, his features drawn into that air of sulky and turbidresolution with which those hardened in guilt are accustomed to view theapproach of punishment. But as the Sub-Prior drew near to him, his faceassumed a more wild and startled expression, while he exclaimed--"Thedevil! the devil himself, brings the dead back upon the living."

  "Nay," said a monk to him, "say rather that Our Lady foils the attemptsof the wicked on her faithful servants--our dear brother lives andmoves."

  "Lives and moves!" said the ruffian, rising and shuffling towards theSub-Prior as well as his chains would permit; "nay, then, I will nevertrust ashen shaft and steel point more--It is even so," he added, as hegazed on the Sub-Prior with astonishment; "neither wem nor wound--not asmuch as a rent in his frock!"

  "And whence should my wound have come?" said Father Eustace.

  "From the good lance that never failed me before," replied Christie ofthe Clinthill.

  "Heaven absolve thee for thy purpose!" said the Sub-Prior; "wouldst thouhave slain a servant of the altar?"

  "To choose!" answered Christie; "the Fifemen say, an the whole pack ofye were slain, there were more lost at Flodden."

  "Villain! art thou heretic as well as murderer?"

  "Not I, by Saint Giles," replied the rider; "I listened blithely enoughto the Laird of Monance, when he told me ye were all cheats and knaves;but when he would have had me go hear one Wiseheart, a gospeller as theycall him, he might as well have persuaded the wild colt that had flungone rider to kneel down and help another into the saddle."

  "There is some goodness about him yet," said the Sacristan to the Abbot,who at that moment entered--"He refused to hear a heretic preacher."

  "The better for him in the next world," answered the Abbot. "Prepare fordeath, my son,--we deliver thee over to the secular arm of our bailie,for execution on the Gallow-hill by peep of light."

  "Amen!" said the ruffian; "'tis the end I must have come by sooner orlater--and what care I whether I feed the crows at Saint Mary's or atCarlisle?"

  "Let me implore your reverend patience for an instant," said theSub-Prior; "until I shall inquire--"

  "What!" exclaimed the Abbot, observing him for the first time--"Our dearbrother restored to us when his life was unhoped for!--nay, kneel notto a sinner like me--stand up--thou hast my blessing. When this villaincame to the gate, accused by his own evil conscience, and crying outhe had murdered thee, I thought that the pillar of our main aisle hadfallen--no more shall a life so precious be exposed to such risks asoccur in this border country; no longer shall one beloved and rescuedof Heaven hold so low a station in the church as that of a poorSub-Prior--I will write by express to the Primate for thy speedy removaland advancement."

  "Nay, but let me understand," said the Sub-Prior; "did this soldier sayhe had slain me?"

  "That he had transfixed you," answered the Abbot, "in full career withhis lance--but it seems he had taken an indifferent aim. But no soonerdidst thou fall to the ground mortally gored, as he deemed, with hisweapon, than our blessed Patroness appeared to him, as he averred--"

  "I averred no such thing," said the prisoner; "I said a woman in whiteinterrupted me, as I was about to examine the priest's cassock, for theyare usually well lined--she had a bulrush in her hand, with one touchof which she struck me from my horse, as I might strike down a child offour years old with an iron mace--and then, like a singing fiend as shewas, she sung to me.

  'Thank the holly-bush That nods on thy brow; Or with this slender rush I had strangled thee now.'

  I gathered myself up with fear and difficulty, threw myself on my horse,and came hither like a fool to get myself hanged for a rogue."

  "Thou seest, honoured brother," said the Abbot to the Sub-Prior, "inwhat favour thou art with our blessed Patroness, that she herselfbecomes the guardian of thy paths--Not since the days of our blessedfounder hath she shown such grace to any one. All unworthy were we tohold spiritual superiority over thee, and we pray thee to prepare forthy speedy removal to Aberbrothwick."

  "Alas! my lord and father," said the Sub-Prior, "your words pierce myvery soul. Under the seal of confession will I presently tell thee whyI conceive myself rather the baffled sport of a spirit of another sort,than the protected favourite of the heavenly powers. But first let meask this unhappy man a question or two."

  "Do as ye list," replied the Abbot--"but you shall not convince me thatit is fitting you remain in this inferior office in the convent of SaintMary."

  "I would ask of this poor man," said Father Eustace, "for what purposehe nourished the thought of putting to death one who never did himevil?"

  "Ay! but thou didst menace me with evil," said the ruffian, "and noone but a fool is menaced twice. Dost thou not remember what you saidtouching the Primate and Lord James, and the black pool of Jedwood?Didst thou think me fool enough to wait till thou hadst betrayed me tothe sack and the fork! There were small wisdom in that, methinks--aslittle as in coming hither to tell my own misdeeds--I think the devilwas in me when I took this road--I might have remembered the proverb,'Never Friar forgot feud.'"

  "And it was solely for that--for that only hasty word of mine, utteredin a moment of impatience, and forgotten ere it was well spoken?" saidFather Eustace.

  "Ay! for that, and--for the love of thy gold crucifix," said Christie ofthe Clinthill.

  "Gracious Heaven! and could the yellow metal--the glittering earth--sofar overcome every sense of what is thereby represented?--Father Abbot,I pray, as a dear boon, you will deliver this guilty person to mymercy."

  "Nay, brother," interposed the Sacristan, "to your doom, if you will,not to your mercy--Remember, we are not all equally favoured by ourblessed Lady, nor is it likely that every frock in the Convent willserve as a coat of proof when a lance is couched against it."

  "For that very reason," said the Sub-Prior, "I would not that for myworthless self the community were to fall at feud with Julian of Avenel,this man's master."

  "Our Lady forbid!" said the Sacristan, "he is a second Julian theApostate."

  "With our reverend father the Abbot's permission, then," said FatherEustace, "I desire this man be freed from his chains, and suffered todepart uninjured;--and here, friend," he added, giving him the goldencrucifix, "is the image for which thou wert willing to stain thy handswith murder. View it well, and may it inspire thee with other and betterthoughts than those which referred to it as a piece of bullion! Partwith it, nevertheless, if thy necessities require, and get thee oneof such coarse substance that Mammon shall have no share in any of thereflections to which it gives rise. It was the bequest of a dear friendto me; but dearer service can it never do than that of winning a soul toHeaven."

  The Borderer, now freed from his chains, stood gazing alternately onthe Sub-Prior, and on the golden crucifix. "By Saint Giles," said he,"I understand ye not!--An ye give me gold for couching my lance at thee,what would you give me to level it at a heretic?"

  "The Church," said the Sub-Prior, "will try the effect of her spiritualcensures to bring these stray sheep into the fold, ere she employ theedge of the sword of Saint Peter."

  "Ay, but," said the ruffian, "they say the Primate recommends a littlestrangling and burning in aid of both censure and of sword. But fare yeweel, I owe you a life, and it may be I will not forget my debt."

  The bailie now came bustling in, dressed in his blue coat andbandaliers, and attended by two or three halberdiers. "I have been athought too late in waiting upon your reverend lordship. I am grownsomewhat fatter since the field of Pinkie, and my leathern coat slipsnot on so soon as it was wont; but the d
ungeon is ready, and though, asI said, I have been somewhat late--"

  Here his intended prisoner walked gravely up to the officer's nose, tohis great amazement.

  "You have been indeed somewhat late, bailie," said he, "and I am greatlyobligated to your buff-coat, and to the time you took to put it on. Ifthe secular arm had arrived some quarter of an hour sooner, I had beenout of the reach of spiritual grace; but as it is, I wish you good even,and a safe riddance out of your garment of durance, in which you havemuch the air of a hog in armour."

  Wroth was the bailie at this comparison, and exclaimed in ire--"An itwere not for the presence of the venerable Lord Abbot, thou knave--"

  "Nay, an thou wouldst try conclusions," said Christie of the Clinthill,"I will meet thee at day-break by Saint Mary's Well."

  "Hardened wretch!" said Father Eustace, "art thou but this instantdelivered from death, and dost thou so soon morse thoughts ofslaughter?"

  "I will meet with thee ere it be long, thou knave," said the bailie,"and teach thee thine Oremus."

  "I will meet thy cattle in a moonlight night before that day," said heof the Clinthill.

  "I will have thee by the neck one misty morning, thou strong thief,"answered the secular officer of the Church.

  "Thou art thyself as strong a thief as ever rode," retorted Christie;"and if the worms were once feasting on that fat carcass of thine Imight well hope to have thine office, by favour of these reverend men."

  "A cast of their office, and a cast of mine," answered the bailie; "acord and a confessor, that is all thou wilt have from us."

  "Sirs," said the Sub-Prior, observing that his brethren began to takemore interest than was exactly decorous in this wrangling betwixtjustice and iniquity, "I pray you both to depart--Master Bailie,retire with your halberdiers, and trouble not the man whom we havedismissed.--And thou, Christie, or whatever be thy name, take thydeparture, and remember thou owest thy life to the Lord Abbot'sclemency."

  "Nay, as to that," answered Christie, "I judge that I owe it to yourown; but impute it to whom ye list, I owe a life among ye, and there isan end." And whistling as he went, he left the apartment, seeming as ifhe held the life which he had forfeited not worthy further thanks.

  "Obstinate even to brutality!" said Father Eustace; "and yet who knowsbut some better ore may lie under so rude an exterior?"

  "Save a thief from the gallows," said the Sacristan--"you know the restof the proverb; and admitting, as may Heaven grant, that our lives andlimbs are safe from this outrageous knave, who shall insure our meal andour malt, our herds and our flocks?"

  "Marry, that will I, my brethren," said an aged monk. "Ah, brethren, youlittle know what may be made of a repentant robber. In Abbot Ingilram'sdays--ay, and I remember them as it were yesterday--the freebooters werethe best welcome men that came to Saint Mary's. Ay, they paid tithe ofevery drove that they brought over from the South, and because theywere something lightly come by, I have known them make the tithe aseventh--that is, if their confessor knew his business--ay, when we sawfrom the tower a score of fat bullocks, or a drove of sheep, coming downthe valley, with two or three stout men-at-arms behind them with theirglittering steel caps, and their black-jacks, and their long lances, thegood Lord Abbot Ingilram was wont to say--he was a merry man--there comethe tithes of the spoilers of the Egyptians! Ay, and I have seen thefamous John the Armstrang--a fair man he was and a goodly, the morepity that hemp was ever heckled for him--I have seen him come into theAbbey-church with nine tassels of gold in his bonnet, and every tasselmade of nine English nobles, and he would go from chapel to chapel, andfrom image to image, and from altar to altar, on his knees--and leavehere a tassel, and there a noble, till there was as little gold on hisbonnet as on my hood--you will find no such Border thieves now!"

  "No, truly, Brother Nicolas," answered the Abbot; "they are more apt totake any gold the Church has left, than to bequeath or bestow any--andfor cattle, beshrew me if I think they care whether beeves have fed onthe meadows of Lanercost Abbey or of Saint Mary's!"

  "There is no good thing left in them," said Father Nicolas; "they areclean naught--Ah, the thieves that I have seen!--such proper men! and aspitiful as proper, and as pious as pitiful!"

  "It skills not talking of it, Brother Nicolas," said the Abbot; "and Iwill now dismiss you, my brethren, holding your meeting upon this ourinquisition concerning the danger of our reverend Sub-Prior, instead ofthe attendance on the lauds this evening--Yet let the bells be duly rungfor the edification of the laymen without, and also that the novices maygive due reverence.--And now, benedicite, brethren! The cellarer willbestow on each a grace-cup and a morsel as ye pass the buttery, for yehave been turmoiled and anxious, and dangerous it is to fall asleep insuch case with empty stomach."

  "_Gratias agimus quam maximas, Domine reverendissime_," replied thebrethren, departing in their due order.

  But the Sub-Prior remained behind, and falling on his knees before theAbbot, as he was about to withdraw, craved him to hear under the sealof confession the adventures of the day. The reverend Lord Abbot yawned,and would have alleged fatigue; but to Father Eustace, of all men,he was ashamed to show indifference in his religious duties. Theconfession, therefore, proceeded, in which Father Eustace told all theextraordinary circumstances which had befallen him during the journey.And being questioned by the Abbot, whether he was not conscious of anysecret sin, through which he might have been subjected for a time to thedelusions of evil spirits, the Sub-Prior admitted, with frank avowal,that he thought he might have deserved such penance for having judgedwith unfraternal rigour of the report of Father Philip the Sacristan.

  "Heaven," said the penitent, "may have been willing to convince me, notonly that he can at pleasure open a communication betwixt us and beingsof a different, and, as we word it, supernatural class, but also topunish our pride of superior wisdom, or superior courage, or superiorlearning."

  It is well said that virtue is its own reward; and I question if dutywas ever more completely recompensed, than by the audience whichthe reverend Abbot so unwillingly yielded to the confession of theSub-Prior. To find the object of his fear shall we say, or of his envy,or of both, accusing himself of the very error with which he had sotacitly charged him, was a corroboration of the Abbot's judgment,a soothing of his pride, and an allaying of his fears. The senseof triumph, however, rather increased than diminished his naturalgood-humour; and so far was Abbot Boniface from being disposed totyrannize over his Sub-Prior in consequence of this discovery, thatin his exhortation he hovered somewhat ludicrously betwixt the naturalexpression of his own gratified vanity, and his timid reluctance to hurtthe feelings of Father Eustace.

  "My brother," said he, _ex cathedra_, "it cannot have escaped yourjudicious observation, that we have often declined our own judgmentin favour of your opinion, even about those matters which most nearlyconcerned the community. Nevertheless, grieved would we be, could youthink that we did this, either because we deemed our own opinion lesspregnant, or our wit more shallow, than that of our brethren. For itwas done exclusively to give our younger brethren, such as your muchesteemed self, my dearest brother, that courage which is necessary to afree deliverance of your opinion,--we ofttimes setting apart our properjudgment, that our inferiors, and especially our dear brother theSub-Prior, may be comforted and encouraged in proposing valiantly hisown thoughts. Which our deference and humility may, in some sort, haveproduced in your mind, most reverend brother, that self-opinion of partsand knowledge, which hath led unfortunately to your over-estimating yourown faculties, and thereby subjecting yourself, as is but too visible,to the japes and mockeries of evil spirits. For it is assured thatHeaven always holdeth us in the least esteem when we deem of ourselvesmost highly, and also, on the other hand, it may be that we havesomewhat departed from what became our high seat in this Abbey, insuffering ourselves to be too much guided, and even, as it were,controlled, by the voice of our inferior. Wherefore," continued theLord Abbot, "in both of us such faults shall and must be am
ended--youhereafter presuming less upon your gifts and carnal wisdom, and I takingheed not so easily to relinquish mine own opinion for that of onelower in place and in office. Nevertheless, we would not that we shouldthereby lose the high advantage which we have derived, and may yetderive, from your wise counsels, which hath been so often recommended tous by our most reverend Primate. Wherefore, on affairs of high moment,we will call you to our presence in private, and listen to your opinion,which, if it shall agree with our own, we will deliver to the Chapteras emanating directly from ourselves; thus sparing you, dearest brother,that seeming victory which is so apt to engender spiritual pride, andavoiding ourselves the temptation of falling into that modest facilityof opinion, whereby our office is lessened and our person (were that ofconsequence) rendered less important in the eyes of the community overwhich we preside."

  Notwithstanding the high notions which, as a rigid Catholic, FatherEustace entertained of the sacrament of confession, as his Church callsit, there was some danger that a sense of the ridiculous might havestolen on him, when he heard his Superior, with such simple cunning,lay out a little plan for availing himself of the Sub-Prior's wisdom andexperience, while he should take the whole credit to himself. Yet hisconscience immediately told him he was right.

  "I should have thought more," he reflected, "of the spiritual Superior,and less of the individual. I should have spread my mantle over thefrailties of my spiritual father, and done what I might to support hischaracter, and, of course, to extend his utility among the brethren, aswell as with others. The Abbot cannot be humbled, but what the communitymust be humbled in his person. Her boast is, that over all her children,especially over those called to places of distinction, she can diffusethose gifts which are necessary to render them illustrious."

  Actuated by these sentiments, Father Eustace frankly assented to thecharge which his Superior, even in that moment of authority, had ratherintimated than made, and signified his humble acquiescence in any modeof communicating his counsel which might be most agreeable to the LordAbbot, and might best remove from himself all temptation to glory inhis own wisdom. He then prayed the reverend Father to assign him suchpenance as might best suit his offence, intimating, at the same time,that he had already fasted the whole day.

  "And it is that I complain of," answered the Abbot, instead of givinghim credit for his abstinence; "it is these very penances, fasts, andvigils, of which we complain; as tending only to generate airs and fumesof vanity, which, ascending from the stomach into the head, do but puffus up with vain-glory and self-opinion. It is meet and beseemingthat novices should undergo fasts and vigils; for some part of everycommunity must fast, and young stomachs may best endure it. Besides, inthem it abates wicked thoughts, and the desire of worldly delights. But,reverend brother, for those to fast who are dead and mortified to theworld, as I and thou, is work of supererogation, and is but the matterof spiritual pride. Wherefore, I enjoin thee, most reverend brother, goto the buttery and drink two cups at least of good wine, eating withal acomfortable morsel, such as may best suit thy taste and stomach. Andin respect that thine opinion of thy own wisdom hath at times made theeless conformable to, and companionable with, the weaker and less learnedbrethren, I enjoin thee, during the said repast, to choose for thycompanion, our reverend brother Nicolas, and without interruption orimpatience, to listen for a stricken hour to his narration, concerningthose things which befel in the times of our venerable predecessor,Abbot Ingilram, on whose soul may Heaven have mercy! And for such holyexercises as may farther advantage your soul, and expiate the faultswhereof you have contritely and humbly avowed yourself guilty, wewill ponder upon that matter, and announce our will unto you the nextmorning."

  It was remarkable, that after this memorable evening, the feelings ofthe worthy Abbot towards his adviser were much more kindly and friendlythan when he deemed the Sub-Prior the impeccable and infallible person,in whose garment of virtue and wisdom no flaw was to be discerned. Itseemed as if this avowal of his own imperfections had recommended FatherEustace to the friendship of the Superior, although at the same timethis increase of benevolence was attended with some circumstances,which, to a man of the Sub-Prior's natural elevation of mind and temper,were more grievous than even undergoing the legends of the dull andverbose Father Nicolas. For instance, the Abbot seldom mentioned him tothe other monks, without designing him our beloved Brother Eustace, poorman!--and now and then he used to warn the younger brethren against thesnares of vainglory and spiritual pride, which Satan sets for the morerigidly righteous, with such looks and demonstrations as did all butexpressly designate the Sub-Prior as one who had fallen at one timeunder such delusions. Upon these occasions, it required all the votiveobedience of a monk, all the philosophical discipline of the schools,and all the patience of a Christian, to enable Father Eustace toendure the pompous and patronizing parade of his honest, but somewhatthick-headed Superior. He began himself to be desirous of leaving theMonastery, or at least he manifestly declined to interfere with itsaffairs, in that marked and authoritative manner, which he had at firstpractised.

  * * * * *

  Chapter the Eleventh.

  You call this education, do you not? Why 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks Before a shouting drover. The glad van Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch A passing morsel from the dewy greensward, While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation, Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard That cripples in the rear. OLD PLAY.

  Two or three years glided on, during which the storm of the approachingalteration in church government became each day louder and moreperilous. Owing to the circumstances which we have intimated in theend of the last chapter, the Sub-Prior Eustace appeared to have alteredconsiderably his habits of life. He afforded, on all extraordinaryoccasions, to the Abbot, whether privately, or in the assembled Chapter,the support of his wisdom and experience; but in his ordinary habits heseemed now to live more for himself, and less for the community, thanhad been his former practice.

  He often absented himself for whole days from the convent; and as theadventure of Glendearg dwelt deeply on his memory, he was repeatedlyinduced to visit that lonely tower, and to take an interest in theorphans who had their shelter under its roof. Besides, he felt a deepanxiety to know whether the volume which he had lost, when so strangelypreserved from the lance of the murderer, had again found its wayback to the Tower of Glendearg. "It was strange," he thought, "that aspirit," for such he could not help judging the being whose voice he hadheard, "should, on the one side, seek the advancement of heresy, and, onthe other, interpose to save the life of a zealous Catholic priest."

  But from no inquiry which he made of the various inhabitants of theTower of Glendearg could he learn that the copy of the translatedScriptures, for which he made such diligent inquiry, had again been seenby any of them.

  In the meanwhile, the good father's occasional visits were of nosmall consequence to Edward Glendinning and to Mary Avenel. The formerdisplayed a power of apprehending and retaining whatever was taught him,which tilled Father Eustace with admiration. He was at once acute andindustrious, alert and accurate; one of those rare combinations oftalent and industry, which are seldom united.

  It was the earnest desire of Father Eustace that the excellent qualitiesthus early displayed by Edward should be dedicated to the service ofthe Church, to which he thought the youth's own consent might be easilyobtained, as he was of a calm, contemplative, retired habit, and seemedto consider knowledge as the principal object, and its enlargement asthe greatest pleasure, in life. As to the mother, the Sub-Prior hadlittle doubt that, trained as she was to view the monks of SaintMary's with such profound reverence, she would be but too happy in anopportunity of enrolling one of her sons in its honoured community. Butthe good Father proved to be mistaken in both these particulars.

  When he spoke to Elspeth Glendinning of that which a mother best lovesto hear--the p
roficiency and abilities of her son--she listened with adelighted ear. But when Father Eustace hinted at the duty of dedicatingto the service of the Church, talents which seemed fitted to defend andadorn it, the dame endeavoured always to shift the subject; and whenpressed farther, enlarged on her own incapacity, as a lone woman, tomanage the feu; on the advantage which her neighbours of the townshipwere often taking of her unprotected state, and on the wish she had thatEdward might fill his father's place, remain in the tower, and close hereyes.

  On such occasions the Sub-Prior would answer, that even in a worldlypoint of view the welfare of the family would be best consulted by oneof the sons entering into the community of Saint Mary's, as it was notto be supposed that he would fail to afford his family the importantprotection which he could then easily extend towards them. What couldbe a more pleasing prospect than to see him high in honour? or what moresweet than to have the last duties rendered to her by a son, reverendfor his holiness of life and exemplary manners? Besides, he endeavouredto impress upon the dame, that her eldest son, Halbert, whose boldtemper and headstrong indulgence of a wandering humour, rendered himincapable of learning, was, for that reason, as well as that he was hereldest born, fittest to bustle through the affairs of the world, andmanage the little fief.

  Elspeth durst not directly dissent from what was proposed, for fear ofgiving displeasure, and yet she always had something to say against it.Halbert, she said, was not like any of the neighbour boys--he was tallerby the head, and stronger by the half, than any boy of his years withinthe Halidome. But he was fit for no peaceful work that could be devised.If he liked a book ill, he liked a plough or a pattle worse. He hadscoured his father's old broadsword--suspended it by a belt round hiswaist, and seldom stirred without it. He was a sweet boy and a gentleif spoken fair, but cross him and he was a born devil. "In a word," shesaid, bursting into tears, "deprive me of Edward, good father, and yebereave my house of prop and pillar; for my heart tells me that Halbertwill take to his father's gates, and die his father's death."

  When the conversation came to this crisis, the good-humoured monkwas always content to drop the discussion for the time, trusting someopportunity would occur of removing her prejudices, for such he thoughtthem, against Edward's proposed destination.

  When, leaving the mother, the Sub-Prior addressed himself to the son,animating his zeal for knowledge, and pointing out how amply it mightbe gratified should he agree to take holy orders, he found the samerepugnance which Dame Elspeth had exhibited. Edward pleaded a want ofsufficient vocation to so serious a profession--his reluctance toleave his mother, and other objections, which the Sub-Prior treated asevasive.

  "I plainly perceive," he said one day, in answer to them, "that thedevil has his factors as well as Heaven, and that they are equally, or,alas! the former are perhaps more active, in bespeaking for their masterthe first of the market. I trust, young man, that neither idleness, norlicentious pleasure, nor the love of worldly gain and worldly grandeur,the chief baits with which the great Fisher of souls conceals his hook,are the causes of your declining the career to which I would incite you.But above all I trust--above all I hope--that the vanity of superiorknowledge--a sin with which those who have made proficiency in learningare most frequently beset--has not led you into the awful hazard oflistening to the dangerous doctrines which are now afloat concerningreligion. Better for you that you were as grossly ignorant as the beastswhich perish, that that the pride of knowledge should induce you to lendan ear to the voice of heretics." Edward Glendinning listened to therebuke with a downcast look, and failed not, when it was concluded,earnestly to vindicate himself from the charge of having pushed hisstudies into any subjects which the Church inhibited; and so the monkwas left to form vain conjectures respecting the cause of his reluctanceto embrace the monastic state.

  It is an old proverb, used by Chaucer, and quoted by Elizabeth, that"the greatest clerks are not the wisest men;" and it is as true as ifthe poet had not rhymed, or the queen reasoned on it. If Father Eustacehad not had his thoughts turned so much to the progress of heresy, andso little to what was passing in the tower, he might have read, in thespeaking eyes of Mary Avenel, now a girl of fourteen or fifteen, reasonswhich might disincline her youthful companion towards the monastic vows.I have said, that she also was a promising pupil of the good father,upon whom her innocent and infantine beauty had an effect of which hewas himself, perhaps, unconscious. Her rank and expectations entitledher to be taught the arts of reading and writing;--and each lesson whichthe monk assigned her was conned over in company with Edward, and byhim explained and re-explained, and again illustrated, until she becameperfectly mistress of it.

  In the beginning of their studies, Halbert had been their schoolcompanion. But the boldness and impatience of his disposition soonquarrelled with an occupation in which, without assiduity and unremittedattention, no progress was to be expected. The Sub-Prior's visits wereat regular intervals, and often weeks would intervene between them, inwhich case Halbert was sure to forget all that had been prescribedfor him to learn, and much which he had partly acquired before. Hisdeficiencies on these occasions gave him pain, but it was not of thatsort which produces amendment.

  For a time, like all who are fond of idleness, he endeavoured to detachthe attention of his brother and Mary Avenel from their task, ratherthan to learn his own, and such dialogues as the following would ensue:

  "Take your bonnet, Edward, and make haste--the Laird of Colmslie is atthe head of the glen with his hounds."

  "I care not, Halbert," answered the younger brother; "two brace of dogsmay kill a deer without my being there to see them, and I must help MaryAvenel with her lesson."

  "Ay! you will labour at the monk's lessons till you turn monk yourself,"answered Halbert.--"Mary, will you go with me, and I will show you thecushat's nest I told you of?"

  "I cannot go with you, Halbert," answered Mary, "because I must studythis lesson--it will take me long to learn it--I am sorry I am so dull,for if I could get my task as fast as Edward, I should like to go withyou."

  "Should you indeed?" said Halbert; "then I will wait for you--and, whatis more, I will try to get my lesson also."

  With a smile and a sigh he took up the primer, and began heavily tocon over the task which had been assigned him. As if banished from thesociety of the two others, he sat sad and solitary in one of the deepwindow-recesses, and after in vain struggling with the difficultiesof his task, and his disinclination to learn it, he found himselfinvoluntarily engaged in watching the movements of the other twostudents, instead of toiling any longer.

  The picture which Halbert looked upon was delightful in itself, butsomehow or other it afforded very little pleasure to him. Thebeautiful girl, with looks of simple, yet earnest anxiety, was benton disentangling those intricacies which obstructed her progress toknowledge, and looking ever and anon to Edward for assistance, while,seated close by her side, and watchful to remove every obstacle from herway, he seemed at once to be proud of the progress which his pupil made,and of the assistance which he was able to render her. There was a bondbetwixt them, a strong and interesting tie, the desire of obtainingknowledge, the pride of surmounting difficulties.

  Feeling most acutely, yet ignorant of the nature and source of his ownemotions, Halbert could no longer endure to look upon this quiet scene,but, starting up, dashed his book from him, and exclaimed aloud, "To thefiend I bequeath all books, and the dreamers that make them!--I woulda score of Southrons would come up the glen, and we should learn howlittle all this muttering and scribbling is worth."

  Mary Avenol and his brother started, and looked at Halbert withsurprise, while he went on with great animation, his features swelling,and the tears starting into his eyes as he spoke.--"Yes, Mary--I wisha score of Southrons came up the glen this very day; and you should seeone good hand, and one good sword, do more to protect you, than allthe books that were ever opened, and all the pens that ever grew on agoose's wing."

  Mary looked a little surpris
ed and a little frightened at his vehemence,but instantly replied affectionately, "You are vexed, Halbert, becauseyou do not get your lesson so fast as Edward can; and so am I, for I amas stupid as you--But come, and Edward shall sit betwixt us and teachus."

  "He shall not teach _me_," said Halbert, in the same angry mood; "Inever can teach _him_ to do any thing that is honourable and manly, andhe shall not teach _me_ any of his monkish tricks.--I hate the monks,with their drawling nasal tone like so many frogs, and their longblack petticoats like so many women, and their reverences, and theirlordships, and their lazy vassals that do nothing but peddle in the mirewith plough and harrow from Yule to Michaelmas. I will call none lord,but him who wears a sword to make his title good; and I will call noneman, but he that can bear himself manlike and masterful."

  "For Heaven's sake, peace, brother!" said Edward; "if such words weretaken up and reported out of the house, they would be our mother'sruin."

  "Report them yourself, then, and they will be _your_ making, andnobody's marring save mine own. Say that Halbert Glendinning will neverbe vassal to an old man with a cowl and shaven crown, while there aretwenty barons who wear casque and plume that lack bold followers. Letthem grant you these wretched acres, and much meal may they bear you tomake your _brachan_." He left the room hastily, but instantly returned,and continued to speak with the same tone of quick and irritatedfeeling. "And you need not think so much, neither of you, and especiallyyou, Edward, need not think so much of your parchment book there, andyour cunning in reading it. By my faith, I will soon learn to read aswell as you; and--for I know a better teacher than your grim oldmonk, and a better book than his printed breviary; and since you likescholarcraft so well, Mary Avenel, you shall see whether Edward or Ihave most of it." He left the apartment, and came not again.

  "What can be the matter with him?" said Mary, following Halbert with hereyes from the window, as with hasty and unequal steps he ran up thewild glen--"Where can your brother be going, Edward?--what book?--whatteacher does he talk of?"

  "It avails not guessing," said Edward. "Halbert is angry, he knows notwhy, and speaks of he knows not what; let us go again to our lessons,and he will come home when he has tired himself with scrambling amongthe crags as usual."

  But Mary's anxiety on account of Halbert seemed more deeply rooted.She declined prosecuting the task in which they had been so pleasinglyengaged, under the excuse of a headache; nor could Edward prevail uponher to resume it again that morning.

  Meanwhile Halbert, his head unbonneted, his features swelled withjealous anger, and the tear still in his eye, sped up the wild and upperextremity of the little valley of Glendearg with the speed of a roebuck,choosing, as if in desperate defiance of the difficulties of the way,the wildest and most dangerous paths, and voluntarily exposing himself ahundred times to dangers which he might have escaped by turning a littleaside from them. It seemed as if he wished his course to be as straightas that of the arrow to its mark.

  He arrived at length in a narrow and secluded _cleuch_, or deep ravine,which ran down into the valley, and contributed a scanty rivulet to thesupply of the brook with which Glendearg is watered. Up this he spedwith the same precipitate haste which had marked his departure fromthe tower, nor did he pause and look around until he had reached thefountain from which the rivulet had its rise.

  Here Halbert stopt short, and cast a gloomy, and almost a frightenedglance around him. A huge rock rose in front, from a cleft of which grewa wild holly-tree, whose dark green branches rustled over the springwhich arose beneath. The banks on either hand rose so high, andapproached each other so closely, that it was only when the sun was atits meridian height, and during the summer solstice, that its rays couldreach the bottom of the chasm in which he stood. But it was now summer,and the hour was noon, so that the unwonted reflection of the sun wasdancing in the pellucid fountain.

  "It is the season and the hour," said Halbert to himself; "and now I--Imight soon become wiser than Edward with all his pains! Mary should seewhether he alone is fit to be consulted, and to sit by her side, andhang over her as she reads, and point out every word and every letter.And she loves me better than him--I am sure she does--for she comes ofnoble blood, and scorns sloth and cowardice.--And do I myself not standhere slothful and cowardly as any priest of them all?--Why should I fearto call upon this form--this shape?--Already have I endured the vision,and why not again? What can it do to me, who am a man of lith and limb,and have by my side my father's sword? Does my heart beat--do my hairsbristle, at the thought of calling up a painted shadow, and how shouldI face a band of Southrons in flesh and blood? By the soul of the firstGlendinning, I will make proof of the charm!"

  He cast the leathern brogue or buskin from his right foot, plantedhimself in a firm posture, unsheathed his sword, and first lookingaround to collect his resolution, he bowed three times deliberatelytowards the holly-tree, and as often to the little fountain, repeatingat the same time, with a determined voice, the following rhyme:

  "Thrice to the holly brake-- Thrice to the well:-- I bid thee awake, White Maid of Avenel!

  "Noon gleams on the Lake-- Noon glows on the Fell-- Wake thee, O wake, White Maid of Avenel!"

  These lines were hardly uttered, when there stood the figure of a femaleclothed in white, within three steps of Halbert Glendinning.

  "I guess'twas frightful there to see A lady richly clad as she-- Beautiful exceedingly." [Footnote: Coleridge's Christabelle.]

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