The Fair Maid of Perth; Or, St. Valentine's Day Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  A country lip may have the velvet touch; Though she's no lady, she may please as much.

  DRYDEN.

  Perth, boasting, as we have already mentioned, so large a portion of thebeauties of inanimate nature, has at no time been without its own shareof those charms which are at once more interesting and more transient.To be called the Fair Maid of Perth would at any period have been ahigh distinction, and have inferred no mean superiority in beauty, wherethere were many to claim that much envied attribute. But, in the feudaltimes to which we now call the reader's attention, female beauty was aquality of much higher importance than it has been since the ideas ofchivalry have been in a great measure extinguished. The love of theancient cavaliers was a licensed species of idolatry, which the love ofHeaven alone was theoretically supposed to approach in intensity, andwhich in practice it seldom equalled. God and the ladies were familiarlyappealed to in the same breath; and devotion to the fair sex was asperemptorily enjoined upon the aspirant to the honour of chivalry asthat which was due to Heaven. At such a period in society, the power ofbeauty was almost unlimited. It could level the highest rank with thatwhich was immeasurably inferior.

  It was but in the reign preceding that of Robert III. that beauty alonehad elevated a person of inferior rank and indifferent morals to sharethe Scottish throne; and many women, less artful or less fortunate, hadrisen to greatness from a state of concubinage, for which the mannersof the times made allowance and apology. Such views might have dazzleda girl of higher birth than Catharine, or Katie, Glover, who wasuniversally acknowledged to be the most beautiful young woman of thecity or its vicinity, and whose renown, as the Fair Maid of Perth, haddrawn on her much notice from the young gallants of the royal court,when it chanced to be residing in or near Perth, insomuch that more thanone nobleman of the highest rank, and most distinguished for deeds ofchivalry, were more attentive to exhibit feats of horsemanship as theypassed the door of old Simon Glover, in what was called Couvrefew, orCurfew, Street, than to distinguish themselves in the tournaments, wherethe noblest dames of Scotland were spectators of their address. But theglover's daughter--for, as was common with the citizens and artisans ofthat early period, her father, Simon, derived his surname from the tradewhich he practised--showed no inclination to listen to any gallantrywhich came from those of a station highly exalted above that which sheherself occupied, and, though probably in no degree insensible to herpersonal charms, seemed desirous to confine her conquests to those whowere within her own sphere of life. Indeed, her beauty being of thatkind which we connect more with the mind than with the person, was,notwithstanding her natural kindness and gentleness of disposition,rather allied to reserve than to gaiety, even when in company with herequals; and the earnestness with which she attended upon the exercisesof devotion induced many to think that Catharine Glover nourished theprivate wish to retire from the world and bury herself in the recessesof the cloister. But to such a sacrifice, should it be meditated, itwas not to be expected her father, reputed a wealthy man and having thisonly child, would yield a willing consent.

  In her resolution of avoiding the addresses of the gallant courtiers,the reigning beauty of Perth was confirmed by the sentiments of herparent.

  "Let them go," he said--"let them go, Catharine, those gallants, withtheir capering horses, their jingling spurs, their plumed bonnets, andtheir trim mustachios: they are not of our class, nor will we aim atpairing with them. Tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day, when every birdchooses her mate; but you will not see the linnet pair with the sparrowhawk, nor the Robin Redbreast with the kite. My father was an honestburgher of Perth, and could use his needle as well as I can. Did therecome war to the gates of our fair burgh, down went needles, thread, andshamoy leather, and out came the good head piece and target from thedark nook, and the long lance from above the chimney. Show me a day thateither he or I was absent when the provost made his musters! Thus wehave led our lives, my girl, working to win our bread, and fighting todefend it. I will have no son in law that thinks himself better than me;and for these lords and knights, I trust thou wilt always remember thouart too low to be their lawful love, and too high to be their unlawfulloon. And now lay by thy work, lass, for it is holytide eve, and itbecomes us to go to the evening service, and pray that Heaven may sendthee a good Valentine tomorrow."

  So the Fair Maid of Perth laid aside the splendid hawking glove whichshe was embroidering for the Lady Drummond, and putting on her holydaykirtle, prepared to attend her father to the Blackfriars monastery,which was adjacent to Couvrefew Street in which they lived. On theirpassage, Simon Glover, an ancient and esteemed burgess of Perth,somewhat stricken in years and increased in substance, received fromyoung and old the homage due to his velvet jerkin and his golden chain,while the well known beauty of Catharine, though concealed beneath herscreen--which resembled the mantilla still worn in Flanders--called bothobeisances and doffings of the bonnet from young and old.

  As the pair moved on arm in arm, they were followed by a tall handsomeyoung man, dressed in a yeoman's habit of the plainest kind, but whichshowed to advantage his fine limbs, as the handsome countenance thatlooked out from a quantity of curled tresses, surmounted by a smallscarlet bonnet, became that species of headdress. He had no other weaponthan a staff in his hand, it not being thought fit that persons of hisdegree (for he was an apprentice to the old glover) should appear onthe street armed with sword or dagger, a privilege which the jackmen, ormilitary retainers of the nobility, esteemed exclusively their own. Heattended his master at holytide, partly in the character of a domestic,or guardian, should there be cause for his interference; but it wasnot difficult to discern, by the earnest attention which he paid toCatharine Glover, that it was to her, rather than to her father, that hedesired to dedicate his good offices.

  Generally speaking, there was no opportunity for his zeal displayingitself; for a common feeling of respect induced passengers to give wayto the father and daughter.

  But when the steel caps, barrets, and plumes of squires, archers, andmen at arms began to be seen among the throng, the wearers of thesewarlike distinctions were more rude in their demeanour than thequiet citizens. More than once, when from chance, or perhaps from anassumption of superior importance, such an individual took the wall ofSimon in passing, the glover's youthful attendant bristled up with alook of defiance, and the air of one who sought to distinguish his zealin his mistress's service by its ardour. As frequently did Conachar, forsuch was the lad's name, receive a check from his master, who gave himto understand that he did not wish his interference before he requiredit.

  "Foolish boy," he said, "hast thou not lived long enough in my shop toknow that a blow will breed a brawl; that a dirk will cut the skin asfast as a needle pierces leather; that I love peace, though I neverfeared war, and care not which side of the causeway my daughter and Iwalk upon so we may keep our road in peace and quietness?"

  Conachar excused himself as zealous for his master's honour, yet wasscarce able to pacify the old citizen.

  "What have we to do with honour?" said Simon Glover. "If thou wouldstremain in my service, thou must think of honesty, and leave honour tothe swaggering fools who wear steel at their heels and iron on theirshoulders. If you wish to wear and use such garniture, you are welcome,but it shall not be in my house or in my company."

  Conachar seemed rather to kindle at this rebuke than to submit to it.But a sign from Catharine, if that slight raising of her little fingerwas indeed a sign, had more effect than the angry reproof of his master;and the youth laid aside the military air which seemed natural to him,and relapsed into the humble follower of a quiet burgher.

  Meantime the little party were overtaken by a tall young man wrapped ina cloak, which obscured or muffled a part of his face--a practice oftenused by the gallants of the time, when they did not wish to be known, orwere abroad in quest of adventures. He seemed, in short, one who mightsay to the world around him: "I desire, for the present, not to be k
nownor addressed in my own character; but, as I am answerable to myselfalone for my actions, I wear my incognito but for form's sake, and carelittle whether you see through it or not."

  He came on the right side of Catharine, who had hold of her father'sarm, and slackened his pace as if joining their party.

  "Good even to you, goodman."

  "The same to your worship, and thanks. May I pray you to pass on? Ourpace is too slow for that of your lordship, our company too mean forthat of your father's son."

  "My father's son can best judge of that, old man. I have business totalk of with you and with my fair St. Catharine here, the loveliest andmost obdurate saint in the calendar."

  "With deep reverence, my lord," said the old man, "I would remind youthat this is good St. Valentine's Eve, which is no time for business,and that I can have your worshipful commands by a serving man as earlyas it pleases you to send them."

  "There is no time like the present," said the persevering youth, whoserank seemed to be a kind which set him above ceremony. "I wish to knowwhether the buff doublet be finished which I commissioned some timesince; and from you, pretty Catharine (here he sank his voice to awhisper), I desire to be informed whether your fair fingers have beenemployed upon it, agreeably to your promise? But I need not ask you,for my poor heart has felt the pang of each puncture that pierced thegarment which was to cover it. Traitress, how wilt thou answer for thustormenting the heart that loves thee so dearly?"

  "Let me entreat you, my lord," said Catharine, "to forego this wildtalk: it becomes not you to speak thus, or me to listen. We are of poorrank but honest manners; and the presence of the father ought to protectthe child from such expressions, even from your lordship."

  This she spoke so low, that neither her father nor Conachar couldunderstand what she said.

  "Well, tyrant," answered the persevering gallant, "I will plague you nolonger now, providing you will let me see you from your window tomorrow,when the sun first peeps over the eastern hills, and give me right to beyour Valentine for the year."

  "Not so, my lord; my father but now told me that hawks, far less eagles,pair not with the humble linnet. Seek some court lady, to whom yourfavours will be honour; to me--your Highness must permit me to speak theplain truth--they can be nothing but disgrace."

  As they spoke thus, the party arrived at the gate of the church.

  "Your lordship will, I trust, permit us here to take leave of you?" saidher father. "I am well aware how little you will alter your pleasure forthe pain and uneasiness you may give to such as us but, from the throngof attendants at the gate, your lordship may see that there are othersin the church to whom even your gracious lordship must pay respect."

  "Yes--respect; and who pays any respect to me?" said the haughty younglord. "A miserable artisan and his daughter, too much honoured bymy slightest notice, have the insolence to tell me that my noticedishonours them. Well, my princess of white doe skin and blue silk, Iwill teach you to rue this."

  As he murmured thus, the glover and his daughter entered the Dominicanchurch, and their attendant, Conachar, in attempting to follow themclosely, jostled, it may be not unwillingly, the young nobleman. Thegallant, starting from his unpleasing reverie, and perhaps consideringthis as an intentional insult, seized on the young man by the breast,struck him, and threw him from him. His irritated opponent recoveredhimself with difficulty, and grasped towards his own side, as if seekinga sword or dagger in the place where it was usually worn; but findingnone, he made a gesture of disappointed rage, and entered the church.During the few seconds he remained, the young nobleman stood with hisarms folded on his breast, with a haughty smile, as if defying him to dohis worst. When Conachar had entered the church, his opponent, adjustinghis cloak yet closer about his face, made a private signal by holdingup one of his gloves. He was instantly joined by two men, who, disguisedlike himself, had waited his motions at a little distance. They spoketogether earnestly, after which the young nobleman retired in onedirection, his friends or followers going off in another.

  Simon Glover, before he entered the church, cast a look towards thegroup, but had taken his place among the congregation before theyseparated themselves. He knelt down with the air of a man who hassomething burdensome on his mind; but when the service was ended,he seemed free from anxiety, as one who had referred himself and histroubles to the disposal of Heaven. The ceremony of High Mass wasperformed with considerable solemnity, a number of noblemen and ladiesof rank being present. Preparations had indeed been made for thereception of the good old King himself, but some of those infirmities towhich he was subject had prevented Robert III from attending the serviceas was his wont. When the congregation were dismissed, the glover andhis beautiful daughter lingered for some time, for the purpose of makingtheir several shrifts in the confessionals, where the priests had takentheir places for discharging that part of their duty. Thus it happenedthat the night had fallen dark, and the way was solitary, when theyreturned along the now deserted streets to their own dwelling.

  Most persons had betaken themselves to home and to bed. They who stilllingered in the street were night walkers or revellers, the idle andswaggering retainers of the haughty nobles, who were much wont to insultthe peaceful passengers, relying on the impunity which their masters'court favour was too apt to secure them.

  It was, perhaps, in apprehension of mischief from some character ofthis kind that Conachar, stepping up to the glover, said, "Master, walkfaster--we are dogg'd."

  "Dogg'd, sayest thou? By whom and by how many?"

  "By one man muffled in his cloak, who follows us like our shadow."

  "Then will it never mend my pace along the Couvrefew Street for the bestone man that ever trode it."

  "But he has arms," said Conachar.

  "And so have we, and hands, and legs, and feet. Why, sure, Conachar, youare not afraid of one man?"

  "Afraid!" answered Conachar, indignant at the insinuation; "you shallsoon know if I am afraid."

  "Now you are as far on the other side of the mark, thou foolish boy:thy temper has no middle course; there is no occasion to make a brawl,though we do not run. Walk thou before with Catharine, and I will takethy place. We cannot be exposed to danger so near home as we are."

  The glover fell behind accordingly, and certainly observed a personkeep so close to them as, the time and place considered, justified somesuspicion. When they crossed the street, he also crossed it, and whenthey advanced or slackened their pace, the stranger's was in proportionaccelerated or diminished. The matter would have been of very littleconsequence had Simon Glover been alone; but the beauty of his daughtermight render her the object of some profligate scheme, in a countrywhere the laws afforded such slight protection to those who had not themeans to defend themselves.

  Conachar and his fair charge having arrived on the threshold of theirown apartment, which was opened to them by an old female servant, theburgher's uneasiness was ended. Determined, however, to ascertain, ifpossible, whether there had been any cause for it, he called out to theman whose motions had occasioned the alarm, and who stood still, thoughhe seemed to keep out of reach of the light. "Come, step forward, myfriend, and do not play at bo peep; knowest thou not, that they whowalk like phantoms in the dark are apt to encounter the conjuration of aquarterstaff? Step forward, I say, and show us thy shapes, man."

  "Why, so I can, Master Glover," said one of the deepest voices that everanswered question. "I can show my shapes well enough, only I wish theycould bear the light something better."

  "Body of me," exclaimed Simon, "I should know that voice! And is itthou, in thy bodily person, Harry Gow? Nay, beshrew me if thou passestthis door with dry lips. What, man, curfew has not rung yet, and if ithad, it were no reason why it should part father and son. Come in, man;Dorothy shall get us something to eat, and we will jingle a can ere thouleave us. Come in, I say; my daughter Kate will be right glad to seethee."

  By this time he had pulled the person, whom he welcomed so cordially,into a sort o
f kitchen, which served also upon ordinary occasions theoffice of parlour. Its ornaments were trenchers of pewter, mixed with asilver cup or two, which, in the highest degree of cleanliness, occupieda range of shelves like those of a beauffet, popularly called "thebink." A good fire, with the assistance of a blazing lamp, spread lightand cheerfulness through the apartment, and a savoury smell of somevictuals which Dorothy was preparing did not at all offend the unrefinednoses of those whose appetite they were destined to satisfy.

  Their unknown attendant now stood in full light among them, and thoughhis appearance was neither dignified nor handsome, his face and figurewere not only deserving of attention, but seemed in some manner tocommand it. He was rather below the middle stature, but the breadthof his shoulders, length and brawniness of his arms, and the muscularappearance of the whole man, argued a most unusual share of strength,and a frame kept in vigour by constant exercise. His legs were somewhatbent, but not in a manner which could be said to approach to deformity,on the contrary, which seemed to correspond to the strength of hisframe, though it injured in some degree its symmetry.

  His dress was of buff hide; and he wore in a belt around his waist aheavy broadsword, and a dirk or poniard, as if to defend his purse,which (burgher fashion) was attached to the same cincture. The head waswell proportioned, round, close cropped, and curled thickly with blackhair. There was daring and resolution in the dark eye, but the otherfeatures seemed to express a bashful timidity, mingled with good humor,and obvious satisfaction at meeting with his old friends.

  Abstracted from the bashful expression, which was that of the moment,the forehead of Henry Gow, or Smith, for he was indifferently so called,was high and noble, but the lower part of the face was less happilyformed. The mouth was large, and well furnished with a set of firm andbeautiful teeth, the appearance of which corresponded with the air ofpersonal health and muscular strength which the whole frame indicated.A short thick beard, and mustachios which had lately been arranged withsome care, completed the picture. His age could not exceed eight andtwenty.

  The family appeared all well pleased with the unexpected appearance ofan old friend. Simon Glover shook his hand again and again, Dorothy madeher compliments, and Catharine herself offered freely her hand, whichHenry held in his massive grasp, as if he designed to carry it to hislips, but, after a moment's hesitation, desisted, from fear lest thefreedom might be ill taken. Not that there was any resistance on thepart of the little hand which lay passive in his grasp; but there was asmile mingled with the blush on her cheek, which seemed to increase theconfusion of the gallant.

  Her father, on his part, called out frankly, as he saw his friend'shesitation: "Her lips, man--her lips! and that's a proffer I would notmake to every one who crosses my threshold. But, by good St. Valentine,whose holyday will dawn tomorrow, I am so glad to see thee in the bonnycity of Perth again that it would be hard to tell the thing I couldrefuse thee."

  The smith, for, as has been said, such was the craft of this sturdyartisan, was encouraged modestly to salute the Fair Maid, who yieldedthe courtesy with a smile of affection that might have become a sister,saying, at the same time: "Let me hope that I welcome back to Perth arepentant and amended man."

  He held her hand as if about to answer, then suddenly, as one who lostcourage at the moment, relinquished his grasp; and drawing back asif afraid of what he had done, his dark countenance glowing withbashfulness, mixed with delight, he sat down by the fire on the oppositeside from that which Catharine occupied.

  "Come, Dorothy, speed thee with the food, old woman; and Conachar--whereis Conachar?"

  "He is gone to bed, sir, with a headache," said Catharine, in ahesitating voice.

  "Go, call him, Dorothy," said the old glover; "I will not be used thusby him: his Highland blood, forsooth, is too gentle to lay a trencheror spread a napkin, and he expects to enter our ancient and honourablecraft without duly waiting and tending upon his master and teacher inall matters of lawful obedience. Go, call him, I say; I will not be thusneglected."

  Dorothy was presently heard screaming upstairs, or more probably up aladder, to the cock loft, to which the recusant apprentice had madean untimely retreat; a muttered answer was returned, and soon afterConachar appeared in the eating apartment. There was a gloom ofdeep sullenness on his haughty, though handsome, features, and as heproceeded to spread the board, and arrange the trenchers, with salt,spices, and other condiments--to discharge, in short, the duties ofa modern domestic, which the custom of the time imposed upon allapprentices--he was obviously disgusted and indignant with the meanoffice imposed upon him.

  The Fair Maid of Perth looked with some anxiety at him, as ifapprehensive that his evident sullenness might increase her father'sdispleasure; but it was not till her eyes had sought out his for asecond time that Conachar condescended to veil his dissatisfaction,and throw a greater appearance of willingness and submission into theservices which he was performing.

  And here we must acquaint our reader that, though the privateinterchange of looks betwixt Catharine Glover and the young mountaineerindicated some interest on the part of the former in the conduct of thelatter, it would have puzzled the strictest observer to discover whetherthat feeling exceeded in degree what might have been felt by a youngperson towards a friend and inmate of the same age, with whom she hadlived on habits of intimacy.

  "Thou hast had a long journey, son Henry," said Glover, who had alwaysused that affectionate style of speech, though no ways akin to the youngartisan; "ay, and hast seen many a river besides Tay, and many a fairbigging besides St. Johnston."

  "But none that I like half so well, and none that are half so much worthmy liking," answered the smith. "I promise you, father, that, whenI crossed the Wicks of Baiglie, and saw the bonny city lie stretchedfairly before me like a fairy queen in romance, whom the knight findsasleep among a wilderness of flowers, I felt even as a bird when itfolds its wearied wings to stoop down on its own nest."

  "Aha! so thou canst play the maker [old Scottish for poet] yet?" saidthe glover. "What, shall we have our ballets and our roundels again? ourlusty carols for Christmas, and our mirthful springs to trip it roundthe maypole?"

  "Such toys there may be forthcoming, father," said Henry Smith, "thoughthe blast of the bellows and the clatter of the anvil make but coarsecompany to lays of minstrelsy; but I can afford them no better, since Imust mend my fortune, though I mar my verses."

  "Right again--my own son just," answered the glover; "and I trust thouhast made a saving voyage of it?"

  "Nay, I made a thriving one, father: I sold the steel habergeon that youwot of for four hundred marks to the English Warden of the East Marches,Sir Magnus Redman. He scarce scrupled a penny after I gave him leave totry a sword dint upon it. The beggardly Highland thief who bespoke itboggled at half the sum, though it had cost me a year's labour."

  "What dost thou start at, Conachar?" said Simon, addressing himself, byway of parenthesis, to the mountain disciple; "wilt thou never learn tomind thy own business, without listening to what is passing roundthee? What is it to thee that an Englishman thinks that cheap which aScottishman may hold dear?"

  Conachar turned round to speak, but, after a moment's consideration,looked down, and endeavoured to recover his composure, which had beenderanged by the contemptuous manner in which the smith had spoken of hisHighland customer.

  Henry went on without paying any attention to him. "I sold at highprices some swords and whingers when I was at Edinburgh. They expect warthere; and if it please God to send it, my merchandise will be worth itsprice. St. Dunstan make us thankful, for he was of our craft. In short,this fellow (laying his hand on his purse); who, thou knowest, father,was somewhat lank and low in condition when I set out four months since,is now as round and full as a six weeks' porker."

  "And that other leathern sheathed, iron hilted fellow who hangs besidehim," said the glover, "has he been idle all this while? Come, jollysmith, confess the truth--how many brawls hast thou had since crossingthe Tay?
"

  "Nay, now you do me wrong, father, to ask me such a question (glancinga look at Catharine) in such a presence," answered the armourer: "Imake swords, indeed, but I leave it to other people to use them. No--no,seldom have I a naked sword in my fist, save when I am turning themon the anvil or grindstone; and they slandered me to your daughterCatharine, that led her to suspect the quietest burgess in Perth ofbeing a brawler. I wish the best of them would dare say such a word atthe Hill of Kinnoul, and never a man on the green but he and I."

  "Ay--ay," said the glover, laughing, "we should then have a fine sampleof your patient sufferance. Out upon you, Henry, that you will speak solike a knave to one who knows thee so well! You look at Kate, too, as ifshe did not know that a man in this country must make his hand keep hishead, unless he will sleep in slender security. Come--come, beshrew meif thou hast not spoiled as many suits of armour as thou hast made."

  "Why, he would be a bad armourer, father Simon, that could not withhis own blow make proof of his own workmanship. If I did not sometimescleave a helmet, or strike a point through a harness, I should not knowwhat strength of fabric to give them; and might jingle together suchpasteboard work as yonder Edinburgh smiths think not shame to put out oftheir hands."

  "Aha, now would I lay a gold crown thou hast had a quarrel with someEdinburgh 'burn the wind' upon that very ground?"

  ["Burn the wind," an old cant term for blacksmith, appears in Burns:

  Then burnewin came on like death, At every chaup, etc.]

  "A quarrel! no, father," replied the Perth armourer, "but a measuringof swords with such a one upon St. Leonard's Crags, for the honour ofmy bonny city, I confess. Surely you do not think I would quarrel with abrother craftsman?"

  "Ah, to a surety, no. But how did your brother craftman come off?"

  "Why, as one with a sheet of paper on his bosom might come off from thestroke of a lance; or rather, indeed, he came not off at all, for, whenI left him, he was lying in the Hermit's Lodge daily expecting death,for which Father Gervis said he was in heavenly preparation."

  "Well, any more measuring of weapons?" said the glover.

  "Why, truly, I fought an Englishman at Berwick besides, on the oldquestion of the supremacy, as they call it--I am sure you would not haveme slack at that debate?--and I had the luck to hurt him on the leftknee."

  "Well done for St. Andrew! to it again. Whom next had you to deal with?"said Simon, laughing at the exploits of his pacific friend.

  "I fought a Scotchman in the Torwood," answered Henry Smith, "upon adoubt which was the better swordsman, which, you are aware, could not beknown or decided without a trial. The poor fellow lost two fingers."

  "Pretty well for the most peaceful lad in Perth, who never touches asword but in the way of his profession. Well, anything more to tell us?"

  "Little; for the drubbing of a Highlandman is a thing not worthmentioning."

  "For what didst thou drub him, O man of peace?" inquired the glover.

  "For nothing that I can remember," replied the smith, "except hispresenting himself on the south side of Stirling Bridge."

  "Well, here is to thee, and thou art welcome to me after all theseexploits. Conachar, bestir thee. Let the cans clink, lad, and thou shalthave a cup of the nut brown for thyself, my boy."

  Conachar poured out the good liquor for his master and for Catharinewith due observance. But that done, he set the flagon on the table andsat down.

  "How now, sirrah! be these your manners? Fill to my guest, theworshipful Master Henry Smith."

  "Master Smith may fill for himself, if he wishes for liquor," answeredthe youthful Celt. "The son of my father has demeaned himself enoughalready for one evening."

  "That's well crowed for a cockerel," said Henry; "but thou art so farright, my lad, that the man deserves to die of thirst who will not drinkwithout a cupbearer."

  But his entertainer took not the contumacy of the young apprentice withso much patience. "Now, by my honest word, and by the best glove I evermade," said Simon, "thou shalt help him with liquor from that cup andflagon, if thee and I are to abide under one roof."

  Conachar arose sullenly upon hearing this threat, and, approaching thesmith, who had just taken the tankard in his hand, and was raising itto his head, he contrived to stumble against him and jostle him soawkwardly, that the foaming ale gushed over his face, person, and dress.Good natured as the smith, in spite of his warlike propensities, reallywas in the utmost degree, his patience failed under such a provocation.He seized the young man's throat, being the part which came readiest tohis grasp, as Conachar arose from the pretended stumble, and pressingit severely as he cast the lad from him, exclaimed: "Had this been inanother place, young gallows bird, I had stowed the lugs out of thyhead, as I have done to some of thy clan before thee."

  Conachar recovered his feet with the activity of a tiger, and exclaimed:"Never shall you live to make that boast again!" drew a short, sharpknife from his bosom, and, springing on Henry Smith, attempted to plungeit into his body over the collarbone, which must have been a mortalwound. But the object of this violence was so ready to defend himselfby striking up the assailant's hand, that the blow only glanced on thebone, and scarce drew blood. To wrench the dagger from the boy's hand,and to secure him with a grasp like that of his own iron vice, was, forthe powerful smith, the work of a single moment.

  Conachar felt himself at once in the absolute power of the formidableantagonist whom he had provoked; he became deadly pale, as he had beenthe moment before glowing red, and stood mute with shame and fear,until, relieving him from his powerful hold, the smith quietly said: "Itis well for thee that thou canst not make me angry; thou art but a boy,and I, a grown man, ought not to have provoked thee. But let this be awarning."

  Conachar stood an instant as if about to reply, and then left the room,ere Simon had collected himself enough to speak. Dorothy was runninghither and thither for salves and healing herbs. Catharine had swoonedat the sight of the trickling blood.

  "Let me depart, father Simon," said Henry Smith, mournfully, "I mighthave guessed I should have my old luck, and spread strife and bloodshedwhere I would wish most to bring peace and happiness. Care not for me.Look to poor Catharine; the fright of such an affray hath killed her,and all through my fault."

  "Thy fault, my son! It was the fault of yon Highland cateran, whom itis my curse to be cumbered with; but he shall go back to his glenstomorrow, or taste the tolbooth of the burgh. An assault upon the lifeof his master's guest in his house! It breaks all bonds between us. Butlet me see to thy wound."

  "Catharine!" repeated the armourer--"look to Catharine."

  "Dorothy will see to her," said Simon; "surprise and fear kill not;skenes and dirks do. And she is not more the daughter of my blood thanthou, my dear Henry, art the son of my affections. Let me see the wound.The skene occle is an ugly weapon in a Highland hand."

  "I mind it no more than the scratch of a wildcat," said the armourer;"and now that the colour is coming to Catharine's cheek again, you shallsee me a sound man in a moment."

  He turned to a corner in which hung a small mirror, and hastily tookfrom his purse some dry lint to apply to the slight wound he hadreceived. As he unloosed the leathern jacket from his neck andshoulders, the manly and muscular form which they displayed was not moreremarkable than the fairness of his skin, where it had not, as inhands and face, been exposed to the effects of rough weather and of hislaborious trade. He hastily applied some lint to stop the bleeding; anda little water having removed all other marks of the fray, he buttonedhis doublet anew, and turned again to the table, where Catharine, stillpale and trembling, was, however, recovered from her fainting fit.

  "Would you but grant me your forgiveness for having offended you in thevery first hour of my return? The lad was foolish to provoke me, and yetI was more foolish to be provoked by such as he. Your father blames menot, Catharine, and cannot you forgive me?"

  "I have no power to forgive," answered Catharine, "what I have no titleto rese
nt. If my father chooses to have his house made the scene ofnight brawls, I must witness them--I cannot help myself. Perhaps it waswrong in me to faint and interrupt, it may be, the farther progress of afair fray. My apology is, that I cannot bear the sight of blood."

  "And is this the manner," said her father, "in which you receive myfriend after his long absence? My friend, did I say? Nay, my son. Heescapes being murdered by a fellow whom I will tomorrow clear this houseof, and you treat him as if he had done wrong in dashing from him thesnake which was about to sting him!"

  "It is not my part, father," returned the Maid of Perth, "to decide whohad the right or wrong in the present brawl, nor did I see what happeneddistinctly enough to say which was assailant, or which defender. Butsure our friend, Master Henry, will not deny that he lives in a perfectatmosphere of strife, blood, and quarrels. He hears of no swordsman buthe envies his reputation, and must needs put his valour to the proof. Hesees no brawl but he must strike into the midst of it. Has he friends,he fights with them for love and honour; has he enemies, he fights withthem for hatred and revenge. And those men who are neither his friendsnor foes, he fights with them because they are on this or that side ofa river. His days are days of battle, and, doubtless, he acts them overagain in his dreams."

  "Daughter," said Simon, "your tongue wags too freely. Quarrels andfights are men's business, not women's, and it is not maidenly to thinkor speak of them."

  "But if they are so rudely enacted in our presence," said Catharine, "itis a little hard to expect us to think or speak of anything else. I willgrant you, my father, that this valiant burgess of Perth is one of thebest hearted men that draws breath within its walls: that he would walka hundred yards out of the way rather than step upon a worm; thathe would be as loth, in wantonness, to kill a spider as if he were akinsman to King Robert, of happy memory; that in the last quarrel beforehis departure he fought with four butchers, to prevent their killing apoor mastiff that had misbehaved in the bull ring, and narrowly escapedthe fate of the cur that he was protecting. I will grant you also,that the poor never pass the house of the wealthy armourer but they arerelieved with food and alms. But what avails all this, when hissword makes as many starving orphans and mourning widows as his purserelieves?"

  "Nay, but, Catharine, hear me but a word before going on with a stringof reproaches against my friend, that sound something like sense, whilethey are, in truth, inconsistent with all we hear and see around us.What," continued the glover, "do our King and our court, our knights andladies, our abbots, monks, and priests themselves, so earnestly crowd tosee? Is it not to behold the display of chivalry, to witness the gallantactions of brave knights in the tilt and tourney ground, to look upondeeds of honour and glory achieved by arms and bloodshed? What is itthese proud knights do, that differs from what our good Henry Gow worksout in his sphere? Who ever heard of his abusing his skill and strengthto do evil or forward oppression, and who knows not how often it hasbeen employed as that of a champion in the good cause of the burgh? Andshouldst not thou, of all women, deem thyself honoured and glorious,that so true a heart and so strong an arm has termed himself thybachelor? In what do the proudest dames take their loftiest pride, savein the chivalry of their knight; and has the boldest in Scotland donemore gallant deeds than my brave son Henry, though but of low degree? Ishe not known to Highland and Lowland as the best armourer that ever madesword, and the truest soldier that ever drew one?"

  "My dearest father," answered Catharine, "your words contradictthemselves, if you will permit your child to say so. Let us thank Godand the good saints that we are in a peaceful rank of life, below thenotice of those whose high birth, and yet higher pride, lead them toglory in their bloody works of cruelty, which haughty and lordly menterm deeds of chivalry. Your wisdom will allow that it would be absurdin us to prank ourselves in their dainty plumes and splendid garments;why, then, should we imitate their full blown vices? Why should weassume their hard hearted pride and relentless cruelty, to which murderis not only a sport, but a subject of vainglorious triumph? Let thosewhose rank claims as its right such bloody homage take pride andpleasure in it; we, who have no share in the sacrifice, may the betterpity the sufferings of the victim. Let us thank our lowliness, since itsecures us from temptation. But forgive me, father, if I have steppedover the limits of my duty, in contradicting the views which youentertain, with so many others, on these subjects."

  "Nay, thou hast even too much talk for me, girl," said her father,somewhat angrily. "I am but a poor workman, whose best knowledge is todistinguish the left hand glove from the right. But if thou wouldsthave my forgiveness, say something of comfort to my poor Henry. There hesits, confounded and dismayed with all the preachment thou hast heapedtogether; and he, to whom a trumpet sound was like the invitation to afeast, is struck down at the sound of a child's whistle."

  The armourer, indeed, while he heard the lips that were dearest to himpaint his character in such unfavourable colours, had laid his headdown on the table, upon his folded arms, in an attitude of the deepestdejection, or almost despair.

  "I would to Heaven, my dearest father," answered Catharine, "that itwere in my power to speak comfort to Henry, without betraying the sacredcause of the truths I have just told you. And I may--nay, I must havesuch a commission," she continued with something that the earnestnesswith which she spoke and the extreme beauty of her features caused forthe moment to resemble inspiration.

  "The truth of Heaven," she said, in a solemn tone, "was never committedto a tongue, however feeble, but it gave a right to that tongue toannounce mercy, while it declared judgment. Arise, Henry--rise up, nobleminded, good, and generous, though widely mistaken man. Thy faults arethose of this cruel and remorseless age, thy virtues all thine own."

  While she thus spoke, she laid her hand upon the smith's arm, andextricating it from under his head by a force which, however gentle, hecould not resist, she compelled him to raise towards her his manly face,and the eyes into which her expostulations, mingled with other feelings,had summoned tears.

  "Weep not," she said, "or rather, weep on, but weep as those who havehope. Abjure the sins of pride and anger, which most easily beset thee;fling from thee the accursed weapons, to the fatal and murderous use ofwhich thou art so easily tempted."

  "You speak to me in vain, Catharine," returned the armourer: "I may,indeed, turn monk and retire from the world, but while I live in it Imust practise my trade; and while I form armour and weapons for others,I cannot myself withstand the temptation of using them. You would notreproach me as you do, if you knew how inseparably the means by which Igain my bread are connected with that warlike spirit which you imputeto me as a fault, though it is the consequence of inevitable necessity.While I strengthen the shield or corselet to withstand wounds, must Inot have constantly in remembrance the manner and strength with whichthey may be dealt; and when I forge the sword, and temper it for war, isit practicable for me to avoid the recollection of its use?"

  "Then throw from you, my dear Henry," said the enthusiastic girl,clasping with both her slender hands the nervous strength and weightof one of the muscular armourer's, which they raised with difficulty,permitted by its owner, yet scarcely receiving assistance from hisvolition--"cast from you, I say, the art which is a snare to you. Abjurethe fabrication of weapons which can only be useful to abridge humanlife, already too short for repentance, or to encourage with afeeling of safety those whom fear might otherwise prevent from riskingthemselves in peril. The art of forming arms, whether offensive ordefensive, is alike sinful in one to whose violent and ever vehementdisposition the very working upon them proves a sin and a snare. Resignutterly the manufacture of weapons of every description, and deserve theforgiveness of Heaven, by renouncing all that can lead to the sin whichmost easily besets you."

  "And what," murmured the armourer, "am I to do for my livelihood, whenI have given over the art of forging arms for which Henry of Perth isknown from the Tay to the Thames?"

  "Your art itself," said Cathari
ne, "has innocent and laudable resources.If you renounce the forging of swords and bucklers, there remains to youthe task of forming the harmless spade, and the honourable as well asuseful ploughshare--of those implements which contribute to the supportof life, or to its comforts. Thou canst frame locks and bars to defendthe property of the weak against the stouthrief and oppression of thestrong. Men will still resort to thee, and repay thy honest industry--"

  But here Catharine was interrupted. Her father had heard her declaimagainst war and tournaments with a feeling that, though her doctrinewere new to him, they might not, nevertheless, be entirely erroneous.He felt, indeed, a wish that his proposed son in law should not commithimself voluntarily to the hazards which the daring character and greatpersonal strength of Henry the Smith had hitherto led him to incurtoo readily; and so far he would rather have desired that Catharine'sarguments should have produced some effect upon the mind of her lover,whom he knew to be as ductile when influenced by his affections as hewas fierce and intractable when assailed by hostile remonstrances orthreats. But her arguments interfered with his views, when he heard herenlarge upon the necessity of his designed son in law resigning a tradewhich brought in more ready income than any at that time practised inScotland, and more profit to Henry of Perth in particular than to anyarmourer in the nation. He had some indistinct idea that it would not beamiss to convert, if possible, Henry the Smith from his too frequent useof arms, even though he felt some pride in being connected with onewho wielded with such superior excellence those weapons, which in thatwarlike age it was the boast of all men to manage with spirit. But whenhe heard his daughter recommend, as the readiest road to this pacificstate of mind, that her lover should renounce the gainful trade in whichhe was held unrivalled, and which, from the constant private differencesand public wars of the time, was sure to afford him a large income, hecould withhold his wrath no longer. The daughter had scarce recommendedto her lover the fabrication of the implements of husbandry, than,feeling the certainty of being right, of which in the earlier part oftheir debate he had been somewhat doubtful, the father broke in with:

  "Locks and bars, plough graith and harrow teeth! and why not grates andfire prongs, and Culross girdles, and an ass to carry the merchandisethrough the country, and thou for another ass to lead it by the halter?Why, Catharine, girl, has sense altogether forsaken thee, or dost thouthink that in these hard and iron days men will give ready silver foranything save that which can defend their own life, or enable them totake that of their enemy? We want swords to protect ourselves everymoment now, thou silly wench, and not ploughs to dress the ground forthe grain we may never see rise. As for the matter of our daily bread,those who are strong seize it, and live; those who are weak yield it,and die of hunger. Happy is the man who, like my worthy son, has meansof obtaining his living otherwise than by the point of the sword whichhe makes. Preach peace to him as much as thou wilt, I will never be hewill say thee nay; but as for bidding the first armourer in Scotlandforego the forging of swords, curtal axes, and harness, it is enough todrive patience itself mad. Out from my sight! and next morning I pritheeremember that, shouldst thou have the luck to see Henry the Smith, whichis more than thy usage of him has deserved, you see a man who has nothis match in Scotland at the use of broadsword and battle axe, and whocan work for five hundred marks a year without breaking a holyday."

  The daughter, on hearing her father speak thus peremptorily, made a lowobeisance, and, without further goodnight, withdrew to the chamber whichwas her usual sleeping apartment.