Вальтер Скотт
The Abbot
“Silence, my mates!” said Howleglas; “cannot two learned Fathers of the Church hold communion together, but you must come here with your bear-garden whoop and hollo, as if you were hounding forth a mastiff upon a mad bull? I say silence! and let this learned Father and me confer, touching matters affecting our mutual state and authority.”
“My children” – said Father Ambrose.
“My children too, – and happy children they are!” said his burlesque counterpart; “many a wise child knows not its own father, and it is well they have two to choose betwixt.”
“If thou hast aught in thee, save scoffing and ribaldry,” said the real Abbot, “permit me, for thine own soul’s sake, to speak a few words to these misguided men.”
“Aught in me but scoffing, sayest thou?” retorted the Abbot of Unreason; “why, reverend brother, I have all that becomes mine office at this time a-day – I have beef, ale, and brandy-wine, with other condiments not worth mentioning; and for speaking, man – why, speak away, and we will have turn about, like honest fellows.”
During this discussion the wrath of Magdalen Graeme had risen to the uttermost; she approached the Abbot, and placing herself by his side, said in a low and yet distinct tone-“Wake and arouse thee, Father – the sword of Saint Peter is in thy hand – strike and avenge Saint Peter’s patrimony! – Bind them in the chains which, being riveted by the church on earth, are riveted in Heaven – ”
“Peace, sister!” said the Abbot; “let not their madness destroy our discretion – I pray thee, peace, and let me do mine office. It is the first, peradventure it may be the last time, I shall be called on to discharge it.”
“Nay, my holy brother!” said Howleglas, “I rede you, take the holy sister’s advice – never throve convent without woman’s counsel.”
“Peace, vain man!” said the Abbot; “and you, my brethren – ”
“Nay, nay!” said the Abbot of Unreason, “no speaking to the lay people, until you have conferred with your brother of the cowl. I swear by bell, book, and candle, that no one of my congregation shall listen to one word you have to say; so you had as well address yourself to me who will.”
To escape a conference so ludicrous, the Abbot again attempted an appeal to what respectful feelings might yet remain amongst the inhabitants of the Halidome, once so devoted to their spiritual Superiors. Alas! the Abbot of Unreason had only to nourish his mock crosier, and the whooping, the hallooing, and the dancing, were renewed with a vehemence which would have defied the lungs of Stentor.
“And now, my mates,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “once again dight your gabs and be hushed-let us see if the Cock of Kennaquhair will fight or flee the pit.”
There was again a dead silence of expectation, of which Father Ambrose availed himself to address his antagonist, seeing plainly that he could gain an audience on no other terms. “Wretched man!” said he, “hast thou no better employment for thy carnal wit, than to employ it in leading these blind and helpless creatures into the pit of utter darkness?”
“Truly, my brother,” replied Howleglas, “I can see little difference betwixt your employment and mine, save that you make a sermon of a jest, and I make a jest of a sermon.”
“Unhappy being,” said the Abbot, “who hast no better subject of pleasantry than that which should make thee tremble – no sounder jest than thine own sins, and no better objects for laughter than those who can absolve thee from the guilt of them!”
“Verily, my reverend brother,” said the mock Abbot, “what you say might be true, if, in laughing at hypocrites, I meant to laugh at religion. – Oh, it is a precious thing to wear a long dress, with a girdle and a cowl – we become a holy pillar of Mother Church, and a boy must not play at ball against the walls for fear of breaking a painted window!”
“And will you, my friends,” said the Abbot, looking round and speaking with a vehemence which secured him a tranquil audience for some time, – “will you suffer a profane buffoon, within the very church of God, to insult his ministers? Many of you – all of you, perhaps – have lived under my holy predecessors, who were called upon to rule in this church where I am called upon to suffer. If you have worldly goods, they are their gift; and, when you scorned not to accept better gifts – the mercy and forgiveness of the church – were they not ever at your command? – did we not pray while you were jovial – wake while you slept?”
“Some of the good wives of the Halidome were wont to say so,” said the Abbot of Unreason; but his jest met in this instance but slight applause, and Father Ambrose, having gained a moment’s attention, hastened to improve it.
“What!” said he; “and is this grateful – is it seemly – is it honest – to assail with scorn a few old men, from whose predecessors you hold all, and whose only wish is to die in peace among these fragments of what was once the light of the land, and whose daily prayer is, that they may be removed ere that hour comes when the last spark shall be extinguished, and the land left in the darkness which it has chosen rather than light? We have not turned against you the edge of the spiritual sword, to revenge our temporal persecution; the tempest of your wrath hath despoiled us of land, and deprived us almost of our daily food, but we have not repaid it with the thunders of excommunication – we only pray your leave to live and die within the church which is our own, invoking God, our Lady, and the Holy Saints to pardon your sins, and our own, undisturbed by scurril buffoonery and blasphemy.”
This speech, so different in tone and termination from that which the crowd had expected, produced an effect upon their feelings unfavourable to the prosecution of their frolic. The morris-dancers stood still – the hobby-horse surceased his capering – pipe and tabor were mute, and “silence, like a heavy cloud,” seemed to descend on the once noisy rabble. Several of the beasts were obviously moved to compunction; the bear could not restrain his sobs, and a huge fox was observed to wipe his eyes with his tail. But in especial the dragon, lately so formidably rampant, now relaxed the terror of his claws, uncoiled his tremendous rings, and grumbled out of his fiery throat in a repentant tone, “By the mass, I thought no harm in exercising our old pastime, but an I had thought the good Father would have taken it so to heart, I would as soon have played your devil, as your dragon.”
In this momentary pause, the Abbot stood amongst the miscellaneous and grotesque forms by which he was surrounded, triumphant as Saint Anthony, in Callot’s Temptations; but Howleglas would not so resign his purpose.
“And how now, my masters!” said he, “is this fair play or no? Have you not chosen me Abbot of Unreason, and is it lawful for any of you to listen to common sense to-day? Was I not formally elected by you in solemn chapter, held in Luckie Martin’s change-house, and will you now desert me, and give up your old pastime and privilege? Play out the play – and he that speaks the next word of sense or reason, or bids us think or consider, or the like of that, which befits not the day, I will have him solemnly ducked in the mill-dam!”
The rabble, mutable as usual, huzzaed, the pipe and tabor struck up, the hobby-horse pranced, the beasts roared, and even the repentant dragon began again to coil up his spires, and prepare himself for fresh gambols. But the Abbot might still have overcome, by his eloquence and his entreaties, the malicious designs of the revellers, had not Dame Magdalen Graeme given loose to the indignation which she had long suppressed.
“Scoffers,” she said, “and men of Belial – Blasphemous heretics, and truculent tyrants – ”
“Your patience, my sister, I entreat and I command you!” said the Abbot; “let me do my duty – disturb me not in mine office!”
But Dame Magdalen continued to thunder forth her threats in the name of Popes and Councils, and in the name of every Saint, from St. Michael downward.
“My comrades!” said the Abbot of Unreason, “this good dame hath not spoken a single word of reason, and therein may esteem herself free from the law. But what she spoke was meant for reason, and, therefore, unless she confesses and avouches all which she has said to be nonsense, it shall pass for such, so far as to incur our statutes. Wherefore, holy dame, pilgrim, or abbess, or whatever thou art, be mute with thy mummery or beware the mill-dam. We will have neither spiritual nor temporal scolds in our Diocese of Unreason!”
As he spoke thus, he extended his hand towards the old woman, while his followers shouted, “A doom – a doom!” and prepared to second his purpose, when lo! it was suddenly frustrated. Roland Graeme had witnessed with indignation the insults offered to his old spiritual preceptor, but yet had wit enough to reflect he could render him no assistance, but might well, by ineffective interference, make matters worse. But when he saw his aged relative in danger of personal violence, he gave way to the natural impetuosity of his temper, and, stepping forward, struck his poniard into the body of the Abbot of Unreason, whom the blow instantly prostrated on the pavement.
Chapter the Fifteenth
As when in tumults rise the ignoble crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud,
And stones and brands in rattling furies fly,
And all the rustic arms which fury can supply —
Then if some grave and pious man appear,
They hush their noise, and lend a listening ear.
DRYDEN’S VIRGIL
A dreadful shout of vengeance was raised by the revellers, whose sport was thus so fearfully interrupted; but for an instant, the want of weapons amongst the multitude, as well as the inflamed features and brandished poniard of Roland Graeme, kept them at bay, while the Abbot, horror-struck at the violence, implored, with uplifted hands, pardon for blood-shed committed within the sanctuary. Magdalen Graeme alone expressed triumph in the blow her descendant had dealt to the scoffer, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious expression of terror for her grandson’s safety. “Let him perish,” she said, “in his blasphemy – let him die on the holy pavement which he has insulted!”
But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the exultation of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and unnecessary. Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed to be, sprung alertly up from the floor, calling aloud, “A miracle, a miracle, my masters! as brave a miracle as ever was wrought in the kirk of Kennaquhair. And I charge you, my masters, as your lawfully chosen Abbot, that you touch no one without my command – You, wolf and bear, will guard this pragmatic youth, but without hurting him – And you, reverend brother, will, with your comrades, withdraw to your cells; for our conference has ended like all conferences, leaving each of his own mind, as before; and if we fight, both you, and your brethren, and the Kirk, will have the worst on’t – Wherefore, pack up you pipes and begone.”
The hubbub was beginning again to awaken, but still Father Ambrose hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called him, whether to face out the present storm, or to reserve himself for a better moment. His brother of Unreason observed his difficulty, and said, in a tone more natural and less affected than that with which he had hitherto sustained his character, “We came hither, my good sir, more in mirth than in mischief – our bark is worse than our bite – and, especially, we mean you no personal harm – wherefore, draw off while the play is good; for it is ill whistling for a hawk when she is once on the soar, and worse to snatch the quarry from the ban-dog – Let these fellows once begin their brawl, and it will be too much for madness itself, let alone the Abbot of Unreason, to bring them back to the lure.”
The brethren crowded around Father Ambrosius, and joined in urging him to give place to the torrent. The present revel was, they said, an ancient custom which his predecessors had permitted, and old Father Nicholas himself had played the dragon in the days of the Abbot Ingelram.
“And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so unadvisedly sown,” said Ambrosius; “they taught men to make a mock of what is holy, what wonder that the descendants of scoffers become robbers and plunderers? But be it as you list, my brethren – move towards the dortour – And you, dame, I command you, by the authority which I have over you, and by your respect for that youth’s safety, that you go with us without farther speech – Yet, stay – what are your intentions towards that youth whom you detain prisoner? – Wot ye,” he continued, addressing Howleglas in a stern tone of voice, “that he bears the livery of the House of Avenel? They who fear not the anger of Heaven, may at least dread the wrath of man.”
“Cumber not yourself concerning him,” answered Howleglas, “we know right well who and what he is.”
“Let me pray,” said the Abbot, in a tone of entreaty, “that you do him no wrong for the rash deed – which he attempted in his imprudent zeal.”
“I say, cumber not yourself about it, father,” answered Howleglas, “but move off with your train, male and female, or I will not undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking-stool – And as for bearing of malice, my stomach has no room for it; it is,” he added, clapping his hand on his portly belly, “too well bumbasted out with straw and buckram – gramercy to them both – they kept out that madcap’s dagger as well as a Milan corslet could have done.”
In fact, the home-driven poniard of Roland Graeme had lighted upon the stuffing of the fictitious paunch, which the Abbot of Unreason wore as a part of his characteristic dress, and it was only the force of the blow which had prostrated that reverend person on the ground for a moment.
Satisfied in some degree by this man’s assurances, and compelled – to give way to superior force, the Abbot Ambrosius retired from the Church at the head of the monks, and left the court free for the revellers to work their will. But, wild and wilful as these rioters were, they accompanied the retreat of the religionists with none of those shouts of contempt and derision with which they had at first hailed them. The Abbot’s discourse had affected some of them with remorse, others with shame, and all with a transient degree of respect. They remained silent until the last monk had disappeared through the side-door which communicated with their dwelling-place, and even then it cost some exhortations on the part of Howleglas, some caprioles of the hobby-horse, and some wallops of the dragon, to rouse once more the rebuked spirit of revelry.
“And how now, my masters?” said the Abbot of Unreason; “and wherefore look on me with such blank Jack-a-Lent visages? Will you lose your old pastime for an old wife’s tale of saints and purgatory? Why, I thought you would have made all split long since – Come, strike up, tabor and harp, strike up, fiddle and rebeck – dance and be merry to-day, and let care come to-morrow. Bear and wolf, look to your prisoner – prance, hobby – hiss, dragon, and halloo, boys – we grow older every moment we stand idle, and life is too short to be spent in playing mumchance.”
This pithy exhortation was attended with the effect desired. They fumigated the Church with burnt wool and feathers instead of incense, put foul water into the holy-water basins, and celebrated a parody on the Church-service, the mock Abbot officiating at the altar; they sung ludicrous and indecent parodies, to the tunes of church hymns; they violated whatever vestments or vessels belonging to the Abbey they could lay their hands upon; and, playing every freak which the whim of the moment could suggest to their wild caprice, at length they fell to more lasting deeds of demolition, pulled down and destroyed some carved wood-work, dashed out the painted windows which had escaped former violence, and in their rigorous search after sculpture dedicated to idolatry, began to destroy what ornaments yet remained entire upon the tombs, and around the cornices of the pillars.
The spirit of demolition, like other tastes, increases by indulgence; from these lighter attempts at mischief, the more tumultuous part of the meeting began to meditate destruction on a more extended scale – “Let us heave it down altogether, the old crow’s nest,” became a general cry among them; “it has served the Pope and his rooks too long;” and up they struck a ballad which was then popular among the lower classes. [Footnote: These rude rhymes are taken, with some trifling alterations, from a ballad called Trim-go-trix. It occurs in a singular collection, entitled; “A Compendious Book of Godly and Spiritual Songs, collected out of sundrie parts of the Scripture, with sundry of other ballatis changed out of prophane sanges for avoyding of sin and harlotrie, with Augmentation of sundrie Gude and Godly Ballates. Edinburgh, printed by Andro Hart.” This curious collection has been reprinted in Mr. John. Grahame Dalyell’s Scottish Poems of the 16th century Edin. 1801, 2 vols.]
“The Paip, that pagan full of pride,
Hath blinded us ower lang.
For where the blind the blind doth lead,
No marvel baith gae wrang.
Like prince and king,
He led the ring
Of all iniquity.
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree.
“The Bishop rich, he could not preach
For sporting with the lasses;
The silly friar behoved to fleech
For awmous as he passes:
The curate his creed
He could not read, —
Shame fa’ company!
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree.”
Thundering out this chorus of a notable hunting song, which had been pressed into the service of some polemical poet, the followers of the Abbot of Unreason were turning every moment more tumultuous, and getting beyond the management even of that reverend prelate himself, when a knight in full armour, followed by two or three men-at-arms, entered the church, and in a stern voice commanded them to forbear their riotous mummery.
His visor was up, but if it had been lowered, the cognizance of the holly-branch sufficiently distinguished Sir Halbert Glendinning, who, on his homeward road, was passing through the village of Kennaquhair; and moved, perhaps, by anxiety for his brother’s safety, had come directly to the church on hearing of the uproar.
“What is the meaning of this,” he said, “my masters? are ye Christian men, and the king’s subjects, and yet waste and destroy church and chancel like so many heathens?”
All stood silent, though doubtless there were several disappointed and surprised at receiving chiding instead of thanks from so zealous a protestant.
The dragon, indeed, did at length take upon him to be spokesman, and growled from the depth of his painted maw, that they did but sweep Popery out of the church with the besom of destruction.
“What! my friends,” replied Sir Halbert Glendinning, “think you this mumming and masking has not more of Popery in it than have these stone walls? Take the leprosy out of your flesh, before you speak of purifying stone walls – abate your insolent license, which leads but to idle vanity and sinful excess; and know, that what you now practise, is one of the profane and unseemly sports introduced by the priests of Rome themselves, to mislead and to brutify the souls which fell into their net.”
“Marry come up – are you there with your bears?” muttered the dragon, with a draconic sullenness, which was in good keeping with his character, “we had as good have been Romans still, if we are to have no freedom in our pastimes!”
“Dost thou reply to me so?” said Halbert Glendinning; “or is there any pastime in grovelling on the ground there like a gigantic kail-worm? – Get out of thy painted case, or, by my knighthood, I will treat you like the beast and reptile you have made yourself.”
“Beast and reptile?” retorted the offended dragon, “setting aside your knighthood, I hold myself as well a born man as thyself.”
The Knight made no answer in words, but bestowed two such blows with the butt of his lance on the petulant dragon, that had not the hoops which constituted the ribs of the machine been pretty strong, they would hardly have saved those of the actor from being broken. In all haste the masker crept out of his disguise, unwilling to abide a third buffet from the lance of the enraged Knight. And when the ex-dragon stood on the floor of the church, he presented to Halbert Glendinning the well-known countenance of Dan of the Howlet-hirst, an ancient comrade of his own, ere fate had raised him so high above the rank to which he was born. The clown looked sulkily upon the Knight, as if to upbraid him for his violence towards an old acquaintance, and Glendinning’s own good-nature reproached him for the violence he had acted upon him.
“I did wrong to strike thee,” he said, “Dan; but in truth, I knew thee not – thou wert ever a mad fellow – come to Avenel Castle, and we shall see how my hawks fly.”
“And if we show him not falcons that will mount as merrily as rockets,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “I would your honour laid as hard on my bones as you did on his even now.”
“How now, Sir Knave,” said the Knight, “and what has brought you hither?”
The Abbot, hastily ridding himself of the false nose which mystified his physiognomy, and the supplementary belly which made up his disguise, stood before his master in his real character, of Adam Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel.
“How, varlet!” said the Knight; “hast thou dared to come here and disturb the very house my brother was dwelling in?”
“And it was even for that reason, craving your honour’s pardon, that I came hither – for I heard the country was to be up to choose an Abbot of Unreason, and sure, thought I, I that can sing, dance, leap backwards over a broadsword, and am as good a fool as ever sought promotion, have all chance of carrying the office; and if I gain my election, I may stand his honour’s brother in some stead, supposing things fall roughly out at the Kirk of Saint Mary’s.”
“Thou art but a cogging knave,” said Sir Halbert, “and well I wot, that love of ale and brandy, besides the humour of riot and frolic, would draw thee a mile, when love of my house would not bring thee a yard. But, go to – carry thy roisterers elsewhere – to the alehouse if they list, and there are crowns to pay your charges – make out the day’s madness without doing more mischief, and be wise men to-morrow – and hereafter learn to serve a good cause better than by acting like buffoons or ruffians.”
Obedient to his master’s mandate, the falconer was collecting his discouraged followers, and whispering into their ears – “Away, away —tace is Latin for a candle – never mind the good Knight’s puritanism – we will play the frolic out over a stand of double ale in Dame Martin the Brewster’s barn-yard – draw off, harp and tabor – bagpipe and drum – mum till you are out of the church-yard, then let the welkin ring again – move on, wolf and bear – keep the hind legs till you cross the kirk-stile, and then show yourselves beasts of mettle – what devil sent him here to spoil our holiday! – but anger him not, my hearts; his lance is no goose-feather, as Dan’s ribs can tell.”
“By my soul,” said Dan, “had it been another than my ancient comrade, I would have made my father’s old fox [Footnote: Fox, An old-fashioned broadsword was often so called.] fly about his ears!”
“Hush! hush! man,” replied Adam Woodcock, “not a word that way, as you value the safety of your bones – what man? we must take a clink as it passes, so it is not bestowed in downright ill-will.”
“But I will take no such thing,” said Dan of the Howlet-hirst, suddenly resisting the efforts of Woodcock, who was dragging him out of the church; when the quick military eye of Sir Halbert Glendinning detecting Roland Graeme betwixt his two guards, the Knight exclaimed, “So ho! falconer, – Woodcock, – knave, hast thou brought my Lady’s page in mine own livery, to assist at this hopeful revel of thine, with your wolves and bears? Since you were at such mummings, you might, if you would, have at least saved the credit of my household, by dressing him up as a jackanapes – bring him hither, fellows!”
Adam Woodcock was too honest and downright, to permit blame to light upon the youth, when it was undeserved. “I swear,” he said, “by Saint Martin of Bullions – ” [Footnote: The Saint Swithin, or weeping Saint of Scotland. If his festival (fourth July) prove wet, forty days of rain are expected.]
“And what hast thou to do with Saint Martin?”
“Nay, little enough, sir, unless when he sends such rainy days that we cannot fly a hawk – but I say to your worshipful knighthood, that as I am, a true man – ”
“As you are a false varlet, had been the better obtestation.”
“Nay, if your knighthood allows me not to speak,” said Adam, “I can hold my tongue – but the boy came not hither by my bidding, for all that.”
“But to gratify his own malapert pleasure, I warrant me,” said Sir Halbert Glendinning – “Come hither, young springald, and tell me whether you have your mistress’s license to be so far absent from the castle, or to dishonour my livery by mingling in such a May-game?”
“Sir Halbert Glendinning,” answered Roland Graeme with steadiness, “I have obtained the permission, or rather the commands, of your lady, to dispose of my time hereafter according to my own pleasure. I have been a most unwilling spectator of this May-game, since it is your pleasure so to call it; and I only wear your livery until I can obtain clothes which bear no such badge of servitude.”
“How am I to understand this, young man?” said Sir Halbert Glendinning; “speak plainly, for I am no reader of riddles. – That my lady favoured thee, I know. What hast thou done to disoblige her, and occasion thy dismissal?”
“Nothing to speak of,” said Adam Woodcock, answering for the boy – “a foolish quarrel with me, which was more foolishly told over again to my honoured lady, cost the poor boy his place. For my part, I will say freely, that I was wrong from beginning to end, except about the washing of the eyas’s meat. There I stand to it that I was right.”
With that, the good-natured falconer repeated to his master the whole history of the squabble which had brought Roland Graeme into disgrace with his mistress, but in a manner so favourable for the page, that Sir Halbert could not but suspect his generous motive.
“Thou art a good-natured fellow,” he said, “Adam Woodcock.”
“As ever had falcon upon fist,” said Adam; “and, for that matter, so is Master Roland; but, being half a gentleman by his office, his blood is soon up, and so is mine.”
“Well,” said Sir Halbert, “be it as it will, my lady has acted hastily, for this was no great matter of offence to discard the lad whom she had trained up for years; but he, I doubt not, made it worse by his prating – it jumps well with a purpose, however, which I had in my mind. Draw off these people, Woodcock, – and you, Roland Graeme, attend me.”
The page followed him in silence into the Abbot’s house, where, stepping into the first apartment which he found open, he commanded one of his attendants to let his brother, Master Edward Glendinning, know that he desired to speak with him. The men-at-arms went gladly off to join their comrade, Adam Woodcock, and the jolly crew whom he had assembled at Dame Martin’s, the hostler’s wife, and the Page and Knight were left alone in the apartment. Sir Halbert Glendinning paced the floor for a moment in silence and then thus addressed his attendant —
“Thou mayest have remarked, stripling, that I have but seldom distinguished thee by much notice; – I see thy colour rises, but do not speak till thou nearest me out. I say I have never much distinguished thee, not because I did not see that in thee which I might well have praised, but because I saw something blameable, which such praises might have made worse. Thy mistress, dealing according to her pleasure in her own household, as no one had better reason or title, had picked thee from the rest, and treated thee more like a relation than a domestic; and if thou didst show some vanity and petulance under such distinction, it were injustice not to say that thou hast profited both in thy exercises and in thy breeding, and hast shown many sparkles of a gentle and manly spirit. Moreover, it were ungenerous, having bred thee up freakish and fiery, to dismiss thee to want or wandering, for showing that very peevishness and impatience of discipline which arose from thy too delicate nurture. Therefore, and for the credit of my own household, I am determined to retain thee in my train, until I can honourably dispose of thee elsewhere, with a fair prospect of thy going through the world with credit to the house that brought thee up.”
If there was something in Sir Halbert Glendinning’s speech which flattered Roland’s pride, there was also much that, according to his mode of thinking, was an alloy to the compliment. And yet his conscience instantly told him that he ought to accept, with grateful deference, the offer which was made him by the husband of his kind protectress; and his prudence, however slender, could not but admit he should enter the world under very different auspices as a retainer of Sir Halbert Glendinning, so famed for wisdom, courage, and influence, from those under which he might partake the wanderings, and become an agent in the visionary schemes, for such they appeared to him, of Magdalen, his relative. Still, a strong reluctance to re-enter a service from which he had been dismissed with contempt, almost counterbalanced these considerations.
Sir Halbert looked on the youth with surprise, and resumed – “You seem to hesitate, young man. Are your own prospects so inviting, that you should pause ere you accept those which I should offer to you? or, must I remind you that, although you have offended your benefactress, even to the point of her dismissing you, yet I am convinced, the knowledge that you have gone unguided on your own wild way, into a world so disturbed as ours of Scotland, cannot, in the upshot, but give her sorrow and pain; from which it is, in gratitude, your duty to preserve her, no less than it is in common wisdom your duty to accept my offered protection, for your own sake, where body and soul are alike endangered, should you refuse it.”
