Chapter 17

I'll seek for other aid--Spirits, they say,
Flit round invisible, as thick as motes
Dance in the sunbeam. If that spell
Or necromancer's sigil can compel them,
They shall hold council with me.
JAMES DUFF.


The reader's attention must be recalled to Halbert Glendinning, who had
left the Tower of Glendearg immediately after his quarrel with its new
guest, Sir Piercie Shafton. As he walked with a rapid pace up the glen,
Old Martin followed him, beseeching him to be less hasty.

"Halbert," said the old man, "you will never live to have white hair, if
you take fire thus at every spark of provocation."

"And why should I wish it, old man," said Halbert, "if I am to be the
butt that every fool may aim a shaft of scorn against?--What avails
it, old man, that you yourself move, sleep, and wake, eat thy niggard
meal, and repose on thy hard pallet?--Why art thou so well pleased
that the morning should call thee up to daily toil, and the evening
again lay thee down a wearied-out wretch? Were it not better sleep and
wake no more, than to undergo this dull exchange of labour for
insensibility and of insensibility for labour?"

"God help me," answered Martin, "there may be truth in what thou
sayest--but walk slower, for my old limbs cannot keep pace with your
young legs--walk slower, and I will tell you why age, though unlovely,
is yet endurable."

"Speak on then," said Halbert, slackening his pace, "but remember we
must seek venison to refresh the fatigues of these holy men, who will
this morning have achieved a journey of ten miles; and if we reach not
the Brocksburn head we are scarce like to see an antler."

"Then know, my good Halbert," said Martin, "whom I love as my own son,
that I am satisfied to live till death calls me, because my Maker
wills it. Ay, and although I spend what men call a hard life, pinched
with cold in winter, and burnt with heat in summer, though I feed hard
and sleep hard, and am held mean and despised, yet I bethink me, that
were I of no use on the face of this fair creation, God would withdraw
me from it."

"Thou poor old man," said Halbert, "and can such a vain conceit as
this of thy fancied use, reconcile thee to a world where thou playest
so poor a part?"

"My part was nearly as poor," said Martin, "my person nearly as much
despised, the day that I saved my mistress and her child from
perishing in the wilderness."

"Right, Martin," answered Halbert; "there, indeed, thou didst what
might be a sufficient apology for a whole life of insignificance."

"And do