Chapter 21

Indifferent, but indifferent--pshaw, he doth it not
Like one who is his craft's master--ne'er the less
I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb
On one who was a master of defence.
OLD PLAY.


With the first gray peep of dawn, Halbert Glendinning arose and
hastened to dress himself, girded on his weapon, and took a cross-bow
in his hand, as if his usual sport had been his sole object. He groped
his way down the dark and winding staircase, and undid, with as little
noise as possible, the fastenings of the inner door, and of the
exterior iron grate. At length he stood free in the court-yard, and
looking up to the tower, saw a signal made with a handkerchief from
the window. Nothing doubting that it was his antagonist, he paused,
expecting him. But it was Mary Avenel, who glided like a spirit from
under the low and rugged portal.

Halbert was much surprised, and felt, he knew not why, like one caught
in the act of a meditated trespass. The presence of Mary Avenel had till
that moment never given him pain. She spoke, too, in a tone where sorrow
seemed to mingle with reproach, while she asked him with emphasis,
"What he was about to do?"

He showed his cross-bow, and was about to express the pretext he had
meditated, when Mary interrupted him.

"Not so, Halbert--that evasion were unworthy of one whose word has
hitherto been truth. You meditate not the destruction of the deer--your
hand and your heart are aimed at other game--you seek to do battle with
this stranger."

"And wherefore should I quarrel with our guest?" answered Halbert,
blushing deeply.

"There are, indeed, many reasons why you should not," replied the
maiden, "nor is there one of avail wherefore you should--yet
nevertheless, such a quarrel you are now searching after."

"Why should you suppose so, Mary?" said Halbert, endeavouring to hide
his conscious purpose--"he is my mother's guest--he is protected by
the Abbot and the community, who are our masters--he is of high degree
also,--and wherefore should you think that I can, or dare, resent a
hasty word, which he has perchance thrown out against me more from the
wantonness of his wit, than the purpose of his heart?"

"Alas!" answered the maiden, "the very asking that question puts your
resolution beyond a doubt. Since your childhood you were ever daring,
seeking danger rather than avoiding it--delighting in whatever had the
air of adventure and of courage: and it is not from fear that you will
now blench from your purpose--Oh, let it then be from pity!--from
pity, Halbert, to your aged mother, whom your death or victory will
alike deprive of the