ld again
draw together, he observed that his powerful recruit remained at a
distance from the ranks, and showed little disposition to join them.

"What ails thee, man?" said the chief. "Can so strong a body have a mean
and cowardly spirit? Come, and make in to the combat."

"You as good as called me hireling but now," replied Henry. "If I am
such," pointing to the headless corpse, "I have done enough for my day's
wage."

"He that serves me without counting his hours," replied the chief, "I
reward him without reckoning wages."

"Then," said the smith, "I fight as a volunteer, and in the post which
best likes me."

"All that is at your own discretion," replied MacGillis Chattanach, who
saw the prudence of humouring an auxiliary of such promise.

"It is enough," said Henry; and, shouldering his heavy weapon, he joined
the rest of the combatants with alacrity, and placed himself opposite to
the chief of the Clan Quhele.

It was then, for the first time, that Eachin showed some uncertainty.
He had long looked up to Henry as the best combatant which Perth and its
neighbourhood could bring into the lists. His hatred to him as a rival
was mingled with recollection of the ease with which he had once, though
unarmed, foiled his own sudden and desperate attack; and when he beheld
him with his eyes fixed in his direction, the dripping sword in his
hand, and obviously meditating an attack on him individually, his
courage fell, and he gave symptoms of wavering, which did not escape his
foster father.

It was lucky for Eachin that Torquil was incapable, from the formation
of his own temper, and that of those with whom he had lived, to conceive
the idea of one of his own tribe, much less of his chief and foster
son, being deficient in animal courage. Could he have imagined this, his
grief and rage might have driven him to the fierce extremity of taking
Eachin's life, to save him from staining his honour. But his mind
rejected the idea that his dault was a personal coward, as something
which was monstrous and unnatural. That he was under the influence of
enchantment was a solution which superstition had suggested, and he now
anxiously, but in a whisper, demanded of Hector: "Does the spell now
darken thy spirit, Eachin?"

"Yes, wretch that I am," answered the unhappy youth; "and yonder stands
the fell enchanter!"

"What!" exclaimed Torquil, "and you wear harness of his making? Norman,
miserable boy, why brought you that accu