nds, in order to proceed to
Curfew Street; when it occurred to him, from the appearance of the sky,
that he was at least an hour too early for his purpose, and that it
would be better not to appear at the place of rendezvous till nearer the
time assigned. Other gallants were not unlikely to be on the watch as
well as himself about the house of the Fair Maid of Perth; and he
knew his own foible so well as to be sensible of the great chance of a
scuffle arising betwixt them.

"I have the advantage," he thought, "by my father Simon's friendship;
and why should I stain my fingers with the blood of the poor creatures
that are not worthy my notice, since they are so much less fortunate
than myself? No--no, I will be wise for once, and keep at a distance
from all temptation to a broil. They shall have no more time to quarrel
with me than just what it may require for me to give the signal, and for
my father Simon to answer it. I wonder how the old man will contrive to
bring her to the window? I fear, if she knew his purpose, he would find
it difficult to carry it into execution."

While these lover-like thoughts were passing through his brain, the
armourer loitered in his pace, often turning his eyes eastward, and
eyeing the firmament, in which no slight shades of grey were beginning
to flicker, to announce the approach of dawn, however distant, which, to
the impatience of the stout armourer, seemed on that morning to abstain
longer than usual from occupying her eastern barbican. He was now
passing slowly under the wall of St. Anne's Chapel (not failing to cross
himself and say an ace, as he trode the consecrated ground), when a
voice, which seemed to come from behind one of the flying buttresses of
the chapel, said, "He lingers that has need to run."

"Who speaks?" said the armourer, looking around him, somewhat startled
at an address so unexpected, both in its tone and tenor.

"No matter who speaks," answered the same voice. "Do thou make great
speed, or thou wilt scarce make good speed. Bandy not words, but
begone."

"Saint or sinner, angel or devil," said Henry, crossing himself, "your
advice touches me but too dearly to be neglected. St. Valentine be my
speed!"

So saying, he instantly changed his loitering pace to one with which few
people could have kept up, and in an instant was in Couvrefew Street.
He had not made three steps towards Simon Glover's, which stood in the
midst of the narrow street, when two men sta