and see the Valentine whose honour and life you have saved
this morning."

"Let me but sheathe my weapon," said the smith, "let me but wash my
hands."

"There is not an instant to lose, she is up and almost dressed. Come
on, man. She shall see thee with thy good weapon in thy hand, and with
villain's blood on thy fingers, that she may know what is the value of a
true man's service. She has stopped my mouth overlong with her pruderies
and her scruples. I will have her know what a brave man's love is worth,
and a bold burgess's to boot."

CHAPTER V.

Up! lady fair, and braid thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air,
Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour,
Long have the rooks caw'd round the tower.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

Startled from her repose by the noise of the affray, the Fair Maid of
Perth had listened in breathless terror to the sounds of violence and
outcry which arose from the street. She had sunk on her knees to pray
for assistance, and when she distinguished the voices of neighbours and
friends collected for her protection, she remained in the same posture
to return thanks. She was still kneeling when her father almost thrust
her champion, Henry Smith, into her apartment; the bashful lover hanging
back at first, as if afraid to give offence, and, on observing her
posture, from respect to her devotion.

"Father," said the armourer, "she prays; I dare no more speak to her
than to a bishop when he says mass."

"Now, go thy ways, for a right valiant and courageous blockhead," said
her father--and then speaking to his daughter, he added, "Heaven is best
thanked, my daughter, by gratitude shown to our fellow creatures. Here
comes the instrument by whom God has rescued thee from death, or perhaps
from dishonour worse than death. Receive him, Catharine, as thy true
Valentine, and him whom I desire to see my affectionate son."

"Not thus--father," replied Catharine. "I can see--can speak to no one
now. I am not ungrateful--perhaps I am too thankful to the instrument of
our safety; but let me thank the guardian saint who sent me this timely
relief, and give me but a moment to don my kirtle."

"Nay, God-a-mercy, wench, it were hard to deny thee time to busk thy
body clothes, since the request is the only words like a woman that thou
hast uttered for these ten days. Truly, son Harry, I would my daughter
would put off being entirely a saint till the time comes for her being
canonise