is best to be plain at once; resent my refusal as you will--I am
wholly in your power. But nothing shall make me break my word."

The glover spoke thus decidedly, because he was aware from experience
that the very irritable disposition of his former apprentice yielded in
most cases to stern and decided resolution. Yet, recollecting where he
was, it was with some feelings of fear that he saw the dying flame leap
up and spread a flash of light on the visage of Eachin, which seemed
pale as the grave, while his eye rolled like that of a maniac in his
fever fit. The light instantly sunk down and died, and Simon felt a
momentary terror lest he should have to dispute for his life with
the youth, whom he knew to be capable of violent actions when highly
excited, however short a period his nature could support the measures
which his passion commenced. He was relieved by the voice of Eachin, who
muttered in a hoarse and altered tone:

"Let what we have spoken this night rest in silence for ever. If thou
bring'st it to light, thou wert better dig thine own grave."

Thus speaking, the door of the hut opened, admitting a gleam of
moonshine. The form of the retiring chief crossed it for an instant, the
hurdle was then closed, and the shieling left in darkness.

Simon Glover felt relieved when a conversation fraught with offence and
danger was thus peaceably terminated. But he remained deeply affected by
the condition of Hector MacIan, whom he had himself bred up.

"The poor child," said he, "to be called up to a place of eminence,
only to be hurled from it with contempt! What he told me I partly knew,
having often remarked that Conachar was more prone to quarrel than to
fight. But this overpowering faint heartedness, which neither shame
nor necessity can overcome, I, though no Sir William Wallace, cannot
conceive. And to propose himself for a husband to my daughter, as if
a bride were to find courage for herself and the bridegroom! No--no,
Catharine must wed a man to whom she may say, 'Husband, spare your
enemy'--not one in whose behalf she must cry, 'Generous enemy, spare my
husband!"

Tired out with these reflections, the old man at length fell asleep.
In the morning he was awakened by his friend the Booshalloch, who, with
something of a blank visage, proposed to him to return to his abode on
the meadow at the Ballough. He apologised that the chief could not see
Simon Glover that morning, being busied with things about the exp