urselves in the guilt of using arms in
defence of the murderers, be they who they will."

"Eviot," said Ramorny, raising his mutilated arm, "had not that glove
been empty, thou hadst not lived to utter two words of this insolence."

"It is as it is," answered Evict, "and we do but our duty. I have
followed you long, my lord, but here I draw bridle."

"Farewell, then, and a curse light on all of you!" exclaimed the
incensed baron. "Let my horse be brought forth!"

"Our valiancie is about to run away," said the mediciner, who had crept
close to Catharine's side before she was aware. "Catharine, thou art a
superstitious fool, like most women; nevertheless thou hast some mind,
and I speak to thee as one of more understanding than the buffaloes
which are herding about us. These haughty barons who overstride the
world, what are they in the day of adversity? Chaff before the wind. Let
their sledge hammer hands or their column resembling legs have injury,
and bah! the men at arms are gone. Heart and courage is nothing to
them, lith and limb everything: give them animal strength, what are they
better than furious bulls; take that away, and your hero of chivalry
lies grovelling like the brute when he is hamstrung. Not so the sage;
while a grain of sense remains in a crushed or mutilated frame, his mind
shall be strong as ever. Catharine, this morning I was practising your
death; but methinks I now rejoice that you may survive to tell how the
poor mediciner, the pill gilder, the mortar pounder, the poison vender,
met his fate, in company with the gallant Knight of Ramorny, Baron in
possession and Earl of Lindores in expectation--God save his lordship!"

"Old man," said Catharine, "if thou be indeed so near the day of thy
deserved doom, other thoughts were far wholesomer than the vainglorious
ravings of a vain philosophy. Ask to see a holy man--"

"Yes," said Dwining, scornfully, "refer myself to a greasy monk, who
does not--he! he! he!--understand the barbarous Latin he repeats by
rote. Such would be a fitting counsellor to one who has studied both
in Spain and Arabia! No, Catharine, I will choose a confessor that is
pleasant to look upon, and you shall be honoured with the office. Now,
look yonder at his valiancie, his eyebrow drops with moisture, his lip
trembles with agony; for his valiancie--he! he! he!--is pleading for his
life with his late domestics, and has not eloquence enough to persuade
them to let him slip. See ho