young years together. As he grew up,
being a lad of shrewd parts, and of a very staid and orderly deportment,
the monks set their snares for him, and before he could well think for
himself he was wiled into their traps, and becoming a novice, in due
season professed himself a monk. But it was some time before my
grandfather knew him again, for the ruddy of youth had fled his cheek,
and he was pale and of a studious countenance; and when the first
sparklings of his pleasure at the sight of his old play-marrow had gone
off, his eyes saddened into thoughtfulness, and he appeared like one
weighed down with care and heavy inward dule.

CHAPTER XIII

After Dominick Callender and my grandfather had conversed some time,
with many interchanges of the kindly remembrances of past pleasures, the
gentle friar began to bewail his sad estate in being a professed monk,
and so mournfully to deplore the rashness with which inexperienced youth
often takes upon itself a yoke it can never lay down, that the
compassion of his friend was sorrowfully awakened, for he saw he was
living a life of bitterness and grief. He heard him, however, without
making any reply or saying anything concerning his own lot of hazard and
adventure; for, considering Dominick to be leagued with the papistical
orders, he did not think him safe to be trusted, notwithstanding the
unchanged freshness of the loving-kindness which he still seemed to bear
in his heart; nor even, had he not felt this jealousy, would he have
thought himself free to speak of his errand, far less to have given to
any stranger aught that might have been an inkling of his noble master's
zealous, but secret, stirrings for the weal of Scotland and the
enfranchisement of the worshippers of the true God.

When my grandfather had arrived at his horse, and prepared to mount,
Dominick Callender said to him if he would ride slowly for a little way
he would walk by his side, adding, "For maybe I'll ne'er see you
again--I'm a-weary of this way of life, and the signs of the times bode
no good to the church. I hae a thought to go into some foreign land
where I may taste the air of a freeman, and I feel myself comforted
before I quit our auld, hard-favoured but warm-hearted Scotland, in
meeting wi' ane that reminds me how I had once sunny mornings and summer
days."

This was said so much in the sincerity of a confiding spirit that my
grandfather could not refrain from observing, in answer, that