with the legends of the Banshee and Mermaid.]

"--Like an ass, Johnny Guthrie," said his commander; "thy long nose
smelling the dinner, thy long ears hearing the music, and thy short
discretion not enabling thee to decide which of them thou didst
prefer.--Hark! is that not the Cathedral bell tolling to vespers?--Sure
it cannot be that time yet? The mad old sexton has toll'd evensong an
hour too soon."

"In faith, the bell rings but too justly the hour," said Cunningham;
"yonder the sun is sinking on the west side of the fair plain."

"Ay," said the Lord Crawford, "is it even so?--Well, lads, we must live
within compass.--Fair and soft goes far--slow fire makes sweet malt--to
be merry and wise is a sound proverb.--One other rouse to the weal of
old Scotland, and then each man to his duty."

The parting cup was emptied, and the guests dismissed--the stately
old Baron taking the Balafre's arm, under pretence of giving him some
instructions concerning his nephew, but, perhaps, in reality, lest his
own lofty pace should seem in the public eye less steady than became his
rank and high command. A serious countenance did he bear as he passed
through the two courts which separated his lodging from the festal
chamber, and solemn as the gravity of a hogshead was the farewell
caution with which he prayed Ludovic to attend his nephew's motions,
especially in the matters of wenches and wine cups.

Meanwhile, not a word that was spoken concerning the beautiful Countess
Isabelle had escaped the young Durward, who, conducted into a small
cabin, which he was to share with his uncle's page, made his new and
lowly abode the scene of much high musing. The reader will easily
imagine that the young soldier should build a fine romance on such a
foundation as the supposed, or rather the assumed, identification of
the Maiden of the Turret, to whose lay he had listened with so much
interest, and the fair cup bearer of Maitre Pierre, with a fugitive
Countess of rank and wealth, flying from the pursuit of a hated lover,
the favourite of an oppressive guardian, who abused his feudal power.
There was an interlude in Quentin's vision concerning Maitre Pierre, who
seemed to exercise such authority even over the formidable officer from
whose hands he had that day, with much difficulty, made his escape. At
length the youth's reveries, which had been respected by little Will
Harper, the companion of his cell, were broken in upon by the return of
his