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THE MONASTERY.
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fatal—The blood gushed from her face.—Halbert Glendinning brooked not a sight so brutal, but, uttering a deep imprecation, started from his seat, and laid his hand on his sword, under the strong impulse of passing it through the body of the cruel and hard-hearted ruffian. But Christie of the Clinthill, guessing his intention, threw his arms around him, and prevented him from stirring to execute his purpose.

The impulse to such a dangerous act of violence was indeed but momentary, as it instantly appeared that Avenel himself, shocked at the effects of his violence, was lifting up and endeavouring to sooth in his own way the terrified Catherine.

"Peace," he said, "prithee peace, thou silly minion—why, Kate, though I listen not to this tramping preacher, I said not what might happen, an thou dost bear me a stout boy. There—there—dry thy tears—call thy women.—So ho!—where be these queans?—Christie—Rowley—Hutcheon—drag them hither by the hair of the head."

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