Wyseby

18 WYSEBY : A LEGEND
wouldst have been hadst thou won for me by harsh
means the hands of thy sister. Happy be Catharine
Irving," cried he, draining a goblet, " happy in her
love-choiee ; and be it mine in hour of need to be
her friend."
Irving cordially grasped the extended hand of the
knight ; in the glow of generous wine, the wrath
of the chief was forgotten — the wrath of Sir Esecal
seemed forgotten.
Three days passed away. Catharine stood alone
on the banks of the Kirtle. Perhaps she thought of
that northern river whose waves she had watched in
her glad childhood. Perhaps she thought of the
low cottages which stood on its green banks, and
saw, peering out of vacancy, the sweet young faces
she had once seen in these humble dwellings. Per-
haps she thought of those deep dells, to which the
music of that stream came ; and felt that the prim-
roses that grew there were fresher than the primroses
that grow here, and that the sunshine of those days
was warmer and brighter than she had ever felt it
since. She heaved a deep sigh. She starts. Some
one is approaching. " Sir Esecal has departed,"
said the chief, joining his sister. " He desires to be
favourably remembered by thee."
" Methoughfc)" said Catharine, " that he purposed
a longer stay."
" He did so," said Irving ; " but outlaws may not
determine the length of their visits, nor choose their
resting-places; and, certes, cunning is, he who long
eludes the vigilance of the Royal Bruce."
" Thou hast often promised, brother, to advise me
of the cause of the Bruce's hatred of this knight,"