Catharine had swooned at the sight of the trickling blood.
"Let me depart, father Simon," said Henry Smith, mournfully, "I might have guessed I should have my old luck, and spread strife and bloodshed where I would wish most to bring peace and happiness.

Care not for me.
Look to poor Catharine; the fright of such an affray hath killed her, and all through my fault." "Thy fault, my son! It was the fault of yon Highland cateran, whom it is my curse to be cumbered with; but he shall go back to his glens tomorrow, or taste the tolbooth of the burgh.

An assault upon the life of his master's guest in his house! It breaks all bonds between us.

But let me see to thy wound." "Catharine!" repeated the armourer--"look to Catharine." "Dorothy will see to her," said Simon; "surprise and fear kill not; skenes and dirks do.

And she is not more the daughter of my blood than thou, my dear Henry, art the son of my affections.