convent was still a true north country woman. 'Ay, Lady Anne, you
from your shires know nought of how deep goes the blood feud in us of
the Borderland! Ay, lady, was not mine own grandfather slain by the
Musgrave of Leit Hill, and did not my father have his revenge on his
son by Solway Firth? Yea, and now not a Graeme can meet a Musgrave
but they come to blows.'

'Nay, but that is not what the good Fathers teach,' Anne interposed.

'The Fathers have neither chick nor child to take up their quarrel.
They know nought about blood crying for blood! If King Edward caught
that brat of Clifford he would make him know what 'tis to be born of
a bloody house.'

Anne tried to say something, but the lay Sister pushed her along.
'There, there, go you down--you know nothing about what honour
requires of you! You are but a south country maid, and have no
notion of what is due to them one came from.'

Joan Graeme was only a lay Sister, her father a small farmer when not
a moss trooper; but all the Border, on both sides, had the strongest
ideas of persistent vendetta, such as happily had never been held in
the midland and southern counties, where there was less infusion of
Celtic blood. Anne was a good deal shocked at the doctrine
propounded by the attendant Sister, a mild, good-natured woman in
daily life, but the conversation confirmed her suspicions, and put
her on her guard as she remembered Hob's warning. She had liked the
shepherd lad far too much, and was far too grateful to him, to utter
a word that might give him up to the revengers of blood.