short, sharp knife from his bosom, and, springing on Henry Smith,
attempted to plunge it into his body over the collarbone, which
must have been a mortal wound. But the object of this violence was
so ready to defend himself by striking up the assailant's hand,
that the blow only glanced on the bone, and scarce drew blood. To
wrench the dagger from the boy's hand, and to secure him with a
grasp like that of his own iron vice, was, for the powerful smith,
the work of a single moment.

Conachar felt himself at once in the absolute power of the formidable
antagonist whom he had provoked; he became deadly pale, as he had
been the moment before glowing red, and stood mute with shame and
fear, until, relieving him from his powerful hold, the smith quietly
said: "It is well for thee that thou canst not make me angry; thou
art but a boy, and I, a grown man, ought not to have provoked thee.
But let this be a warning."

Conachar stood an instant as if about to reply, and then left the
room, ere Simon had collected himself enough to speak. Dorothy was
running hither and thither for salves and healing herbs. 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