father blames me not, Catharine, and cannot you forgive me?"

"I have no power to forgive," answered Catharine, "what I have no
title to resent. If my father chooses to have his house made the
scene of night brawls, I must witness them--I cannot help myself.
Perhaps it was wrong in me to faint and interrupt, it may be, the
farther progress of a fair fray. My apology is, that I cannot bear
the sight of blood."

"And is this the manner," said her father, "in which you receive my
friend after his long absence? My friend, did I say? Nay, my son.
He escapes being murdered by a fellow whom I will tomorrow clear
this house of, and you treat him as if he had done wrong in dashing
from him the snake which was about to sting him!"

"It is not my part, father," returned the Maid of Perth, "to decide
who had the right or wrong in the present brawl, nor did I see what
happened distinctly enough to say which was assailant, or which
defender. But sure our friend, Master Henry, will not deny that he
lives in a perfect atmosphere of strife, blood, and quarrels. He
hears of no swordsman but he envies his reputation, and must needs
put his valour to the proof. He sees no brawl but he must strike
into the midst of it. Has he friends, he fights with them for love
and honour; has he enemies, he fights with them for hatred and
revenge. And those men who are neither his friends nor foes, he
fights with them because they are on this or that side of a river.
His days are days of battle, and, doubtless, he acts them over
again in his dreams."

"Daughter," said Simon, "your tongue wags too freely. Quarrels and