"Nay, now you beat the iron twice over," said Henry. "It is thus
we always end, father, by your being testy with me for not doing
that thing in the world which would make me happiest, were I to
have it in my power. Why, father, I would the keenest dirk I ever
forged were sticking in my heart at this moment if there is one
single particle in it that is not more your daughter's property than
my own. But what can I do? I cannot think less of her, or more of
myself, than we both deserve; and what seems to you so easy and
certain is to me as difficult as it would be to work a steel hauberk
out of bards of flax. But here is to you, father," he added, in a
more cheerful tone; "and here is to my fair saint and Valentine,
as I hope your Catharine will be mine for the season. And let me
not keep your old head longer from the pillow, but make interest
with your featherbed till daybreak; and then you must be my guide
to your daughter's chamber door, and my apology for entering it,
to bid her good morrow, for the brightest that the sun will awaken,
in the city or for miles round."

"No bad advice, my son," said the honest glover, "But you, what will
you do? Will you lie down beside me, or take a part of Conachar's
bed?"

"Neither," answered Harry Gow; "I should but prevent your rest, and
for me this easy chair is worth a down bed, and I will sleep like
a sentinel, with my graith about me." As he spoke, he laid his hand
on his sword.

"Nay, Heaven send us no more need of weapons. Goodnight, or rather
good morrow, till day peep; and the first who wakes calls up the