"Well--well," answered Simon; "I prithee let the matter rest even
now, for here comes the loitering boy, and, though it is a holyday
morn, I want no more bloody puddings."

The youth entered accordingly. His face was pale, his eyes red,
and there was an air of discomposure about his whole person. He
sat down at the lower end of the table, opposite to Dorothy, and
crossed himself, as if preparing for his morning's meal. As he
did not help himself to any food, Catharine offered him a platter
containing some of the cakes which had met with such general approbation.
At first he rejected her offered kindness rather sullenly; but on
her repeating the offer with a smile of goodwill, he took a cake in
his hand, broke it, and was about to eat a morsel, when the effort
to swallow seemed almost too much for him; and though he succeeded,
he did not repeat it.

"You have a bad appetite for St. Valentine's morning, Conachar,"
said his good humoured master; "and yet I think you must have slept
soundly the night before, since I conclude you were not disturbed
by the noise of the scuffle. Why, I thought a lively glune amie
would have been at his master's side, dirk in hand, at the first
sound of danger which arose within a mile of us."

"I heard but an indistinct noise," said the youth, his face glowing
suddenly like a heated coal, "which I took for the shout of some
merry revellers; and you are wont to bid me never open door or
window, or alarm the house, on the score of such folly."

"Well--well," said Simon; "I thought a Highlander would have known
better the difference betwixt the clash of swords and the twanging