Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Monastery by Walter Scott (free novels to read .txt) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «The Monastery by Walter Scott (free novels to read .txt) 📖». Author Walter Scott
Halbert, with a faltering and uncertain voice, began to speak of his distant pretensions to claim a descent from the ancient Glendonwynes of Galloway, when Murray interrupted him with a smile.
“Nay—nay—leave pedigrees to bards and heralds. In our days, each, man is the son of his own deeds. The glorious light of reformation hath shone alike on prince and peasant; and peasant as well as prince may be illustrated by fighting in its defence. It is a stirring world, where all may advance themselves who have stout hearts and strong arms. Tell me frankly why thou hast left thy father's house.”
Halbert Glendinning made a frank confession of his duel with Piercie Shafton, and mentioned his supposed death.
“By my hand,” said Murray, “thou art a bold sparrow-hawk, to match thee so early with such a kite as Piercie Shafton. Queen Elizabeth would give her glove filled with gold crowns to know that meddling coxcomb to be under the sod.—Would she not, Morton?”
“Ay, by my word, and esteem her glove a better gift than the crowns,” replied Morton, “which few Border lads like this fellow will esteem just valuation.”
“But what shall we do with this young homicide?” said Murray; “what will our preachers say?”
“Tell them of Moses and of Benaiah,” said Morton; “it is but the smiting of an Egyptian when all is said out.”
“Let it be so,” said Murray, laughing; “but we will bury the tale, as the prophet did the body, in the sand. I will take care of this swankie.—Be near to us, Glendinning, since that is thy name. We retain thee as a squire of our household. The master of our horse will see thee fully equipped and armed.”
During the expedition which he was now engaged in, Murray found several opportunities of putting Glendinning's courage and presence of mind to the test, and he began to rise so rapidly in his esteem, that those who knew the Earl considered the youth's fortune as certain. One step only was wanting to raise him to a still higher degree of confidence and favour—it was the abjuration of the Popish religion. The ministers who attended upon Murray and formed his chief support amongst the people, found an easy convert in Halbert Glendinning, who, from his earliest days, had never felt much devotion towards the Catholic faith, and who listened eagerly to more reasonable views of religion. By thus adopting the faith of his master, he rose higher in his favour, and was constantly about his person during his prolonged stay in the west of Scotland, which the intractability of those whom the Earl had to deal with, protracted from day to day, and week to week.
Original
Chapter the Thirty-Sixth. Faint the din of battle bray'd Distant down the hollow wind; War and terror fled before, Wounds and death were left behind. PENROSE.
The autumn of the year was well advanced, when the Earl of Morton, one morning, rather unexpectedly, entered the antechamber of Murray, in which Halbert Glendinning was in waiting.
“Call your master, Halbert,” said the Earl; “I have news for him from Teviotdale; and for you too, Glendinning.—News! news! my Lord of Murray!” he exclaimed at the door of the Earl's bedroom; “come forth instantly.” The Earl appeared, and greeted his ally, demanding eagerly his tidings.
“I have had a sure friend with me from the south,” said Morton; “he has been at Saint Mary's Monastery, and brings important tidings.” “Of what complexion?” said Murray, “and can you trust the bearer?” “He is faithful, on my life,” said Morton; “I wish all around your Lordship may prove equally so.”
“At what, and whom, do you point?” demanded Murray.
“Here is the Egyptian of trusty Halbert Glendinning, our Southland Moses, come alive again, and flourishing, gay and bright as ever, in that Teviotdale Goshen, the Halidome of Kennaquhair.”
“What mean you, my lord?” said Murray.
“Only that your new henchman has put a false tale upon you. Piercie Shafton is alive and well; by the same token that the gull is thought to be detained there by love to a miller's daughter, who roamed the country with him in disguise.”
“Glendinning,” said Murray, bending his brow into his darkest frown, “thou hast not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy mouth, in order to win my confidence?”
“My lord,” said Halbert, “I am incapable of a lie. I should choke on one were my life to require that I pronounced it. I say, that this sword of my father was through the body—the point came out behind his back—the hilt pressed upon his breast-bone. And I will plunge it as deep in the body of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood.”
“How, fellow!” said Morton, “wouldst thou beard a nobleman?”
“Be silent, Halbert,” said Murray, “and you, my Lord of Morton, forbear him. I see truth written on his brow.”
“I wish the inside of the manuscript may correspond with the superscription,” replied his more suspicious ally. “Look to it, my lord, you will one day lose your life by too much confidence.”
“And you will lose your friends by being too readily suspicious,” answered Murray. “Enough of this—let me hear thy tidings.”
“Sir John Foster,” said Morton, “is about to send a party into Scotland to waste the Halidome.”
“How! without waiting my presence and permission?” said Murray—“he is mad—will he come as an enemy into the Queen's country?”
“He has Elizabeth's express orders,” answered Morton, “and they are not to be trifled with. Indeed, his march has been more than once projected and laid aside during the time we have been here, and has caused much alarm at Kennaquhair. Boniface, the old Abbot, has resigned, and whom think you they have chosen in his place?”
“No one surely,” said Murray; “they would presume to hold no election until the Queen's pleasure and mine were known?”
Morton shrugged his shoulders—“They have chosen the pupil of old Cardinal Beatoun, that wily determined champion of Rome, the bosom-friend of our busy Primate of Saint Andrews. Eustace, late the Sub-Prior of Kennaquhair, is now its Abbot, and, like a second Pope Julius, is levying men and making musters to fight with Foster if he comes forward.”
“We must prevent that meeting,” said Murray, hastily; “whichever party
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