The monastery; The abbot.

THE ABBOT. 2T7
he made to suppress it, nay, the very sense of the impropriety of giving way
to it, tend only to augment and prolong the irresistible impulse.
It was undoubtedly lucky for Catherine, as well as for Roland, that the
latter did not share in the excessive mirth of the former. For, seated as
she was, with her back to the casement, Catherine could easily escape the
observation of the two matrons during the course of their promenade;
whereas Grame was so placed, with his side to the window, that his mirth,
had he shared that of his companion, would have been instantly visible,
and could not have failed to give offence to the personages in question. lie
sate, however, with some impatience, until Catherine had exhausted either
her power or her desire of laughing, and was returning with good grace to
the exercise of her needle, and then he observed with some dryness, that
"there seemed no great occasion to recommend to them to improve their
acquaintance, as it seemed, that they were already tolerably familiar."
Catherine had an extreme desire to set off upon a fresh score, but she
repressed it strongly, and fixing her eyes on her work, replied by asking
his pardon, and promising to avoid future offence.
Roland had sense enough to feel, that an air of offended dignity was very
much misplaced, and that it was with a very different bearing he ought to
meet the deep blue eyes which had borne such a hearty burden in the
laughing scene. lie tried, therefore, to extricate himself as well as he
could from his blunder, by assuming a tone of correspondent gaiety, and
requesting to know of the nymph, "how it was her pleasure that they
should proceed in improving the acquaintance which had commenced so
merrily."
"That," she said, "you must yourself discover; perhaps I have gone a
step too far in opening our interview."
"Suppose," said Roland Grneme, " we should begin as in a tale-book, by
asking each other's names and histories?"
"It is right well imagined," said Catherine, " and shows an argute judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only put in a question or two
at the dark parts of the story. Come, unfold then your name and history,
my new acquaintance."
"I am called Roland Groeme, and that tall woman is my grandmother."
"And your tutoress?- good. Who are your parents?"
"They are both dead," replied Roland.
" Ay, but who were they? you had parents, I presume?"
" I suppose so," said Roland, " but I have never been able to learn much
of their history. My father was a Scottish knight, who died gallantly in
his stirrups -my mother was a Grneme of Hathergill, in the Debateable
Land —most of her family were killed when the Debateable country was
burned by Lord Maxwell and Herries of Caerlaverock."
"Is it long ago?" said the damsel.
"Before I was born," answered the page.
"That must be a great while since," said she, shaking her head gravely;
"look you, I cannot weep for them."
" It needs not," said the youth, " they fell with honour."
"So much for your lineage, fair sir," replied his companion, " of whom
I like the living specimen (a glance at the casement) far less than those
that are dead. Your much honoured grandmother looks as if she could
make one weep in sad earnest. And now, fair sir, for your own person -
if you tell not the tale faster, it will be cut short in the middle; Mother
Bridget pauses longer and longer every time she passes the window, and
with her there is as little mirth as in the grave of your ancestors."
" My tale is soon told- I was introduced into the castle of Avenel to be
page to the lady of the mansion."
" She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?" said the maiden.
"As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the puri