Page:Walter Scott - The Monastery (Henry Frowde, 1912).djvu/178

RV 110 (Rh) The picture which Halbert looked upon was delightful in itself, but somehow or other it afforded very little pleasure to him. The beautiful girl, with looks of simple yet earnest anxiety, was bent on disentangling those intricacies which obstructed her progress to knowledge, and looking ever and anon to Edward for assistance, while, seated close by her side, and watchful to remove every obstacle from her way, he seemed at once to be proud of the progress which his pupil made, and of the assistance which he was able to render her. There was a bond betwixt them, a strong and interesting tie, the desire of obtaining knowledge, the pride of surmounting difficulties.

Feeling most acutely, yet ignorant of the nature and source of his own emotions, Halbert could no longer endure to look upon this quiet scene, but, starting up, dashed his book from him, and exclaimed aloud, 'To the fiend I bequeath all books and the dreamers that make them! I would a score of Southrons would come up the glen, and we should learn how little all this muttering and scribbling is worth.'

Mary Avenel and his brother started and looked at Halbert with surprise, while he went on with great animation, his features swelling, and the tears starting into his eyes as he spoke. 'Yes, Mary, I wish a score of Southrons came up the glen this very day; and you should see one good hand, and one good sword, do more to protect you, than all the books that were ever opened, and all the pens that ever grew on a goose's wing.'

Mary looked a little surprised and a little frightened at his vehemence, but instantly replied affectionately, 'You are vexed, Halbert, because you do not get your lesson so fast as Edward can; and so am I, for I am as stupid as you. But come, and Edward shall sit betwixt us and teach us.'

'He shall not teach me,' said Halbert, in the same angry mood; 'I never can teach him to do anything that is honourable and manly, and he shall not teach me any of his monkish tricks. I hate the monks with their drawling nasal tone like so many frogs, and their long black petticoats like so many women, and their reverences, and their lordships, and their lazy vassals that do nothing but