“I would that a man would bring such a charge,” said the page; “he should see, ere his life was a minute older, whether he had cause to term me coward or no.”
“Beware of such big words,” answered the maiden; “you said but anon that I sometimes wear hose and doublet.”
“But remain still Catharine Seyton, wear what you list,” said the page, endeavouring again to possess himself of her hand.
“You indeed are pleased to call me so,” replied the maiden, evading his intention, “but I have many other names besides.”
“And will you not reply to that,” said the page, “by which you are distinguished beyond every other maiden in Scotland?”
The damsel, unallured by his praises, still kept aloof, and sung with gaiety a verse from an old ballad,
“Oh, some do call me Jack, sweet love,
And some do call me Gill;
But when I ride to Holyrood,
My name is Wilful Will.”
“Wilful Will” exclaimed the page, impatiently; “say rather Will o' the Wisp—Jack with the Lantern—for never was such a deceitful or wandering meteor!”
“If I be such,” replied the maiden, “I ask no fools to follow me—If they do so, it is at their own pleasure, and must be on their own proper peril.”
“Nay, but, dearest Catherine,” said Roland Graeme, “be for one instant serious.”