A look of anger came over his face for a moment, then as quickly died away, and his eyes filled with a hopeless, despairing look. He walked slowly to the window, his hands clenched together behind him, and stood there, pale and miserable and wretched, gazing out upon the scene of happiness he had just left.
Lady Glencairn watched him with eyes filled with passion, and her heart beat with painful thuds as she fought against the desperate longing to throw herself into his arms and comfort him. She glided quickly to his side and put her hand gently within his arm and stood there in sympathetic silence although she was consumed with jealousy as she watched his melancholy eyes riveted on the fair face of his lost sweetheart. For a while they stood there in gloomy quiet. Presently a deep, heartrending sigh, which was almost a sob, escaped his trembling lips.
“An’ we were so happy a few minutes ago,” he murmured brokenly. “An’ noo ’tis all over.” He paused and bit his lips convulsively. Presently he went on in a dull, low tone as if speaking to himself, “How true it is, there’s many a slip ’twixt cup and lip.” Lady Glencairn pressed his arm tenderly, but remained silent. “What have I to live for noo?” he continued with despairing mournfulness.
“Everything, Robert,” murmured her ladyship tenderly, gazing up into his face with glittering eyes.
He turned and looked at her in wonder. As he saw the feverish flush on her face, felt her hot breath on his cheek, he remembered with a start her peculiar words and meaning looks at Athol Castle the night before. Lady Glencairn noted with apprehension the look of stern coldness spread quickly over his face, and the nervous tears of disappointment and passionate longing welled up in her eyes. Then with reckless abandon she dropped her head against his shoulder and let the tears flow unrestrainedly. For a moment Robert stood there speechless with surprise and horror, for he knew at last that what he had vaguely feared was an indisputable fact; knew that his hostess, the wife of his dearest friend and counsellor, entertained a guilty passion for him. It filled him with righteous anger that she would willingly betray the love and confidence of the noblest gentleman in the kingdom. He placed the weeping woman in a chair and stood looking down upon her with a frown of displeasure. “Lady Glencairn,” he said coldly, “if these tears are for my unhappy fate, I thank ye for your sympathy.”
She caught his hand and held it tightly within her arm. “Oh, no, no, Robert, ’tis not that,” she whispered passionately. “Do you not remember the Lady of the Lake I told you of last evening?” He made no reply. Then she continued slowly, her voice low and shaking, “Read my fate in that of hers.”
Still he would not understand her. “I fear I do not understand your meaning, my lady,” he replied, trying to withdraw his hand from her grasp, but she held it firmly.
“Cannot your heart understand mine?” she cried recklessly. “Does it not pity my wretchedness?”
He was silent for a moment. He knew he could no longer parry with her, for her words and meaning were too plain to admit of any misunderstanding. He turned to her, his face set and firm. “Lady Glencairn,” he said sternly, “you dishonor yourself by such madness, and all for naught. My heart is noo numb with sorrow, it could feel no throb of yours, even were I vile enough to see no evil in usurping your husband’s rights.”
“Do not remind me of my unhappiness!” she exclaimed impatiently. “I married him when I was a girl, before I knew what love was. Then you came into my life, and I knew that the fire of love was not dead within me.” Her rich seductive voice trembled with passion.