The old servant withdrew to obey. The constable turned to Eudora, and said:
“Miss Leaton, while the chaise is getting ready, you had better be putting on your things.”
“Oh, Heaven! is this some dreadful dream or raving madness that has taken possession of me, or is it true that I must leave the house where lie the dead bodies of my kindred, and go—to the county gaol, charged with the murder of my nearest relations? Oh, horror! horror! Oh, save me, Malcolm, save me!” she cried, covering her face with her hands as though to shut out some horrid vision, and sinking to the floor.
Montrose stooped and raised her, whispering:
“I will! I will, Eudora! if it is in human power to do it! You need not be taken from here to-night—you must not be! I will see the magistrates myself.”
Then turning to the crowd of servants that still lingered in the room, he inquired:
“Have the magistrates yet taken their departure?”
“No, sir; they are taking some refreshments in the dining-room,” answered one of the servants.
“Rest here, dear Eudora, until I return,” said Montrose, placing her in an easy-chair; and then going to the side of the Italian princess, he said:
“Madame, for Heaven’s sake, speak to her.”