“He had a wife living and sought your hand?” exclaimed the gallant old soldier, slowly turning his eyes from Anna to Alick, and back again. “My child, you must mistake. Such were the act of a scoundrel, and none such ever bore the name of Lyon.”
“Sir!” cried Alexander, in a voice thrilled and a countenance agonized by shame—“Sir, hear me, hear one word of my defence before you utterly condemn me! I do not any more than yourself, understand this strange scene, which seems to have been got up as a very bad joke against me. But—that my name is Lyon should be an all-sufficient guarantee that I am no scoundrel, and quite incapable of seeking to wed one woman while legally bound to another.”
“That is a denial, not a defence,” coldly replied General Lyon.
“Then, sir,” said Alexander, withdrawing a few paces from the group and signaling to General Lyon to follow him—“I have to confess to somewhat of human frailty in order to exculpate myself from the charge of crime.”
“Go on, sir,” curtly commanded the old gentleman, who had come to his side.
Poor Drusilla had lifted her head, which had rested upon the bosom of Anna, and bent slightly forward to hear her fate.
“Will you proceed, sir?” sternly inquired the General, seeing that his nephew hesitated.
“It is an unpleasant story to tell. But lest you should have cause to think worse of me than I deserve, I must admit that the young person here present was my companion for a few months of youthful hallucination; but there was no marriage.”
“Oh, Alick! Alick! Oh! Alick! my Alick!” impulsively burst from the pale lips of Drusilla with a low, long drawn wail of sorrow.
But Anna once more put her arms around the feeble form, and drew the bowed head down upon her supporting bosom.