“Your dear Seymour?” cried the startled Norah.
“Yes, my dear Seymour. I did not tell you—I love him, nurse—he loves me—we have plighted our troth; and if he dies, what will become of me?” continued the sobbing girl.
“Och hone! and is it the truth and the real truth that you’re telling me, and was he to be your husband?”
“Was he!—he is, Norah. What did you mean by was he?” cried Emily, in hurried accents, seizing the old woman by the wrist, with a look of fearful anxiety.
“Did I say, was he? I did sure, enough, and it’s true too. I thought to do my darling a service, and I cared little for my own soul. So young and so beautiful too. And it’s a nice pair ye would have made. And it’s I that have kilt him! Och hone!” cried Norah, wringing her withered hands.
“Killed him, Norah! What have you done?—tell me directly,” screamed Emily, shaking the old hag with all her force—“Quick!”
The old nurse seemed to have all the violence of her mistress’s feelings communicated to her as she cried out, with a face of horror, “It was all for ye that I did it. It’s the master that made me do it. He said my darling would be a beggar. It’s the poison for the rats he’s taken. Och, och hone!” and the old woman sank on the floor, covering up her head, while Emily flew shrieking out of the room.
When McElvina and his party quitted the castle, they returned to McElvina’s house. “I cannot but pity Mr Rainscourt,” observed the vicar; “indeed, I wish that, notwithstanding his violence, we had not quitted him without making the communication.”
“So do I,” replied McElvina; “but the injustice of his accusation prevented me; and I must confess that I have some pleasure in allowing him to remain twenty-four hours in suspense—longer than that, not even my revenge has stomach for.”
“I am afraid,” observed Debriseau, “that we have done unwisely. The violence and selfishness of the man’s character are but too well known, and Seymour is in his power.”