Isa had sent to excuse herself, for she was, indeed, too ill with excitement; and, at Jane’s earnest solicitation, she had gone to lie down, to fall into a broken slumber, filled with troubled dreams, and all connected with the coming day. Again and again she was being led to the church, when Brace seemed to snatch her away and hold her to his breast: but when she tried to clasp him in return, he faded, as it were, away, and there was nothing there: then they were wandering together by the marsh, picking the true-blue forget-me-nots; but each flower seemed weeping for their sorrows; and at last the soft, treacherous earth seemed to give way, and they were plunged together in the black, strangling water, to sink lower, lower, lower, till all was blinding and dark; but his arms were tightly round her now, his lips were to hers, and he was breathing words of love—of love, and holy love—to her, telling her that they would part no more; that there should be no more misery, no more watching and weeping; but that their parents’ sorrows should be succeeded by the sunshine of their joy; and, returning his caresses from the depth of her heart, she shrieked aloud, for she was rudely awakened to the misery of the present; for, apparently wild with excitement, Jane rushed into the room, caught her for a moment in her arms, to kiss her, almost fiercely, and then throwing her rudely back upon the couch—
“Lie there, my child—lie there!” she exclaimed. “She gave you into my charge, and I have been faithful. Sleep, if you like, but let it be in peace, for there will be no wedding to-morrow!”
Was she mad? Was she crazy? Isa asked herself those questions, as she heard the door closed and locked upon her; then, unable to restrain her tears, she sank back weakly weeping.
“They’re Bringing My Lady Hame.”
Alexander McCray, in his excitement at being told that Brace Norton was in the hall, set down the decanter upon the carpet, where it was directly after kicked over by the under-butler. But McCray hurried out, lest Sir Murray should hear who had arrived—his dread being that there would be a fracas brought on by the young man’s imprudence. He looked for the visitor, though, in vain, and turned back to enter the dining-room, when the glass door looking out upon the carriage-drive was thrown open, and Brace, pale and wild-looking, appeared.
“Gude save us! and how can ye be sae foolish, laddie?” exclaimed McCray, hurrying to him. “Ye’ll mak’ sair wark of it a’, and do naebody any gude. If ye lo’e the puir bairn,” he said, with a touching simplicity, “gang yer gait, and let her be in peace, for ye’ll break her puir sair hairt if ye mak’ a dust noo!”
“What?” whispered Brace—“has she not told you?”
“Told me?” exclaimed McCray. “Ah! stop, then! Gude save us, the lassie’s mad! Jenny! wife!—here, stop!”
But Alexander McCray’s words might have been true, from the way in which the housekeeper rushed into the dining-room, exclaiming, “Sir Murray—Sir Murray!”