The pent-up excitement of years upon years was struggling for exit, and, heedless of all present—of the confusion her presence created as the baronet rose, glaring at her with a mingling of fear and anger—Jane darted towards him.
“Where is McCray? Take this woman out?”
“No—no,” she shrieked, excitedly. “Let no one dare to touch me! I knew the truth would out some day; and now it has come—come in time to stop this cruel wedding. It has been hidden from the eyes of man all these years, but Heaven would not suffer that it should rest longer. No!” she cried, as, clinging to Sir Murray, he tried to shake her off—“it has come home to you at last. I will not leave go. You know how I have kept my lips sealed; and now the time is come when they should be opened. Sir Murray—my poor lady—has—”
Jane McCray’s words became inaudible, as, dizzy with excitement, she reeled and then fell, to lie insensible upon the carpet. The visitors looked from one to the other; some sought to assist the housekeeper, others made for the door; while, trembling himself, Lord Maudlaine hurried to Sir Murray’s side.
“In Heaven’s name, what does it all mean?” the Viscount whispered.
“I don’t know—I—I—What, you here?” exclaimed Sir Murray, as Brace Norton appeared in the doorway.
“Tell him, McCray,” said Brace, in a low voice. “Speak to him gently.”
Pale and scared-looking, his ruddy, open countenance speaking the sense of the painful duty he had to perform, McCray moved slowly towards Sir Murray.
“What is it?” the latter said, in a strangely incoherent way. “Is Miss Gernon ill or—or—in Heaven’s name, speak!” he cried, as if forcing the words to leave his lips—“has she fled?”
“No, Sir Mooray,” said the old Scot, in a low voice, as he spoke almost tenderly, watching the change in his master’s countenance the while, and catching him by the wrist; and, as if foreseeing what would happen, he placed his arm round him. “Sir Mooray,” he whispered now, as the baronet’s eyes assumed a fixed and ghastly expression, “they’re bringing my lady hame!”