"Robert, my son," she said, affectionately attempting to take his hand, "something has gone wrong with you to-day; make a confidant of your mother!"
"Would to God thou wert my mother!" he cried, almost suffocating.
"Thy mother, Robert! what do these words mean?"
"That my future happiness and misery depend on your lips," he replied, turning towards her and grasping her hands with strong emotion.
"Explain!" she said, alarmed and deeply moved by the distress and earnestness of his manner.
"Did you ever—(sustain me, Heaven, at this moment," he gasped) "ever, face to face, meet Hurtel of the Red-Hand?"
"Robert, what motive, so terrible in its effect on your mind, can have led you to ask this?"
"Answer me, my mother—speak, Lady Lester!"
"Yes!" and she shuddered, as if some painful incident of the past seemed to press upon her memory.
"Where? Speak, and tell me truly, if you love me!" he eloquently entreated.