"This love of thine, where hatred was wont to be, belies such musty morality. Love Madeline Home, indeed? It will be with the chance of having a score of rivals."
"Well," replied Florence smiling, "a score are better than one."
"One thou couldst kill."
"A score shall not kill me, at all events. And now, dear mother, if Madeline loves me, may not an earl's coronet, if one day blazoned in the old hall there, glint bravely in your old eyes?"
"The coronet of the Homes of Yarrow!" she said through her still grinding teeth; "and this earl's mother—who was she? An Achesson, of Gosford, or the Guseford, for they made their money in the days of the Regent Albany, by supplying the gluttons of Edinburgh with geese. Oho! of a verity, a brave alliance for one whose fathers have borne their crests on their helmets in battle five hundred years ago! But you see her frequently—this Countess of Yarrow?" she asked, on remembering her new tactics.
"Alas, no."
"Indeed! how cometh this about?" she asked, taking her son's hand in hers, with seeming fondness.
"Fate—yourself, mother, are alike adverse to us."
"When are ye to see her who hath so begowked thee—this bonnie bird, again?"
"Mother, you do not mean her evil?" asked Florence suddenly, for the expression of her eye bewildered him.