It was a night in the pleasant month of June, and in that part of Scotland at this season there is scarcely any darkness, the reflection of the sun on the Atlantic being so distinctly visible for the brief time that he is below the horizon, that one may read the smallest print even at midnight.
As they drew near a little chapel which stood upon a rock above the river, and was dedicated to St. Monina, the countess gathered courage, and said,—"Unless you say, my lord, for what purpose you have brought me hither in this secret manner, and at this unwonted hour, I go not one step further with you!"
"Listen," said he, drawing his long arm-pit dagger, while a cruel and wild glare came into his fierce blue eyes; "I have brought you hither to slay you!"
"Oh, my soul foreboded as much!" said Gunhilda, in a breathless voice; "to slay me—for what? What crime have I committed?"
"None; yet I will not have a wife who is to be the mother of baby-faced girls, whose husbands, if they get them, will rend and divide my heritage among them. I must have a son to heir me, as Earl of Caithness, Count of Orkney, Lord of Braal and Lochmore, and to transmit my name to future times; but thou——"
"I am the daughter of a king!" said the countess, haughtily.
"A king who is too far away to help you," said Harold, with a mocking smile.
"But not too far away to avenge me!"
"Let him do so, if he will!" replied the barbarous earl, as he grasped her wrists and dragged her shrieking, and on her knees, towards the rocks which overhung the stream.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "my three helpless daughters—your children—think of them with pity, if not with pity for me!"