"Duke Robert is contracted to a daughter of Charles VII. of France," said Murielle, taking courage.
"The same power that permitted my second marriage, can annul his contract, and give him back his troth, from Mademoiselle Radegonde."
"Well, rather than break mine, and be his bride, sister, you shall see me stretched in Tongland Abbey kirk, as cold as the marble tombs that lie there!"
"We shall see," replied Margaret, biting her cherry-like nether lip, and stamping her foot in growing wrath; but Murielle threw her white arms round her neck, and said plaintively,—
"You do not, you cannot mean all you say, Maggie. Ah, do not scold, when you should guide and aid me."
"Is it not my desire to see you happy?"
"Yes," sobbed Murielle; "I know, I hope that it is."
"And my husband's?"
"My kinsman, the earl, is a fearsome man!" said Murielle, with an ill-repressed shudder.
"Have I not striven for years to be your guide, your friend, your comforter, and now——"