The three sisters felt a sleep stealing over their humid eyes and hushing their beating hearts, as they nestled close together, as if in terror of the spiritual thunder that rang over their heads in a language they could not comprehend; but, perhaps, it was excess of happiness at their own position—or, perhaps, the blaze of light oppressed them, for they were silent, motionless, and still.
Timidly they cast a furtive glance at their father, Lord Drummond, as he stood near them, sheathed in the same armour he had worn at the Battle of Sauchieburn, with a wax taper clutched like a lance in his gauntleted hand; unsubdued by the terrible anathema, the proud noble heard it with constitutional indifference, or concealed his inward fear under an outward smile of scorn.
But his daughters felt sick and faint.
Margaret closed her eyes and drooped her head upon the shoulder of Euphemia, whose hand was now clasped by Sybilla.
As the bishop concluded, he extinguished his taper, and every one in the church followed his example,—the prebendaries and others treading their torches vigorously underfoot, and Lord Drummond crushed his under his armed heel with as much animus as Sir Andrew Wood might have done; while the bells continued to toll the knell of the doomed souls, at long and solemn intervals, in the towers of the cathedral, the interior of which seemed to become suddenly dark and gloomy, for the day without had overcast, and dense autumn clouds, charged with mist and rain, came rolling from the Grampians across the lowering sky.
A chill—a horror of the scene, this solemn curbing with bell book and candle—had fallen upon the people, who were stealing softly and hastily away; while the poor old bishop, exhausted by the long service and its exciting nature, and more than all by the poison he had imbibed, tottered into the arms of Sir Walter Drummond, the dean, and was borne out by a side door, with all the air of a dying man.
The three sisters, as if absorbed in prayer, were still leaning forward against the oak rail, and kneeling on the velvet cushions; they remained thus very long after all the congregation had dispersed; and loth to disturb them, their happy lovers lingered in the aisle with the king and his attendants, till Lord Drummond lost all patience, and roughly summoned them.
"Effie—Maggie—by my soul, ye have gone to sleep, I think—come, arouse ye there!" he exclaimed.
Then the young king went softly over and touched Margaret on the shoulder.
She did not stir; neither did she seem to feel him.