Opened wide her eyes and sat up, leaning on her elbow.
“Lord Stair.”
He could not tell if she could see him, her glance was dim and vague as if she addressed some fancied image of him.
“The blood of Glencoe,” she said slowly. “They shall never speak of you without they curse you—for Glencoe—”
She stared at the candle-light, leaning forward.
“Have I damned myself, my love—to fix this stain on you?—I feel the flames—and I have lied—you also, Lord Stair—you lied to me.”
A look of horror settled on her face.
“Don’t go—stay with me—don’t you see them—the flames? so they rose in Glencoe—you are paid—”
Her voice sank to a whisper; the last log on the hearth fell into ashes.
“Kiss me—why have you never kissed me?—you asked me when they were singing—‘for the ways of the Lord are wonderful—’ Kiss me—”