CHAPTER XXVIII.
“To the lake with this; and, here, take some of these:
And mingle some that grow upon the brink,
And mar the sod. I’ll bear the body hence.”
… “He is cold—Oh, he is dead!”
For once the bagpipes were not played under the windows of Arandale Castle at ten; indeed it was nearer twelve when the well known sounds were heard.
Yet late as was the hour, Edmund did not appear at the breakfast table.
His adventure of the night before with the ruffian who had obtained admittance in the disguise of a juggler, having been mentioned by Lord Arandale to Lady Arandale; by her Ladyship to Mrs. Morven; by Mrs. Morven to the General; by the people on the grounds, who had witnessed a part of the business, to all the servants; and by the servants to their respective masters and mistresses, it was now universally talked of. By those we mean, who could talk; some there were, who could not trust their lips with the utterance of a single syllable. Who could thus desire the amiable Edmund’s destruction, baffled all conjecture.