"Lord Lindores!" John had made a step back in his dismay, but he still stood against the light, his face turned, astonished, towards the shadows close by him, which had approached without warning. Edith had melted and disappeared away into the gloom, where there was another shadow apart from the one which confronted John, catching on the whiteness of its countenance all the light in the indistinct picture. A sob, a quickened breathing in the background, gave some consciousness of support to the unfortunate young hero so rudely awakened out of his dream, but that was all.
"Her father, at your service,—entertaining exactly the sentiments that you have attributed to him, and only surprised that with such just views, a man who calls himself a gentleman——"
"Robert!" came from behind in a voice of keen remonstrance; and "Father!" with a cry of indignation.
"That a man who calls himself a gentleman," said Lord Lindores deliberately, "should play the domestic traitor, and steal into the affections—what she calls her heart, I suppose—of a silly girl."
Before John could reply, his outline against the window had again become double. Edith stood beside him, erect, with her arm within his. The touch filled the young man with a rapture of strength and courage. He stopped her as she began to speak. "Not you, dearest, not you; I," he said: "Lord Lindores, I am guilty. It is true what you say, I ought to have gone away. Had I known in time, I should have gone away—('Yes, it would have been right:' this in an undertone to Edith, who at these words had grasped his arm tighter); but such things are not done by rule. What can I do now? We love each other. If she is not rich she would be happy with me—not great, but happy; that's something! and near home, Lord Lindores! I don't stand upon any right I had to speak to her—perhaps I hadn't any right—I beg your pardon heartily, and I don't blame you for being angry."
Perhaps it was not wonderful that the father thus addressed, with his wife murmuring remonstrance behind him, and his daughter before him standing up in defiance at her lover's side, should have been exasperated beyond endurance. "Upon my soul!" he cried. He was not given to exclamations, but what can a man do? Then after a pause,—"that is kind," in his usual sharp tone, "very kind; you don't blame me! Perhaps with so much sense at your command you will approve of me before all's done. Edith, come away from that man's side—this instant!" he cried, losing his temper, and stamping his foot on the ground.
"Papa! no, oh no—I cannot. I have chosen him, and he has chosen——"
"Leave that man's side. Do you hear me? leave him, or——"
"Robert! Robert! and for God's sake, Edith, do what your father tells you. Mr Erskine, you must not defy us."
"I will not leave John, mother; you would not have left my father if you had been told——"