“Speak on, lady. Oh keep me not in suspense!” cried Charley Stewart, wildly breaking in on her mysterious pause.
“Stewart,” said the lady, solemnly, “thou wert prepared to withstand all temptation that might be calculated to break the rash vows of youthful ignorance. But she for whom you made them—she for whose sake thou wouldst have so honourably maintained them to the sacrifice of wealth and advancement—she, I fear, has had less resolution to resist their allurements. Be not too much astonished or shocked, for I must tell thee, that mine uncle, Sir Piers Gordon, is the favoured lover of Rosa MacDermot.”
“Thine uncle Sir Piers, Lady?” cried Charley, petrified with surprise. “Impossible! it cannot be!”
“Strange as it may seem to thee, and strange as it unquestionably is,” replied the Lady Marcella, “it is in reality but too true that she favours his visits for her own purposes. He has already found his way to the Widow’s cottage more than once, and he has even ventured to hint to myself that he has not been coldly received—and then, Stewart——”
“Lady,” interrupted Charley, impatiently and violently, “I would not believe even Sir Piers himself if he were to tell me this!——and yet,” added he, after a pause, during which he struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, and seemed to be immersed in deep thought, “and yet, he was strangely struck with her when first they met!—But the time is so short—so very short since then—she!—Rosa! Oh, Rosa never could have been brought, in so short a time, to forget the days of her childhood, and her oft repeated vows to me!”
“Reflect, Stewart,” said the lady, “that mine uncle is a landed laird, and a belted knight, with spurs at his heels!”
“What!” exclaimed Charley Stewart, in an intense agony of excited feeling, and with a half choked voice, “landed laird, saidst thou! a belted knight, with spurs at his heels! Can it be? Oh! that accursed prophecy of that most accursed hag! But art thou sure of what thou sayest, lady? How canst thou satisfy me? By all the holy saints I must be satisfied!”
“Nay,” replied Marcella, coolly, “I can satisfy thee no otherwise than by saying that I have his own word for it, and—”
“His own word!” cried Charley; “Oh, wicked, wicked, and most deceitful man, thus wilfully to undermine me! Though I was less open in thy presence, lady, yet I said enough to him afterwards, to have enabled even a fool and a dotard, to have read my meaning.”
“So indeed he hinted,” replied Marcella; “but then his apology for the interpretation which he hath found it convenient to put upon thy words is, that he has been encouraged by the girl herself. And as he was with her but yesterday, if he had not spoken truly as to this, he would have hardly hurried back again thither so soon as he has now done.”