“Back, didst thou say, Lady?” exclaimed Stewart, growing black with rage and jealousy. “Back!—whither?—when?—how?—Oh, my brain is burning! Back, didst thou say?”
“Yea,” replied the Lady Marcella, with perfect calmness, “mine uncle, Sir Piers, hath gone to visit Rosa MacDermot this very afternoon. He parted from me for that purpose but a few minutes before thou camest in hither. He is on his way thither now. Go!—convince thyself! But be prudent. Act not rashly. Forget not that a knight, such as he is, hath a natural belief in him that he is entitled to some little license, where the matter concerns those only of such low degree as the girl Rosa MacDermot can boast of.”
Charley Stewart listened to those words of the Lady Marcella with a fixedness of eye, and of aspect, that was almost too fearful for her, bold as she was, to look upon. He seemed intent upon devouring every syllable she uttered. And yet, his intentness of gaze was more like that of a maniac, than of a rational man. She had no sooner finished than he ground his teeth, clenched his hands, struck them both with violence upon his bosom, and then rushed from the chamber, without giving utterance to a word.
“I have stung him to the quick,” muttered the Lady Marcella, in soliloquy, after he was gone. “And now,” added she, bitterly, “my prudent uncle has some chance of learning, to his cost, that it were better to face the lean and starving lioness, when preying for food for her famished whelps, than to step between a woman and her love. I never meant to have brought this upon him. He hath brought it altogether upon himself; and now let him look to it, that his heritage be not mine, some few good years before he would have had it descend upon me. Should the plot chance to work so, my triumph over this youth will be easy and certain.”
The honest old knight, Sir Piers Gordon, had ridden quietly over the hill, attended only by two of his people, and having left them to take charge of his horse, in the wood, at no great distance from the Widow’s cottage, he had walked up thither alone. Mrs. MacDermot had been too much gratified by his friendly talk, during his former visit to her, not to have made her daughter acquainted with all that passed. Though his present call was unlooked for, Rosa was already so far prepared to expect that his visit was a visit of kindness, that she readily obeyed the request, which he conveyed to her through her mother, to favour him with her presence. He spoke to her with all the kindness of a father, and, in answer to his inquiries, she blushingly unbosomed herself to him, as if he had stood to her in that degree of relationship. She felt, indeed, that he was the patron and the benefactor of him who was all in this world to her, and she was, from this cause, already prepared to love and reverence him. He was full of benevolent plans for the accomplishment of their union, and the furtherance of their happiness, and he sat with her on the turf-seat at the cottage door, expounding them to her, with her hand affectionately in his, and with his face eagerly turned towards her, in the earnestness of his conversation, till the sun, which shed his parting radiance upon them, was just about to sink behind the opposite mountain. Even the sound of a furiously galloping horse, which came thundering towards them, failed to arouse them from their interesting talk. Suddenly it burst out from the woodland, foaming and panting upon the green, within a few yards of the spot where they were sitting together, and a man, more like a maniac than a rational being, threw himself from the saddle. His naked sword was gleaming in his hand, ere his feet had well touched the ground. It was Charley Stewart.
“Traitor!” cried he in a hoarse choking voice, “up and defend thy vile life!”
“Charley! Charley!” cried Rosa, springing towards him, “harm not a hair of his head!”
“What! perjured girl!” cried Charley, pushing her from him so rudely, as to extend her at some distance from him, nearly senseless on the green; “wouldst thou whet the very edge of my sword against him, by thy base entreaties for him? Come on, traitor!”
“Stewart, are ye mad?” cried the Knight; “listen to reason.”
“Cowardly traitor that thou art, I will listen to nothing from thee,” cried Charley Stewart, gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth with fury. “Draw and defend thyself; or, by Heaven, I will forthwith rid thee of thy vile dastard life! draw, I say!”