The monk disappeared for some moments, and soon afterwards, to the astonishment of all, was seen making his way along the roof through volumes of flame and smoke. Every eye in the court below was turned towards him. It seemed impossible that anything but a demon could have clambered where he went. Again he was lost to their eyes, and anon he appeared in the very room which had been lately occupied by the Lady Beatrice. He shrieked out her name; was again invisible; and then, again, was seen in all the upper apartments, one after another. At last they saw him no longer.
“He is either the Devil himself, or he is brent by this time,” whispered some of the awe-stricken followers of the Wolfe.
In an instant he again appeared on the top of the turret in which he had been first seen; the flames arose everywhere around him; terrible was his aspect, and an involuntary shudder crept through the silent crowd.
“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried he with an appalling voice, whilst he threw his arms abroad, in an attitude befitting the denunciation he was about to pour out—“the red hand of thine iniquity hath again lifted the firebrand of destruction, but as thou hast kindled these holy piles dedicated to God, so shall the wrath of the Almighty be kindled against thee. The measure of thine iniquity is now full, and yonder flaming heavens do bear witness to thy crimes. Seest thou yonder fiery cloud that doth now float over thy devoted head? There sitteth the Angel of Vengeance, ready to [[545]]descend on thee and thine. Prepare—for instant and direful punishment doth await thee.”
The monk again disappeared. The Wolfe of Badenoch looked upwards to the sky, and beheld the fiery cloud that hung as it were over him. Fancy depicted in it a countenance that looked down upon him in terrible ire. He gnashed his teeth, and his features blackened. At that moment shrieks arose from the higher chambers of the building.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!—let him die,” cried the Wolfe, clenching his fists and laughing wildly; “let the villain die, I say.”
The shrieks came again, and louder.
“Ha! what voice was that?” exclaimed the Wolfe, in an altered tone, and in considerable agitation.
“Help, help!” cried a voice, and a figure appeared at an upper window, in the midst of the flames.
“Oh God!” cried the Wolfe, in an agony, “my son, my son!—my dearest boy, Duncan? Save him, save him—save my child!”