But these delightful days could not last for ever; and the marquis, although he was pleased when he first saw the change in the deportment of his relative, felt that the intimacy of his sister and his kinsman could not last long without ripening into attachment. Yet he attempted to soothe his disquietude by the usual excuse that his apprehensions were outrunning the reality; and he delayed all interference until interference was in vain. Besides, he was himself about to enter into the state of wedlock, and could not be in a very fit condition for treating the affections of others with anything like severity. Autumn had arrived before the marquis introduced the subject. He rallied his kinsman on his bachelorship.
"But why may not I remain a bachelor, and be as happy as you?"
"What!—I would Lady Margaret heard you. Could she not make you change your mind?" said the marquis, keenly eyeing Lord Maxwell.
The baron gave no reply; for the words died on his lips. The blood forsook his cheek; the fire was quenched in his eye; even his stature seemed to lessen; and he looked as if Heaven in its wrath had struck him with its thunderbolt. The oath which he had sworn, and which he had broken even by his sloth in lingering at Craignethan Castle, recurred to his mind in all its force:—one aim, one hope, one affection, one object—revenge, bloody revenge, on the head of the clan that had slain his father, was all for which he had vowed to live, until the deed of death was accomplished, or he himself was laid in the dust. He remembered, with loathing unspeakable, the words which he had uttered; his heart felt crushed within him; and he stood without speaking a word, until his horrorstricken friend seized him by the hand, and roused him from the fearful reverie into which he had so suddenly fallen.
"I thank you—I thank you," cried Maxwell, abstractedly; "but I forget. Your roof can shelter me no more. I must leave you now—ay, this very instant."
"But, my dear friend," said the marquis, interrupting him, "why do you speak of departure? I did not mean offence, and let none be taken."
"Nay, nay, I am not offended at aught: you have reminded me of my duty; and every moment that I stay here is a moment lost. I must to horse."
"But not without telling me why you leave me so abruptly. You say I have not offended you; and yet you talked not of departure until this moment. If the reason be one that can be told, why should you conceal it from your warmest friend?"
"My father's death is unavenged. I have loitered here like a dull slave shrinking from his task. I have forfeited my faith—I have broken my oath. I must redeem the one, and fulfil the other."
"What task? what faith? what oath?" ejaculated the marquis, hurriedly.