“No,” she replied; “he who exalteth himself shall be debased, and he who humbleth himself shall be raised. Ye have lang inhabited a proud castle; but fate, wha richts the oppressed, can mak the craven-hearted, dastardly betrayer o’ woman’s troth, lie whar the meg-o’-mony-feet crawls, and the green and yellow carrion courts the slimy mouth o’ the adder. A short distance frae this, ye lay wi’ me on a green bank, whar roses encircled us wi’ their sweet-scented flavours, and poured into my credulous ear the poison o’ your love. A stagnant ditch now contains your diseased body, and the hisses o’ the vengeance o’ a ruined woman pierce and wound the ear that was ance charmed wi’ her honied love.”
She paused, as if to gloat her eyes with the writhings of her victim—then resumed:
“Twice have I lauched o’er your misfortunes; a third opportunity has gratified a heart only prevented frae breaking by the wish I hae lang nourished, to see the auld taff o’ the kirkyard cover the moil that will keep ye frae the sicht o’ her ye hae ruined. Mary Lee has naething now but the wishes o’ a revengeful heart, and this spittle she throws on the reptile that stung her honour, and made her fame bleed and perish, to show that a woman is no without a part o’ that power that is vouchsafed to the trampled worm.”
As the infuriated creature finished these words, she spat on the poor victim of her hatred, now unable even to reply to her dreadful expressions of a morbid thirst for revenge. Having thus gratified her passion, she disappeared among the woods. Ashley lay for a considerable time, before assistance came to him. His feelings may be conceived—they cannot be expressed. His conscience was enough for him, without the exhibition of so deadly a hatred in her whom he now pitied. The reaction of injured virtue overcame him. He groaned in the depth of his agony; burning tears of remorse flowed down his cheeks; the pains and penalties of vice stung him in mind and body, with the malignity of demons; he would have given the proud domains of his forefathers, for one drop of mercy to his burning soul. He tried to pray; he was unable. The fiends still clung to him. The Almighty did not think it time to pluck them away. In his struggles, he fainted, and lay on the cold earth for several hours.
The servants of the Castle came out to seek their master. They searched the woods, and found the horse which had strayed away from him. His groans attracted their notice; and, in the plight we have described, they found their unhappy lord. When taken home, he was put to bed, where he lay for some months. The aids of ministers of religion afforded him consolation, but were ineffectual in banishing the presentiment which had taken so firm a hold of his imagination. They recommended to him travel; and he consented to remove to France, where the change of scene might produce its accustomed effects, in withdrawing his mind from the contemplation of a subject which preyed on his vitals. Arrangements were made for the journey, and everything was ready for his departure; but the journey which was destined for the unhappy victim of his own crimes, was of a different kind from that he had in view. On the day on which he was to depart, he was seized with a hæmorrhage from the lungs, and died before any medical advice could be afforded him.
In a moonlight night, some weeks after the interment, Mary Lee stood upon the grave of Robert Ashley.
“The proud Eagle,” she soliloquized, “wha condescended to come to earth only for garbage, now lies whar I have lang wished him to be. Robert Ashley has met his deserts, an’ nae tear has wet the cheek o’ Mary Lee. Na—that tear shall only be the clammy rheum that oozes frae the closing ee o’ death, and only maks the cheek o’ the heart-broken mair dry. Did I no say, that I hated the connach worm? Ay, but I, wha have nae love for mortal on earth, could love that creature now, for it will nestle in the heart o’ my destroyer e’en whar I have nestled. Fear nae guile now, ye brawnet reptile—that was a’ wasted in my ruin; an’ bluid will be your repast as it has been my vengeance. Thrice have I lauched in triumph; an’ I would lauch my loud lauch again, if Robin’s ears war open to hear’t; but I have yet anither victim, and my last shout shall be o’er the fate o’ the remainin’ rafter o’ the ruif tree o’ the auld Castle. Then shall be the weird o’ my hatred fulfilled, and the staff o’ the stern wizard, wha guides me on through the dark ways o’ revenge, be broken an’ cast on the waters of the Solway.”
As Mary was in the act of pronouncing the last words of her speech, she was interrupted by a voice, apparently that of a man. It was Gerstendorf, who had not been in these parts for many years. He seemed in great agitation, and spoke confusedly, and as if in fear of being overheard.
“What brings ye here, man, wi’ that craven look, and these broken sounds?” inquired Mary.