“Ah, Rob Horn, Rob Horn,” said the spirit sternly, interrupting him, “bethink thee what it is thou wilt do! bethink thee what has become of thy betrothed in the distant village? does she wear thy ring? does she remember thy kiss, and thy love vows? what of her Rob Horn?”
When the spirit spoke thus Rob was amazed, and he could not hide his amazement; his face became suddenly very red—was it the confusion of guilt? and for a moment he was completely abashed. But soon he rallied again, and said,
“I cannot marry two wives. I have loved Rose May all my life—I must marry her; the maiden in the village can find another bridegroom.”
“Thou art not worthy to wed one like Rose May, but there is one worthy of her whom thou hast triumphed over many a time, and even this very night, because thou hast been more successful than he—beware, thou may’st go too far.”
“Too far! She will be mine to-morrow—what power in heaven or earth can separate us? She is mine—mine—mine!”
“Thou mayest deceive thyself. I ask thee, wilt thou not give up Rose May and betake thee to the pale and sorrowing maid who has awaited thy coming so long?”
“Give her up? My Rose! never! Thou fool to ask it of me!”
“And yet I do ask thee again, wilt thou not be just? Do that which thine honor and truth require of thee—the girl thou hast deserted will die.”
“Be death her bridegroom then! Who art thou to take my Rose from me? She is mine, I will wed no other!”
“Why so sure? Did ever such wickedness as is in thee prosper? Thou hast a bad heart Rob Horn, and a thousand things may come between thee and her, even after the priest proclaims her thine. There is nothing sure or stable for one like thee! give her up now, or beware—a fate more terrible than thou canst think may be in store for thee.”