“Unsay, child of my affection, the dreadful tidings you have told;—tell me not that I have murdered the daughter of my mistress. Often when the taish was on me have I seen the dirk in your bosom. Little did I dream that my own hand should guide it there. Oh! say you are not married.”
Lilias, who knew the violent temper of her nurse, and imagined her present ravings proceeded from offended pride at not having been made privy to the marriage, now attempted to soothe her feelings.
“Nay, my dear Elspeth, take not on so; you know Sir Maurice and I have long loved each other; to-morrow morning he rides to join Montrose, who has conquered for the king at Tippermuir. I tremble to be left behind, and have therefore resolved to accompany him; in these circumstances, was it not fitting that he should have a husband’s title to protect me? ’Twas but this morning we were wedded; and I ever meant to tell you here.”
“Here, said you?” replied the old woman, shuddering. “But I am guiltless. You were ordained to be the destruction of each other before the world was. James Graham will look long and wearily for your coming, I fear. Hush! the Campbells are about the house; and he is coming to seek you here.”
“Who?—Sir Mungo Campbell?” said Lilias and her husband, in the same breath.
“Even he,” replied Elspeth; “he brings the warrant of the Estates to apprehend Sir Maurice, and has orders from the Marquis of Argyle to secure your own person.”
“Treacherous, infamous wretch!”—“Cruel, unkind Elspeth!” burst again simultaneously from the lips of Maurice and his bride.
“Upbraid me not, Lady Lilias; alas! what must fall will fall. Oh, that you had trusted me. I fondly hoped that Sir Mungo Campbell might yet be your husband, and that I should see you the proud and happy mistress of Castle Lorn; but married!—he will water this floor with our blood!”
And again the wretched old woman, overcome with remorse and terror, shrieked aloud. Then, as if stung by some instantaneous and overpowering feeling, she hastily quitted the apartment. The betrayed and devoted pair gazed for a few minutes at each other in silent sadness. There was more of grief than terror in these mournful looks; for it was for the calamity of the other that each heart bled. At length the lady sunk, weeping, into his arms.
“Oh, Maurice, Maurice, bitterly are our fears fulfilled! We are lost! There is no escape from the bloodhounds who have beset us.”