“Win me, and wear me, Roundhead!” cried the knight; and, throwing off the cloak which cumbered him, he drew his sword with one hand, while with the other he plucked Lilias from her seat, and placed her before him. Then giving the rowel to his horse, he dashed among the astonished Highlanders, who either fell before, or yielded a passage to the gallant steed.
A wild yell arose amid the stillness of the night, as the Campbells perceived the rapid pace at which Maurice rode, and which, if continued for a few minutes, must soon place him beyond the chance of capture, and matchlocks and pistols were employed in vain to interrupt his career. But, alas! Heaven had decreed the triumph of the guilty. Urged to his utmost speed, Rupert would soon have saved his master, and his yet more precious load, when, his foot striking against a piece of earthfast rock, he stumbled—made a futile effort to recover himself—and at last fell on his side. Sir Maurice instantly sprung to his feet, but Lilias lay apparently lifeless on the turf. He kneeled down, and raised her in his arms, but she replied not to his eager questionings. He could feel no pulse, to tell him of returning life; and to his despair, he perceived the blood flowing profusely from her white brow.
“She is gone!” cried he, bitterly. “Now, Campbell, for thy heart;” and as he spoke, he lifted his weapon from the grass. He had hardly regained it, when he was surrounded by the Highlanders.
“Yield thee, Sir Maurice, or thou diest.”
“Never to one of thy detested clan will Maurice Ogilvy give up his sword. Send back your murderers, Campbell, and let us settle here our long arrear of hatred.”
“Once more I bid thee yield.”
“Again do I defy thee.”
“Thy blood be on thy head then. Smite the braggart to the dust.”
The word was barely uttered when the upraised arm of one who stood behind the youth buried a dirk in his bosom. He reeled to the earth, tried with dimming eye to scan the features of Lilias as she lay still prostrate on the ground, and then casting his eyes upwards, murmured out, “Bear witness, Heaven, I die true to love, and faithful to the king!” A moment more, and he was silent.
Campbell next proceeded to raise the body of Lilias from the ground. It seemed as if her deep-rooted aversion to this person was so vital as even to govern her while in a state of insensibility; for no sooner had his fingers touched her waist, than she started from the ground, and, drawing her hands across her eyes, gazed wildly around. A moment sufficed to show her the cureless ruin which had befallen her hopes and happiness, and, bursting from the grasp of her hated suitor, and exclaiming in a voice hoarse in agony, “Stand off, monster! I am his wife!” she threw herself with reckless violence on the prostrate corpse. Even the heart of Campbell was touched by her extreme misery, and some minutes elapsed ere he could give directions for her removal. That was now needless. In her frantic despair, poor Lilias regarded death as an enviable blessing; the dagger of Maurice afforded her the ready means of escaping at once from all her worldly woe, and her cruel captors only raised her to discover that her heart’s blood was now mingling on the same turf with that of him who had alone possessed her living love.