"Ah! Jemmy," she exclaimed, looking up at him tenderly, "how could I live if I lost you! You must not join this perilous expedition."
"Nay, I cannot honourably withdraw," he replied. "My promise is given to the prince. Were I to retire now I should be termed a coward. And all my love for you would not enable me to bear that dreadful reproach."
"'Tis I who induced you to join," she cried. "If you perish, I shall be guilty of your death. You must not—shall not go."
"How is this?" he cried. "I cannot believe you are the brave Jacobite girl who urged me to take arms for the good cause."
"My love, I find, is stronger than my loyalty," she replied. "Do not leave me, Jemmy. A sad presentiment has come over me, and I dread lest you should perish by the hand of the executioner."
"This idle foreboding of ill is solely caused by your mother's fancied vision. Shake it off, and be yourself."
"Ay, be yourself, Monica," said Constance, stepping towards them. "This weakness is unworthy of you. 'Tis quite impossible for Jemmy to retreat with honour from his plighted word. Those who have embarked in this hazardous enterprise must go through it at whatever risk."
And she glanced at Atherton, who maintained a firm countenance.
But Monica fixed a supplicating look on her lover, and sought to move him.
Fearing he might yield to her entreaties, Constance seized his hand.