“I could,” said Sir Duncan, his voice
struggling between the emotions of doubt, hatred,
and anxiety—“I could—but
that I know thy race are like the Great Enemy, liars
and murderers from the beginning—but could
it be true thou tellest me, I could almost forgive
thee the injuries thou hast done me.”
“Hear it!” said Ranald; “he hath
wagered deeply for a son of Diarmid—And
you, gentle Thane—the report of the camp
says, that you would purchase with life and lands
the tidings that Annot Lyle was no daughter of proscription,
but of a race noble in your estimation as your own—Well—It
is for no love I tell you—The time has been
that I would have exchanged this secret against liberty;
I am now bartering it for what is dearer than liberty
or life.—Annot Lyle is the youngest, the
sole surviving child of the Knight of Ardenvohr, who
alone was saved when all in his halls besides was
given to blood and ashes.”
“Can this man speak truth?” said Annot
Lyle, scarce knowing what she said; “or is this
some strange delusion?”
“Maiden,” replied Ranald, “hadst
thou dwelt longer with us, thou wouldst have better
learnt to know how to distinguish the accents of truth.
To that Saxon lord, and to the Knight of Ardenvohr,
I will yield such proofs of what I have spoken, that
incredulity shall stand convinced. Meantime,
withdraw—I loved thine infancy, I hate not
thy youth—no eye hates the rose in its
blossom, though it groweth upon a thorn, and for thee
only do I something regret what is soon to follow.
But he that would avenge him of his foe must not reck
though the guiltless be engaged in the ruin.”
“He advises well, Annot,” said Lord Menteith;
“in God’s name retire! if—if
there be aught in this, your meeting with Sir Duncan
must be more prepared for both your sakes.”
“I will not part from my father, if I have found
one!” said Annot—“I will not
part from him under circumstances so terrible.”
“And a father you shall ever find in me,”
murmured Sir Duncan.
“Then,” said Menteith, “I will have
MacEagh removed into an adjacent apartment, and will
collect the evidence of his tale myself. Sir Dugald
Dalgetty will give me his attendance and assistance.”
“With pleasure, my lord,” answered Sir
Dugald.—“I will be your confessor,
or assessor—either or both. No one
can be so fit, for I had heard the whole story a month
ago at Inverary castle—but onslaughts like
that of Ardenvohr confuse each other in my memory,
which is besides occupied with matters of more importance.”
Upon hearing this frank declaration, which was made
as they left the apartment with the wounded man, Lord
Menteith darted upon Dalgetty a look of extreme anger
and disdain, to which the self-conceit of the worthy
commander rendered him totally insensible.
I am as free as nature
first made man,
Ere the base laws of
servitude began,
When wild in woods the
noble savage ran.
—Conquest
of Granada
