II.—­Bothwell Castle

“I have resolved!” exclaimed the earl, on the morning after their arrival at Noltland.  “I would be worse than mad to forego the prospect of power by marring my union with the sister of Huntly.”

“Cock and pie! now thou speakest like a man of mettle!” growled Hob.

“Anna is not my first love,” mused the earl.  “Have I not felt how feeble have been my sentiments for Anna, for Jane of Huntly, for all who have succeeded her whom I met in France long ago?”

“Then thou wilt sail——­”

“Yes, like AEneas, leaving my Dido behind me.”

With a pretence of the love he felt no longer, Bothwell bade Anna farewell, and left her to doubts which, as the months went on and his promise to return was not fulfilled, gradually rose to despair.

During the decline of a spring evening, as Anna wandered dejectedly on the battlements, Konrad stood before her for the first time since her arrival at Noltland.

“Konrad,” she faltered, “thou here!”

“Anna—­dear Anna!” exclaimed the unhappy young man.  “I have tidings to tell thee.  The false lord of Bothwell hath been espoused to the sister of Huntly!”

“And I—­” gasped Anna.

“Thou art a captive for life in this island castle!”

Anna would have fallen backwards had Konrad not sprung to her assistance.

“Listen,” he said, in a low voice.  “If thou wouldst escape, an hour will set thee free.”

“Yes, land me once in Scotland, and I will make my way to Bothwell.”

That night Anna was on a Norwegian vessel bound for Glasgow, and Konrad was with her.  She could not, he knew, be his bride, but he could at least protect and cherish her, and strive to redress the wrongs she had suffered.

A storm was gathering above the lovely valley of the Clyde one June evening as two strangers—­a man and a woman—­plodded wearily towards Bothwell Castle.  The woman became wholly exhausted; the man laid her gently down in shelter among the ruins of Blantyre Priory, and went on his errand alone.  The storm had now burst, and the river was rising rapidly; but Konrad—­for it was he—­plunged into the raging waters, and strove to swim across.  The current was too strong for him; he clung to an ash tree that projected over the stream, and was nearly exhausted when a man on the bank flung down his mantle and poniard, plunged in, and dragged him to the shore.

Konrad, almost senseless, was carried within the castle.  When he had revived and was dressed in dry garments, he was brought before his rescuer—­it was Bothwell himself.

“I thank thee,” said Konrad proudly, “for saving my life.”

“Thou didst save mine.  We are now equal,” replied the earl.

“’Tis well!  I would not be thy debtor for all the silver in the mines of Bergen!  Lord of Bothwell, I tell thee in thine own hall that thou art a dishonoured villain!”