“Many,” said Evandale, “are flocking to them already, and they expect a strong body of the indulged Presbyterians, headed by young Milnwood, the son of the famous old Roundhead, Colonel Silas Morton.”

“It’s a lie!” said the major hastily, and begged that Henry Morton might at once be heard himself.  Evandale drew near to Miss Bellenden, and addressed her in a manner, expressing a feeling much deeper and more agitating than was conveyed in his phrases.

“I will but dispose of this young fellow,” said Claverhouse, “and then Lord Evandale—­I am sorry to interrupt your conversation—­but then we must mount.  Why do you not bring up your prisoner?  And hark ye, let two files load their carbines.”

Edith broke through the restraint that had hitherto kept her silent, and entreated Lord Evandale to use his interest with his colonel, becoming bolder and more urgent as the soldiers entered with the prisoner, whom they had just informed that Lady Margaret’s niece was interceding for his life with Lord Evandale, to whom she was about to be married.

The unfortunate prisoner heard enough, as he passed behind Edith’s seat, of the broken expressions which passed between her and Lord Evandale, to confirm all that the soldiers had told him.

That moment made a singular and instantaneous change in his character.  Desperate himself, he determined to support the rights of his country, insulted in his person.  So he declined to answer any questions, and assured Claverhouse that there were yet Scotsmen who could assert the liberties of Scotland.

“Make you peace then, with Heaven, in five minutes space.  Bothwell, lead him down to the courtyard, and draw up your party!”

A silence of horror fell on all but the speaker at these words.  Edith sprang up, but her strength gave way, and she would have fallen had she not been caught by her attendant.

Evandale at once addressed Claverhouse, and calling him aside reminded him of services rendered by his family in an affair of the privy council.

“Certainly, my dear Evandale,” answered Claverhouse; “I am not a man who forgets such debts.  How can I evince my gratitude?”

“I will hold the debt cancelled,” said Lord Evandale, “if you will spare this young man’s life.”

“Evandale,” replied Claverhouse in great surprise, “you are mad—­absolutely mad.  You see him?  He is tottering on the verge between time and eternity; yet his is the only cheek unblanched, the only heart that keeps its usual time.  Look at him well.  If that man should ever come to head an army of rebels, you will have much to answer for.”