As soon as Lord Evandale appeared, Olifant’s party spread themselves a little, as if preparing to enclose him.  Their leader stood fast, supported by three men, two of whom were dragoons, the third in dress and appearance a countryman, all well-armed.  Whoever had before seen the strong figure, stern features, and resolved manner of the third attendant could have no difficulty in recognising Balfour of Burley.

“Follow me,” said Lord Evandale to his servants, “and if we are forcibly opposed, do as I do.”

He advanced at a hand gallop; Olifant called out, “Shoot the traitor!” and four carbines were fired upon the unfortunate nobleman.  He reeled in the saddle, and fell from his horse mortally wounded.  His servants fired and Basil Olifant and a dragoon were stretched lifeless on the ground.

Burley, whose blood was up, exclaimed, “Down with the Midianites!” and advanced, sword in hand.  At this instant the clatter of horses’ hoofs was heard, and a party of horse appeared on the fatal field.  They were foreign dragoons led by a Dutch commander, accompanied by Morton and a civil magistrate.

Only the belief that Evandale was to marry Edith had kept Morton hitherto from revealing his return.

A hasty call to surrender, in the name of God and King William, was obeyed by all except Burley, who turned his horse and attempted to escape.  Pursued by soldiers he made for the river, but was shot in the middle of the stream, and felt himself dangerously wounded.  He returned towards the bank he had left, waving his hand as if in token of surrender.  The troopers ceased firing, and as he approached a dragoon laid hands on him.  Burley, in requital, grasped his throat, and both came headlong into the river, and were swept down the stream.  They were twice seen to rise, the trooper trying to swim, and Burley clinging to him in a manner that showed his desire that both should perish.  Their corpses were taken out about a quarter of a mile down the river.

While the soul of this stern enthusiast flitted to its account, that of the brave and generous Lord Evandale was also released.  Morton had flung himself from his horse, to render his dying friend all the aid in his power.  Evandale knew him, for he pressed his hand, and intimated by signs his wish to be conveyed to the house.  This was done with all the care possible, and the clamorous grief of the lamenting household was far exceeded in intensity by the silent agony of Edith.  Unconscious even of the presence of Morton, she was not aware that fate, who was removing one faithful lover, had restored another as if from the grave, until Lord Evandale taking their hands in his, united them together, raised his face as if to pray for a blessing on them, and sunk back and expired in the next moment.

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