Ratcliffe, who at this moment entered, confirmed these accounts so unfavourable to the Jacobite interest.  Sir Frederick, almost instantly, and without taking leave of any one, left the castle, with such of his attendants as were able to follow him.

“And what will you do, Mr. Mareschal?” said Ratcliffe.

“Why, faith,” answered he, smiling, “I hardly know; my spirit is too great, and my fortune too small, for me to follow the example of the doughty bridegroom.  It is not in my nature, and it is hardly worth my while.”

“Well, then, disperse your men, and remain quiet, and this will be overlooked, as there has been no overt act.”

“Hout, ay,” said Elliot, “just let byganes be byganes, and a’ friends again; deil ane I bear malice at but Westburnflat, and I hae gien him baith a het skin and a cauld ane.  I hadna changed three blows of the broadsword wi’ him before he lap the window into the castle-moat, and swattered through it like a wild-duck.  He’s a clever fallow, indeed! maun kilt awa wi’ ae bonny lass in the morning, and another at night, less wadna serve him! but if he disna kilt himsell out o’ the country, I’se kilt him wi’ a tow, for the Castleton meeting’s clean blawn ower; his friends will no countenance him.”

During the general confusion, Isabella had thrown herself at the feet of her kinsman, Sir Edward Mauley, for so we must now call the Solitary, to express at once her gratitude, and to beseech forgiveness for her father.  The eyes of all began to be fixed on them, as soon as their own agitation and the bustle of the attendants had somewhat abated.  Miss Vere kneeled beside the tomb of her mother, to whose statue her features exhibited a marked resemblance.  She held the hand of the Dwarf, which she kissed repeatedly and bathed with tears.  He stood fixed and motionless, excepting that his eyes glanced alternately on the marble figure and the living suppliant.  At length, the large drops which gathered on his eye-lashes compelled him to draw his hand across them.

“I thought,” he said, “that tears and I had done; but we shed them at our birth, and their spring dries not until we are in our graves.  But no melting of the heart shall dissolve my resolution.  I part here, at once, and for ever, with all of which the memory” (looking to the tomb), “or the presence” (he pressed Isabella’s hand), “is dear to me.—­Speak not to me! attempt not to thwart my determination! it will avail nothing; you will hear of and see this lump of deformity no more.  To you I shall be dead ere I am actually in my grave, and you will think of me as of a friend disencumbered from the toils and crimes of existence.”