I revelled in the thought; I drank it in; I nursed it; I cuddled it; I kissed it.  Nature’s brutish love for murder had deluged my soul.  I put my hand to my side for the purpose of drawing my sword or my knife.  I had neither with me.  Then I remember staggering toward the fireplace to get one of the fire-irons with which to kill my cousin.  I remember that when I grasped the fire-iron, by the strange working of habit I employed it for the moment in its proper use; and as I began to stir the embers on the hearth, my original purpose was forgotten.  That moment of habit-wrought forgetfulness saved me and saved Sir George’s life.  I remember that I sank into the chair in front of the fireplace, holding the iron, and I thank God that I remember nothing more.

During the night the servants aroused me, and I staggered up the stone stairway of Eagle Tower and clambered into my room.

The next morning I awakened feeling ill.  There was a taste in my mouth as If I had been chewing a piece of the devil’s boot over night.  I wanted no breakfast, so I climbed to the top of the tower, hoping the fresh morning breeze might cool my head and cleanse my mouth.  For a moment or two I stood on the tower roof bareheaded and open-mouthed while I drank in the fresh, purifying air.  The sweet draught helped me physically; but all the winds of Boreas could not have blown out of my head the vision of the previous night.  The question, “Was it prophetic?” kept ringing in my ears, answerless save by a superstitious feeling of fear.  Then the horrid thought that I had only by a mere chance missed becoming a murderer came upon me, and again was crowded from my mind by the memory of Dorothy and the hovering spectre which had hung over her head on Bowling Green hillside.

I walked to the north side of the tower and on looking down the first person I saw was our new servant, Thomas, holding two horses at the mounting stand.  One of them was Dolcy, and I, feeling that a brisk ride with Dorothy would help me to throw off my wretchedness, quickly descended the tower stairs, stopped at my room for my hat and cloak, and walked around to the mounting block.  Dorothy was going to ride, and I supposed she would prefer me to the new servant as a companion.

I asked Thomas if his mistress were going out for a ride, and he replied affirmatively.

“Who is to accompany her?” I asked.

“She gave orders for me to go with her,” he answered.

“Very well,” I responded, “take your horse back to the stable and fetch mine.”  The man hesitated, and twice he began to make reply, but finally he said:—­

“Very well, Sir Malcolm.”

He hitched Dolcy to the ring in the mounting block and started back toward the stable leading his own horse.  At that moment Dorothy came out of the tower gate, dressed for the ride.  Surely no woman was ever more beautiful than she that morning.

“Tom-Tom, where are you taking the horse?” she cried.