“Oh, give me a little time,” she murmured—­“give me a little time.  There is nothing I wish more than to do as my dear father directed me, and as you wish me; but my heart is so wounded and bleeding now, I am still so weak and broken-spirited.  Give me a little time, dear John, to recover some strength to overcome my sorrow.”

Here she broke down and wept.

“I think we had best take her back to her room,” said Lady Belgrade, rising.

Mr. Kage locked up the documents in the japanned box, put the key in his pocket-book, and consigned the box to the care of his clerk.

Lady Belgrade dismissed the assembled servants to their several duties, and then, assisted by Lord Arondelle, led the bereaved and suffering girl from the room.

The lawyer and his clerk, who were to dine and sleep at the castle, were left alone.

The lawyer rang and asked for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and lighted his cigar, to pass away the time until the dinner hour.

The next morning Mr. Kage and his clerk went back to London.

It now became an anxious question, whether the marriage of the young Duke of Hereward and the heiress of Lone should proceed according to her father’s wishes.

Mr. Kage, the family attorney, urged it:  Dr. McWilliams, the family physician, urged it:  above all the expectant bridegroom, the Duke of Hereward; only the bride-elect, Salome, and her chaperon, Lady Belgrade, objected to it.

Salome, ill and nervous from the severe shock she had received, could decide upon nothing hastily and pleaded for a short delay.

Lady Belgrade argued etiquette and conventionalities—­the impropriety of the daughter’s marriage so soon after the father’s murder.

Meanwhile the summer had merged into early autumn; the season of the Highlands was over, and the cold Scotch mists were driving summer visitors to the South coast, or to the Continent.

The climate was telling heavily upon the delicate organization of Salome Levison.  She contracted a serious cough.

Then the family physician, (so to speak,) “put down his foot” with professional authority so stern as not to be contested or withstood.

“This is a question of life or death, my lady,” he said to the dowager—­“a question of life and death, ye mind!  And not of conventionality and etiquette!  Let conventionality and etiquette go to the D., from whom they first came.  This girl must die, or she must marry immediately, and go off with her husband to the islands of the Grecian Archipelago.  That is all that can save her.  And as for you, my laird duke,” continued the honest Scotch doctor, breaking into dialect as he always did whenever he forgot himself under strong excitement, “as for you, me laird duke, if ye dinna overcome the lassie’s scruples, and marry her out of hand, the de’il hae me but I’ll e’en marry her mysel’, and tak’ her awa to save her life!  Now, then will I tak’ her mysel’ or will you?”