im even the satisfaction of
thinking that he is gratifying your wishes?"

"Surely--surely," replied Edith; "you will oblige me infinitely--I am
interested in the young gentleman on my uncle's account--Lose no time,
for God's sake!"

She became bolder and more urgent in her entreaties, for she heard the
steps of the soldiers who were entering with their prisoner.

"By heaven! then," said Evandale, "he shall not die, if I should die in
his place!--But will not you," he said, resuming the hand, which in the
hurry of her spirits she had not courage to withdraw, "will not you grant
me one suit, in return for my zeal in your service?"

"Any thing you can ask, my Lord Evandale, that sisterly affection can
give."

"And is this all," he continued, "all you can grant to my affection
living, or my memory when dead?"

"Do not speak thus, my lord," said Edith, "you distress me, and do
injustice to yourself. There is no friend I esteem more highly, or to
whom I would more readily grant every mark of regard--providing--But"--A
deep sigh made her turn her head suddenly, ere she had well uttered the
last word; and, as she hesitated how to frame the exception with which
she meant to close the sentence, she became instantly aware she had been
overheard by Morton, who, heavily ironed and guarded by soldiers, was now
passing behind her in order to be presented to Claverhouse. As their eyes
met each other, the sad and reproachful expression of Morton's glance
seemed to imply that he had partially heard, and altogether
misinterpreted, the conversation which had just passed. There wanted but
this to complete Edith's distress and confusion. Her blood, which rushed
to her brow, made a sudden revulsion to her heart, and left her as pale
as death. This change did not escape the attention of Evandale, whose
quick glance easily discovered that there was between the prisoner and
the object of his own attachment, some singular and uncommon connexion.
He resigned the hand of Miss Bellenden, again surveyed the prisoner with
more attention, again looked at Edith, and plainly observed the confusion
which she could no longer conceal.

"This," he said, after a moment's gloomy silence, "is, I believe, the
young gentleman who gained the prize at the shooting match."

"I am not sure," hesitated Edith--"yet--I rather think not," scarce
knowing what she replied.

"It is he," said Evandale, decidedly; "I know him well. A victor," he
continued, somewhat