ceeded in a calmer tone: "If thou,
son of mine ancient comrade, were suitor for thyself to this Edith
Bellenden, and wert willing to put thy hand to the great work with zeal
equal to thy courage, think not I would prefer the friendship of Basil
Olifant to thine; thou shouldst then have the means that this document
[he produced a parchment] affords to place her in possession of the lands
of her fathers. This have I longed to say to thee ever since I saw thee
fight the good fight so strongly at the fatal Bridge. The maiden loved
thee, and thou her."

Morton replied firmly, "I will not dissemble with you, Mr. Balfour, even
to gain a good end. I came in hopes to persuade you to do a deed of
justice to others, not to gain any selfish end of my own. I have failed;
I grieve for your sake more than for the loss which others will sustain
by your injustice."

"You refuse my proffer, then?" said Burley, with kindling eyes.

"I do," said Morton. "Would you be really, as you are desirous to be
thought, a man of honour and conscience, you would, regardless of all
other considerations, restore that parchment to Lord Evandale, to be used
for the advantage of the lawful heir."

"Sooner shall it perish!" said Balfour; and, casting the deed into the
heap of red charcoal beside him, pressed it down with the heel of his
boot.

While it smoked, shrivelled, and crackled in the flames, Morton sprung
forward to snatch it, and Burley catching hold of him, a struggle ensued.
Both were strong men; but although Morton was much the more active and
younger of the two, yet Balfour was the most powerful, and effectually
prevented him from rescuing the deed until it was fairly reduced to a
cinder. They then quitted hold of each other, and the enthusiast,
rendered fiercer by the contest, glared on Morton with an eye expressive
of frantic revenge.

"Thou hast my secret," he exclaimed; "thou must be mine, or die!"

"I contemn your threats," said Morton; "I pity you, and leave you."
But as he turned to retire, Burley stept before him, pushed the oak-trunk
from its resting place, and as it fell thundering and crashing into the
abyss beneath, drew his sword, and cried out, with a voice that rivalled
the roar of the cataract and the thunder of the falling oak, "Now thou
art at bay! Fight,--yield, or die!" and standing in the mouth of the
cavern, he flourished his naked sword.

"I will not fight with the man that preserved my father's life," said
Mort