bodies, souls, estates, and affections! And is it to one of the pensioned
cut-throats of this oppressive government that I must yield my
pretensions to Edith Bellenden?--I will not, by Heaven!--It is a just
punishment on me for being dead to public wrongs, that they have visited
me with their injuries in a point where they can be least brooked or
borne."

As these stormy resolutions boiled in his bosom, and while he ran over
the various kinds of insult and injury which he had sustained in his own
cause and in that of his country, Bothwell entered the tower, followed by
two dragoons, one of whom carried handcuffs.

"You must follow me, young man," said he, "but first we must put you in
trim."

"In trim!" said Morton. "What do you mean?"

"Why, we must put on these rough bracelets. I durst not--nay, d--n it, I
durst do any thing--but I would not for three hours' plunder of a stormed
town bring a whig before my Colonel without his being ironed. Come, come,
young man, don't look sulky about it."

He advanced to put on the irons; but, seizing the oaken-seat upon which
he had rested, Morton threatened to dash out the brains of the first who
should approach him.

"I could manage you in a moment, my youngster," said Bothwell, "but I had
rather you would strike sail quietly."

Here indeed he spoke the truth, not from either fear or reluctance to
adopt force, but because he dreaded the consequences of a noisy scuffle,
through which it might probably be discovered that he had, contrary to
express orders, suffered his prisoner to pass the night without being
properly secured.

"You had better be prudent," he continued, in a tone which he meant to be
conciliatory, "and don't spoil your own sport. They say here in the
castle that Lady Margaret's niece is immediately to marry our young
Captain, Lord Evandale. I saw them close together in the hall yonder, and
I heard her ask him to intercede for your pardon. She looked so devilish
handsome and kind upon him, that on my soul--But what the devil's the
matter with you?--You are as pale as a sheet--Will you have some brandy?"

"Miss Bellenden ask my life of Lord Evandale?" said the prisoner,
faintly.

"Ay, ay; there's no friend like the women--their interest carries all in
court and camp.--Come, you are reasonable now--Ay, I thought you would
come round."

Here he employed himself in putting on the fetters, against which,
Morton, thunderstruck by this intelligence, no longe