as she spoke, Jane gasped:

"Keep him from me; his hands are yet red! I tell you, as I will tell
the world, if I live, my lady is not lost, but murdered!"

Book 1, Chapter XXXVII.

SIR MURRAY DECLARES.

"Send those people away from the door! Make her be silent; the woman's
mad!" exclaimed Sir Murray excitedly, as, shrinking back, he stood,
trembling and haggard, before McCray. "It's all nonsense--folly--that
she has said. No; keep her here till those people have gone."

"Ye'll be quiet noo, lassie, winna ye?" said McCray soothingly, as he
held Jane in his arms, and then placed her in a chair, when the mad
excitement that had kept her up so far seemed to desert her; and bowing
down over the frightened child, she kissed and hushed it to sleep,
sobbing over it hysterically, and every now and then breaking into a
wail of misery. She took no further notice of her master, who gazed at
her with an aspect of alarm, fearing, apparently, to speak, lest he
might bring forth another such outbreak as the last. But he had no
cause for fear; Jane was now tractable as a child, as McCray soon found;
and going close to Sir Murray, he whispered:

"That's an ower thick door, Sir Mooray, as I fun oot when I brak' it
open. They didna hear what was said by the puir thing, half daft with
grief; and gin ye'll trust me, I'll see that she doesna talk ony more
sic stuff."

Sir Murray did not answer,--he merely bowed his head; for there was a
battle going on in his breast--a strife between dread and mortification
at having to humble himself before his own servants. It was hard work
to arrest the groan that struggled for exit, and when the door closed on
Sandy McCray and Jane, he sank back in his chair as if stunned.

McCray felt that Sir Murray's silence gave consent, and that he was
trusted. The trust, too, was not misplaced; for the Scot had obtained
sufficient influence over Jane to reason her, in her calmer moments,
into silence.

"Supposing, even, that you're right, lassie, ye ken that the puir bodie
we've lost wadna have wished ye to bring Sir Mooray to the gallows. But
dinna ye fash yourself aboot it; it will all reet itself in time. Ye're
sure o' naething, and ye've got your trust in hand; sae mind it weel,
and leave the rest to me."

Jane responded to this advice by weeping bitterly over the child,
pressing it convulsively to her breast; and in that condition, the next
morning, McCray left her, and sought the barone