conversation of the next chapter, however, will better explain it, and
to it we refer our readers.

CHAPTER XIX

In a circular apartment of the lower floor in Kildrummie keep, its stone
floor but ill covered with rushes, and the walls hung with the darkest
and rudest arras, Sir Christopher Seaton reclined on a rough couch, in
earnest converse with his brother-in-law, Nigel. Lady Seaton was also
within the chamber, at some little distance from the knights, engaged in
preparing lint and healing ointments, with the aid of an attendant, for
the wounded, and ready at the first call to rise and attend them, as she
had done unremittingly during the continuance of the siege. The
countenances of both warriors were slightly changed from the last time
we beheld them. The severity of his wounds had shed a cast almost of age
on the noble features of Seaton, but care and deep regret had mingled
with that pallor; and perhaps on the face of Nigel, which three short
weeks before had beamed forth such radiant hope, the change was more
painful. He had escaped with but slight flesh wounds, but disappointment
and anxiety were now vividly impressed on his features; the smooth brow
would unconsciously wrinkle in deep and unexpressed thought; the lip, to
which love, joy, and hope alone had once seemed natural, now often
compressed, and his eye flashed, till his whole countenance seemed
stern, not with the sternness of a tyrannical, changed and chafing
mood--no, 'twas the sternness most fearful to behold in youth, of
thought, deep, bitter, whelming thought; and sterner even than it had
been yet was the expression on his features as he spoke this day with
Seaton.

"He must die," were the words which broke a long and anxious pause, and
fell in deep yet emphatic tones from the lips of Seaton; "yes, die!
Perchance the example may best arrest the spreading contagion of
treachery around us."

"I know not, I fear not; yet as thou sayest he must die," replied Nigel,
speaking as in deep thought; "would that the noble enemy, who thus
scorned to benefit by the offered treason, had done on him the work of
death himself. I love not the necessity nor the deed."

"Yet it must be, Nigel. Is there aught else save death, the death of a
traitor, which can sufficiently chastise a crime like this? Well was it
the knave craved speech of Hereford himself. I marvel whether the
majesty of England had resisted a like temptation."

"Seaton, he would not,"