"Should he talk long in this manner,"said Lord Menteith,"you must keep your harp in tune,my dear Annot."
"I hope not,"said Annot,anxiously;"this fit has been a long one,and probably will not soon return.It is fearful to see a mind,naturally generous and affectionate,afflicted by this constitutional malady."
As she spoke in a low and confidential tone,Lord Menteith naturally drew close,and stooped forward,that he might the better catch the sense of what she said.When Allan suddenly entered the apartment,they as naturally drew back from each other with a manner expressive of consciousness,as if surprised in a conversation which they wished to keep secret from him.
This did not escape Allan's observation;he stopt short at the door of the apartment--his brows were contracted--his eyes rolled;but it was only the paroxysm of a moment.He passed his broad sinewy hand across his brow,as if to obliterate these signs of emotion,and advanced towards Annot,holding in his hand a very small box made of oakwood,curiously inlaid."I take you to witness,"he said,"cousin Menteith,that I give this box and its contents to Annot Lyle.It contains a few ornaments that belonged to my poor mother--of trifling value,you may guess,for the wife of a Highland laird has seldom a rich jewel-casket."
"But these ornaments,"said Annot Lyle,gently and timidly refusing the box,"belong to the family--I cannot accept--"
"They belong to me alone,Annot,"said Allan,interrupting her;
"they were my mother's dying bequest.They are all I can call my own,except my plaid and my claymore.Take them,therefore--they are to me valueless trinkets--and keep them for my sake--should I never return from these wars."
So saying,he opened the case,and presented it to Annot."If,"
said he,"they are of any value,dispose of them for your own support,when this house has been consumed with hostile fire,and can no longer afford you protection.But keep one ring in memory of Allan,who has done,to requite your kindness,if not all he wished,at least all he could."
Annot Lyle endeavoured in vain to restrain the gathering tears,when she said,"ONE ring,Allan,I will accept from you as a memorial of your goodness to a poor orphan,but do not press me to take more;for I cannot,and will not,accept a gift of such disproportioned value."
"Make your choice,then,"said Allan;"your delicacy may be well founded;the others will assume a shape in which they may be more useful to you."
"Think not of it,"said Annot,choosing from the contents of the casket a ring,apparently the most trifling in value which it contained;"keep them for your own,or your brother's bride.
--But,good heavens!"she said,interrupting herself,and looking at the ring,"what is this that I have chosen?"
Allan hastened to look upon it,with eyes of gloomy apprehension;
it bore,in enamel,a death's head above two crossed daggers.
When Allan recognised the device,he uttered a sigh so deep,that she dropped the ring from her hand,which rolled upon the floor.
Lord Menteith picked it up,and returned it to the terrified Annot.
"I take God to witness,"said Allan,in a solemn tone,"that your hand,young lord,and not mine,has again delivered to her this ill-omened gift.It was the mourning ring worn by my mother in memorial of her murdered brother."
"I fear no omens,"said Annot,smiling through her tears;"and nothing coming through the hands of my two patrons,"so she was wont to call Lord Menteith and Allan,"can bring bad luck to the poor orphan."
She put the ring on her finger,and,turning to her harp,sung,to a lively air,the following verses of one of the fashionable songs of the period,which had found its way,marked as it was with the quaint hyperbolical taste of King Charles's time,from some court masque to the wilds of Perthshire:--
"Gaze not upon the stars,fond sage,In them no influence lies;
To read the fate of youth or age,Look on my Helen's eyes.
"Yet,rash astrologer,refrain!
Too dearly would be won The prescience of another's pain,If purchased by thine own."
"She is right,Allan,"said Lord Menteith;"and this end of an old song is worth all we shall gain by our attempt to look into futurity."
"She is WRONG,my lord,"said Allan,sternly,"though you,who treat with lightness the warnings I have given you,may not live to see the event of the omen.--laugh not so scornfully,"he added,interrupting himself "or rather laugh on as loud and as long as you will;your term of laughter will find a pause ere long."
"I care not for your visions,Allan,"said Lord Menteith;however short my span of life,the eye of no Highland seer can see its termination."
"For heaven's sake,"said Annot Lyle,interrupting him,"you know his nature,and how little he can endure--"
"Fear me not,"said Allan,interrupting her,--"my mind is now constant and calm.--But for you,young lord,"said he,turning to Lord Menteith,"my eye has sought you through fields of battle,where Highlanders and Lowlanders lay strewed as thick as ever the rooks sat on those ancient trees,"pointing to a rookery which was seen from the window--"my eye sought you,but your corpse was not there--my eye sought you among a train of unresisting and disarmed captives,drawn up within the bounding walls of an ancient and rugged fortress;--flash after flash--platoon after platoon--the hostile shot fell amongst them,They dropped like the dry leaves in autumn,but you were not among their ranks;
--scaffolds were prepared--blocks were arranged,saw-dust was spread--the priest was ready with his book,the headsman with his axe--but there,too,mine eye found you not."
"The gibbet,then,I suppose,must be my doom?"said Lord Menteith."Yet I wish they had spared me the halter,were it but for the dignity of the peerage."
