"The Fair of Doune, Annot?" said Allan sadly; "there will be bloody work
before that day, and I may never see it; but you have well reminded me
of what I have long intended to do."

Having said this, he left the room.

"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."