to come!"

The countess, awed by his solemnity, but not put from her suit,
exclaimed: "What she was, I would be to thee-thy consoler, thine
adorer. Time may set me free. Oh! till then, only give me leave to
love thee, and I shall be happy!"

"You dishonor yourself, lady," returned he, "by these petitions, and
for what? You plunge your soul in guilty wishes-you sacrifice your
peace, and your self-esteem, to a phantom; for I repeat, I am dead to
woman; and the voice of love sounds like the funeral knell of her who
will never breathe it to me again." He arose as he spoke, and the
countess, pierced to the heart, and almost despairing of now retaining
any part in its esteem, was devising what next to say, when Murray came
into the room.

Wallace instantly observed that his countenance was troubled. "What
has happened?" inquired he.

"A messenger from the mainland, with bad news from Ayr."

"Of private or public import?" asked Wallace.

"Of both. There has been a horrid massacre, in which the heads of many
noble families have fallen." As he spoke, the paleness of his
countenance revealed to his friend that part of the information he had
found himself unable to communicate.

"I comprehend my loss," cried Wallace; "Sir Ronald Crawford is
sacrificed! Bring the messenger in."