"But will that to-morrow ever be?"--the refrain of the doggerel rung
in her ears. "Am I never to be free from this brother and sister?" she
cried to herself, desperately, as she advanced to the house. "Am I
never to be free from this bondage?"

As the last flutter of her white dress disappeared, Sir Victor
Catheron emerged from the shadow of the trees, and the face, on which
the rising moon shone, was white as the face of death.




CHAPTER VI.

IN THE MOONLIGHT.


He had not overheard a word, he had not tried to overhear; but he had
seen them together--that was enough. He had reached the spot only a
moment before their parting, and had stood confounded at sight of his
wife alone here in the dusk with Juan Catheron.

He saw them part--saw him dash through the woodland, singing as he
went--saw her turn away and walk rapidly to the house. She had come
here to meet him, then, her former lover. He had not left Chesholm;
he was lurking in the neighborhood of the Royals, and she knew it. She
knew it. How many times had they met before--his wife and the man he
abhorred--the man who claimed her as his wife. What if she _were_
his wife? What if that plight pledged in the Scotch kirk were binding?