Part 12 (1/2)

Elliot has my grat.i.tude for his care of your infancy; but my scorn and hatred for the unmanly violence which made you what you have been. And because you loved his daughter, too! It was a crime for the son of De Ermstein to love the daughter of a paltry Scottish chief!”

”But you should consider, husband, that Elliot had no knowledge of Stephen's birth,” said the lady.

”No; he looked upon him as a beggar,” rejoined De Ermstein. ”Had he known my son's rank he would have strained every nerve, and employed every resource, fair or foul, to bring about an alliance which would enn.o.ble his name. But he will eagerly seek such alliance now. Let him but hear this day's news, and I may have a daughter-in-law from Hawksglen to-morrow.”

”I do not lay every blame upon Elliot's head,” said Stephen, ”for, had not his lady urged him on to hate me, I would never have left his house. He repents his errors, and would atone for them were it in his power. But, whatever his errors may be, let us never forget that he brought me up from infancy as if I had been his own. Thrown upon his mercy as a nameless, as an abandoned child, he cherished me with a bounty, a care, and an affection which have no bounds.”

”You amply repaid all that bounty and care and affection,” said the knight, ”by defending him against inevitable downfall. Nevertheless, I will not mar our felicity by harbouring hatred against him. But I pray you to think no more of his daughter.”

Stephen was prepared for this. But he was firm in his devotion to Eleanor; his heart never wavered from the fair object of its early choice. He told his father of that maiden's gentleness; that she had plighted her faith to him; that her love had known no change even in the depths of his degradation; that he would never forsake her; that he would make her his bride. Rather than that his vows should be slighted and broken, he would abandon the happiness which had come upon him.

The old knight's pride was wounded. There were many ladies in merry England, he said, of ancient name and high fortune, from amongst whom his son could choose a bride. But his son was inflexible. His mother joined him, and Sir Dacre's pride and wounded feelings at length gave way.

The castle was now filled with festivity, and a proud day it now was to him who had been so recently in the most dismal despair.

CHAPTER XVI.

”Fy, let us a' to the bridal, For there'll be lilting there; For Jock's to be married to Maggie, The la.s.s wi' the gowden hair.”

--_Francis Sempill._

Nothing remains to close the tale save the nuptials of the hero and heroine. Everything has been briefly (and, we trust, satisfactorily) disposed of, so that, at the merry tinkle of the marriage bell, the curtain may fall, and nothing more be desired.