over here and conquers us! It will be much
nicer being the subjects of a great hero.
instead of the subjects of a mad old king
who——"

"Hold your tongue, ma'am!" shouted
Dunblane, bringing his fist down upon the
table with a force which made the glasses
clatter: "or, if you will talk your low
treasonous rubbish, go and talk it in the
kitchen. You shall not talk it here!"

She only laughed in reply. She certainly
a delight in provoking him;
and, as she knew his sensitive points, this
was not difficult. I found an opportunity,
over a game of cribbage, later in the evening,
of asking her why she acted thus.
No doubt this was somewhat of a liberty,
considering our short acquaintance; but I
felt I could not remain longer in the house
without trying to amend matters.

"Oh!" she said, "anything for a little
excitement in this horridly monotonous
life. I should die of ennui if it wasn't for
the tiffs with my lord."

I told her she did not know what harm
she was doing; and I asked if she never
felt afraid of irritating a man so passionate
as his lordship.

"Bless you, no," was her reply. "It is
he who is afraid, really, of me—of my
tongue, you see. Ha, ha! No one ever
answered him before; his mother, his
servants, his friends, why,—you yourself, I
daresay, you never contradicted him? Now,
I always do, and I always say just what I
like. He hates me, of course, but he is
afraid, of me, Mr. Carthews. Ha, ha, ha!"

Good heavens! I thought to myself, arid
these two people are tied to each other for
life. Both have a fair chance of living
for the next forty years. What a prospect!
Even before we separated for the night she
had stung him with another of her irritating
speeches. There had been some talk of the
steward's boy, who had tumbled from a
tree, and had broken his leg. . . . "Children
are a horrid bore," said Lady Dunblane.
"Thank Heaven, I have no brat to
be tumbling from trees, and worrying one's
life out."

I dare say she did not mean it. It is
hardly possible that, under the
circumstances, she should not have wished for a
child. The devil was in the woman,
constantly prompting something to aggravate
her husband. His back was towards me,
on this occasion, and he said nothing, so I
could only judge of the effect produced upon
him by his instantly lighting a chamber
candlestick and leaving the room. We saw
him no more that night.

The next day and the day following only
further developed the hopeless condition of
affairs between Lord and Lady Dunblane.
I tried once to speak to him on the subject,
but I found it was in vain. An ineradicable
hatred of his wife had grown up in
him, which he did not attempt to conceal.
When alone with him, he would occasionally
converse; in her presence he seemed to be
perpetually on the look-out for what might
drop from her irrepressible tongue. The
fourth day of my stay at the castle—the day
before I was obliged to return to Aberdeen
—arrived, and with it came a guest, who,
although expected, was evidently anything
but welcome. This was Mr. James
Dunblane, the heir-at-law, who had only lately
been traced, and between whom and Lord
Dunblane certain communications had
passed by letter. This was his first visit
to the castle—a visit which, as I afterwards
learnt, was a matter almost of necessity.
He seemed to feel the awkwardness of his
position. I do not remember much about
the young man, except that he was plain
in person, and very quiet. Lord Dunblane
received him coldly, but politely. Lady
Dunblane, after the usual fashion, plunged
at once into the subject of all others his
lordship shrunk from any notice of.

"So you are come, as heir-at-law, to be
let into the secret of this famous room, are
you? Why, it is as bad as being made a
freemason! . . . . Can you keep a secret,
Mr. Dunblane? because, if not, untold
misfortunes are to befall us."  And the laugh
with which she concluded sounded to me
like the screech of an owl foreboding evil.
Lord Dunblane looked as if he could have
stabbed her, but he only muttered an oath
under his breath, and clenched his fist—a
movement which no one saw but myself.
Every incident of that evening is fresh in my
recollection. I remember how she returned
again and again to that subject, as though
it had a fatal fascination for her, but more
likely, I fear, because she saw that her
husband writhed under it. She ridiculed
the prophecy, and laughed at all those
superstitions, which his lordship cherished
as his religion. It was distressing to watch
him the while. He was far quieter than
usual, scarcely spoke, but sat, his arms
crossed, staring at the fire, with eyes which
burnt, themselves, like coals, and when he
swore, which he did once or twice, it was in
a suppressed voice, contrasting strangely
with his usual violence. But there was a
vibration in the tone which showed how
strongly he was stirred. At last, it was
late in the evening and we were sitting