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THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE.
All during that evening, and in thinking of the next morning, she nursed a sweet and strange poison at her heart. Love seemed no longer to be so terrible as on that ghostly evening in Loch Scavaig; and she grew accustomed to the danger; and she was glad that, come what might, this flower of life had at length fallen upon her and she knew its fragrance. Had she not been told, in many of those old stories, that love for love's sake was enough? She did not care to count its cost. She scarcely paid any heed as to how it might end. Sufficient to know that now, at this moment, her heart was beating wildly against its prison-bars; and would fain have taken wings and flown over the moor towards Earlshope, if only to die on finding a haven.