crime will be to them but an additional charm.” “Glenarvon,” said the duke gravely, “you have done me much wrong; but I mean not now to reproach you. If the story which you have told me is true, I must still remember that I owe my son’s safety to you. Spare Lady Margaret; keep the promise you have solemnly given me; and at the hour you have mentioned, meet me with the Italian and this boy at Colwood Bay.” Glenarvon left the presence of the duke immediately, bowing in token of assent. The Duke then rang the bell, and ordered his carriage. It was about four in the afternoon when he left the castle: he sent a message to Lady Margaret and Mrs. Seymour, to say that he had ordered dinner to await his return at seven. CHAPTER XCIX. No sooner had the duke, accompanied by Macpherson, who waited for him, left the castle, than Mrs. Seymour sought Lady Margaret in her apartment. The door was fastened from within:—it was in vain she endeavoured by repeated calls to obtain an answer.—a strange fear occurred to her mind.—There were rumours abroad, of which she was not wholly ignorant. Was it credible that a sudden paroxysm of despair had led her to the last desperate measure of frantic woe? The God of mercy forbid! Still she felt greatly alarmed. The duke returned not, as he had promised: the silence of the castle was mournful; and terror seemed to have spread itself amongst all the inhabitants. Mac Allain entered repeatedly, asking Mrs. Seymour if the duke were not to have returned at the hour of dinner; and whether it was true that he was gone out alone. Eight, nine, and ten sounded; but he came not. Mac Allain was yet speaking, when shrieks, long and repeated, were heard. The doors burst open; servants affrighted entered; confusion and terror were apparent in all. “They are come, they are come!” exclaimed one. “We are going to be murdered. The rebels have broken into the park and gardens: we hear their cry. Oh, save us—save us from their fury! See, see, through the casement you may behold them: with their pikes and their bayonets, they are destroying every thing they approach.” Mac Allain threw up the sash of the window: the servants crowded towards it. The men had seized whatever arms they could find: the women wept aloud. By the light of the moon, crowds were seen advancing through the wood and park, giving the alarm by one loud and terrific yell. They repeated one word more frequently than any other. As they approached, it was plainly distinguished:—murder! murder! was the cry; and the inhabitants of the castle heard it as a summons to instant death. The Count Viviani’s name and Lady Margaret’s were then wildly repeated. The doors were in vain barricadoed and defended from within. The outer courts were so tumultuously crowded, that it became dangerous to pass. Loud cries for the duke to appear were heard.