"Proud, relentless, and pitiless woman!" thought this bold abductor, as he approached, "at last I have thee completely in my power--at my mercy, utterly!" Lady Jane had risen full of anger and defiance, but there was an expression in the eyes of her admirer that terrified her; and feeling completely (as he had thought) at his mercy, she could only cling to her chair, and falter out-- "Oh, my God! Sir Adam Otterburn, what is the meaning of all this?--why am I imprisoned here?--and what seek you from me?" "Pardon," said he, in his gentlest voice, and with clasped hand, bending his eyes on the ground--"pardon for this wrong, which the excess of love alone has committed." "And why hast thou dared to do me this wrong?" "I dare do anything, fair Jane, but excite your displeasure. For heaven's sake be composed. Oh, spare me your hatred, and look not so wildly. Think of the depth and of the ardour of my sentiments--the sincerity of my intentions towards you. Long, long have I borne this fatal love in my heart, as a secret--a secret to brood over, since those days when you so thoughtlessly permitted me to nourish it." Jane would have spoken, but he continued, sadly and energetically: "Amid the splendid pageants, the costly banquets, the stately mummeries of a court, and the dull tedium of public business, it has ever been in my heart, in my soul, and on my lips--this secret, which I would have given the world to muse over in some noiseless solitude, where nothing would dispel the bright illusions love raised within me. Ever among the crowds of the city, and the debates of the parliament, it came to me--a soft, low whisper of your name. I heard it only; and the voices of those around me became as a drowsy hum, and sounded as if afar off, for my whole soul was with thee. Oh, Lady Jane, this secret has been a part of my very being. Night after night I have prayed for you, and have laid my head on its pillow without consolation; day after day I have blessed you, on awaking to a world that was without hope for me, and yet I have lived, and loved, and lingered on. But pardon me--I am grieving you." He paused on seeing that Jane, overcome either by her feelings or by exhaustion, had again punk into a chair. Her alarm subsided at the sound of his sad, solemn, and harmonious voice; and something of pity rose in her bosom, for she saw that he was indeed frightfully pale and careworn. "My brother," said she; "and what hast thou dared to do with him?" "Nothing, dear madam: he is safe." "But where?" "Below us." "Below? Gracious me!" said Jane, breathlessly, as her horror and hatred revived; for she saw the cruel game about to be played by Redhall. "Wretch! and to coerce the miserable sister, thou holdest in thy guilty hands the life and death of the brother!"