"Alas! there is no help, sister. Your mother indeed passed as Lady Lossie, but my mother, the true Lady Lossie, was alive all the time, and in truth died only last year. For twenty years my mother suffered for yours. In the eye of the law you are no better than the little child his father denied in your presence. Give that man his dismissal, or he will give you yours. Never doubt it. Refuse again, and I go from this room to publish in the next the fact that you are neither Lady Lossie nor Lady Florimel Colonsay. You have no right to any name but your mother's. You are Miss Gordon." She gave a great gasp at the word, but bravely fought the horror that was taking possession of her. She stood with one hand on the back of a chair, her face white, her eyes starting, her mouth a little open and rigid--her whole appearance, except for the breath that came short and quick, that of one who had died in sore pain. "All that is now left you," concluded Malcolm, "is the choice between sending Liftore away and being abandoned by him. That choice you must now make." The poor girl tried to speak, but could not. Her fire was burning out, her forced strength fast failing her. "Florimel," said Malcolm, and knelt on one knee and took her hand: it gave a flutter as if it would fly like a bird, but the net of his love held it, and it lay passive and cold--"Florimel, I will be your true brother. I _am_ your brother, your very own brother, to live for you, love you, fight for you, watch and ward you, till a true man takes you for his wife." Her hand quivered like a leaf. "Sister, when you and I appear before our father, I shall hold up my face before him: will you?" "Send him away," she breathed rather than said, and sank on the floor. He lifted her, laid her on a couch, and returned to the drawing-room. "My Lady Clementina," he said, "will you oblige me by going to my sister in the room at the top of the stair?" "I will, my lord," she answered, and went. Malcolm walked up to Liftore. "My lord," he said, "my sister takes her leave of you." "I must have my dismissal from her own lips." "You shall have it from the hands of my fishermen.--Take him away." "You shall hear from me, my lord marquis, if such you be," said Liftore. "Let it be of your repentance, then, my lord," said Malcolm. "That I shall be glad to hear of." As he turned from him he saw Caley gliding through the little group of servants toward the door. He walked after her, laid his hand on her shoulder and whispered a word in her ear. She grew gray rather than white, and stood still. Turning again to go to Florimel, he saw the fishermen stopped with their charge in the doorway by Mr. Morrison and Mr. Soutar, entering together. "My lord! my lord!" said the lawyer, coming hastily up to him, "there can surely be no occasion for such--such--measures!"