Edith had now the opportunity she wished to bespeak the young nobleman’s intercession and protection for Henry Morton, and it seemed the only remaining channel of interest by which he could be rescued from impending destruction. Yet she felt at that moment as if, in doing so, she was abusing the partiality and confidence of the lover, whose heart was as open before her, as if his tongue had made an express declaration. Could she with honour engage Lord Evandale in the service of a rival? or could she with prudence make him any request, or lay herself under any obligation to him, without affording ground for hopes which she could never realize? But the moment was too urgent for hesitation, or even for those explanations with which her request might otherwise have been qualified. “I will but dispose of this young fellow,” said Claverhouse, from the other side of the hall, “and then, Lord Evandale--I am sorry to interrupt again your conversation--but then we must mount.--Bothwell, why do not you bring up the prisoner? and, hark ye, let two files load their carabines.” In these words, Edith conceived she heard the death-warrant of her lover. She instantly broke through the restraint which had hitherto kept her silent. “My Lord Evandale,” she said, “this young gentleman is a particular friend of my uncle’s--your interest must be great with your colonel--let me request your intercession in his favour--it will confer on my uncle a lasting obligation.” “You overrate my interest, Miss Bellenden,” said Lord Evandale; “I have been often unsuccessful in such applications, when I have made them on the mere score of humanity.” “Yet try once again for my uncle’s sake.” “And why not for your own?” said Lord Evandale. “Will you not allow me to think I am obliging you personally in this matter?--Are you so diffident of an old friend that you will not allow him even the satisfaction of thinking that he is gratifying your wishes?” “Surely--surely,” replied Edith; “you will oblige me infinitely--I am interested in the young gentleman on my uncle’s account--Lose no time, for God’s sake!” She became bolder and more urgent in her entreaties, for she heard the steps of the soldiers who were entering with their prisoner. “By heaven! then,” said Evandale, “he shall not die, if I should die in his place!--But will not you,” he said, resuming the hand, which in the hurry of her spirits she had not courage to withdraw, “will not you grant me one suit, in return for my zeal in your service?” “Any thing you can ask, my Lord Evandale, that sisterly affection can give.” “And is this all,” he continued, “all you can grant to my affection living, or my memory when dead?”