Then the heart of the countess sank; but she was compelled to obey. Her husband grasped her hand, and together they quitted the castle of Braal by a private postern at the foot of a long and secret stair. Gunhilda was silent; she pressed her ivory crucifix to her breast with her left hand, for it was the parting gift of Absalon, Archbishop of Denmark; her right was firmly grasped by her husband, and she felt that _his_ hand was cold:--yea, cold as ice! She had heard of his proceedings on the shores of the Baltic, and how he had publicly worshipped the God of the Wends at Rugen; her soul became a prey to grief and horror, and beneath her veil her tears flowed hot and fast. He led her along the banks of the Thurso for more than a mile, by a dark and lonely path. No one was near them; the hour was late, the place was solitary, and the countess gazed anxiously about her for succour, if required; but the pastoral hills were desolate. Even the sheep were in their folds, and there came no sound to her ear, save the rush of the dark and hurrying stream. It was a night in the pleasant month of June, and in that part of Scotland at this season there is scarcely any darkness, the reflection of the sun on the Atlantic being so distinctly visible for the brief time that he is below the horizon, that one may read the smallest print even at midnight. As they drew near a little chapel which stood upon a rock above the river, and was dedicated to St. Monina, the countess gathered courage, and said,--"Unless you say, my lord, for what purpose you have brought me hither in this secret manner, and at this unwonted hour, I go not one step further with you!" "Listen," said he, drawing his long arm-pit dagger, while a cruel and wild glare came into his fierce blue eyes; "I have brought you hither to slay you!" "Oh, my soul foreboded as much!" said Gunhilda, in a breathless voice; "to slay me--for what? What crime have I committed?" "None; yet I will not have a wife who is to be the mother of baby-faced girls, whose husbands, if they get them, will rend and divide my heritage among them. I must have a son to heir me, as Earl of Caithness, Count of Orkney, Lord of Braal and Lochmore, and to transmit my name to future times; but thou----" "I am the daughter of a king!" said the countess, haughtily. "A king who is too far away to help you," said Harold, with a mocking smile. "But not too far away to avenge me!" "Let him do so, if he will!" replied the barbarous earl, as he grasped her wrists and dragged her shrieking, and on her knees, towards the rocks which overhung the stream. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "my three helpless daughters--your children--think of them with pity, if not with pity for me!" "My daughters--name them not," said he, hoarsely, "lest I have them drowned in boiling water, even as Halli and Leckner were in the days of old!"