His mind was full of Murielle, and he was not without hope, that while all the numerous household and powerful feudal garrison were yet abed, he might find some means to communicate with her--to see, to speak to one so beloved--one from whom he had been so long, so wickedly separated--his seven years' wedded wife! It seemed to Gray, while thinking of this, that some one had been softly and timidly tapping at his door. Gently drawing back the numerous bars of wood and iron, with which the doors of all bed-chambers in old Scottish mansions were furnished in those days and for long after, he stepped into an arched corridor; then, on looking along its dusky vista, he saw a female figure approach, and what were his emotions on beholding the sudden realization of his dearest wish--Murielle, who had left the room thus early on the same errand and with the same desperate yet tenderly loving hope, had been watching the door of _his_ chamber. She seemed pale and wan, as one who had been sleepless; but though more womanly and more full in figure, she was otherwise unchanged as when he had seen her last, on that happy and yet unfortunate night, in the church of St. Genevieve, in Flanders. "At last, my Murielle!" "At _last_ we meet--but oh! for a moment only." They clasped each other in a tender embrace--heart to heart, and lip to lip. His face was bent on hers, and her tears of joy and fear fell fast. "You love me still, Murielle?" "_Still!_" she reiterated reproachfully--"oh, with all my life and strength." "But to what a hopeless love and aimless life have my passion and its selfish ties consigned you!" said he; "we are the slaves of others and of destiny." "Such have we ever been, since that fatal day on which my cousins, William and David, were slain. That was in 1440, _ten_ long, long years ago; but--" "A crisis in our fate is coming now, dear Murielle." "But say why--oh, why are you here--here in Thrave, here, where your life is in peril so deadly?" "I am come, in our good king's name, to demand MacLellan's release, and to invite the earl, under cartel, to meet the council at Stirling, that all these evils may be peacefully ended." "I pray to the kind Father of all, and to his Blessed Mother, who is in heaven, that it may be so," sighed poor Murielle. "But oh, I am so weary, weary--so sad and weary here! They keep me quite a prisoner, though not so cruelly as they keep Sir Thomas MacLellan; for I am told by Marion Douglas that he is confined in the pit." "Mahoun! say you so, dearest--in that horrid vault?" "Yes; but hush--we may be overheard."