"Ah! my brave and noble kinsman--such a doom! Was it not in that dungeon that Earl Archibald, the first duke of Touraine, kept MacLellan, the laird of Borgue, chained, like a wild beast, till he became a jabbering idiot, and when found by the prior of St. Mary's Isle, he was laughing as he strove to catch the single sunbeam that fell through the grated slit into his prison--yea, striving fatuously to catch it with his thin, wan, fettered hand--the same hand that carried the king's banner at the battle of Homildon!" "Do not frown thus, my dearest heart," said Murielle, weeping; "I have little need to add to the hatred that grows apace in every breast against the name of Douglas." "Do not say in _every_ breast, sweet Murielle--sweet wife," he added, pressing her close and closer still in his embrace; "for my heart is wrung with anguish and with love for you, and of this love God alone knoweth the depth and the strength!" Murielle continued to weep in silence. "My love for you," resumed Gray, "and my duty to the king, whom my father, old Sir Andrew Gray, taught me to love, respect, and almost worship, are impulses that rend my heart between them. At the risk of my life I have ridden here on the king's service, alone, with no protection but my sword, my hand, and, it may be, this royal tabard--a badge but little respected on this side of the Nith or Annan." "And you came----" "To see you, and to save MacLellan from the fate of Sir Herbert Herries. God wot, though, I would give the last drop of my blood to serve my kinsman. A king's herald might have borne the mandate as well as I; but the hope of seeing you--of hearing your dear voice, of concerting some plan for your escape and future freedom from a tyranny that is maddening,--chiefly, if not alone, brought me into the wilds of Galloway--the very land and stronghold of the enemies of the throne." "Say not the enemies," said Murielle mournfully. "I hope that men misjudge us sorely." "I hope they do; yet there are strange whispers abroad of a rebel league with the earls of Ross and Crawford, with Henry of England, and the lord of the Isles--a league to dethrone the king and plunge the land in ruin. But let us speak at present of escape--of flight----" "My disappearance would be your destruction; all Galloway, with hound and horn, would be upon your track." "True--Douglas gave me his word for safety only while _within_ the walls of Thrave," said Gray, bitterly. "The most sunny summer-day may have its clouds, dear Patrick; but here, in this dull residence, with me it is ever cloud, and never sunshine--I mean the sunshine of the heart. My time is passed, as it were, in perpetual winter. I have no solace--no friend--no amusement, but my cithern and the songs you loved so well----" "And love _still_, Murielle, for the sake of you!"