"Save me from this butchery, Lord Home--for _her_ sake," said Falconer, making tremendous efforts to free himself; "or, at least, remove her in pity. Hear me, Home--thou wert once loyal and gallant." "Peace, villain," replied that ferocious peer, as he smote the brave suppliant full and heavily on the mouth with his hand. "Mercy," implored Sybilla, sinking on her knees, and clinging to the hand of Borthwick, who held her as in a giant's grasp; "mercy for him, and for the love of God! Man--man--thou hast been a priest, and must yet remember that the merciful are blessed, for they shall obtain mercy. Have pity! O have pity; by the Star of Heaven, by the Queen of Angels, I implore you to have pity!" But Borthwick, who was wholly employed in looking down upon that snowy bosom, of which her kneeling position enabled him to see more than was ever meant for eyes like his, heeded her not; but grasped her with the strength and tenacity of an iron vice; and now, while her cries and entreaties would have melted the hearts of any men but those of the Scottish noblesse of 1488, these miscreants began to strangle and drag Falconer, by the knotted scarf, towards the river. "For God's love--for her sake--gentlemen--my Lord's--good sirs, do not murder me thus before her face--before her; remove her--beloved Sybilla--pity, pity--mercy, am I to die like a dog--for her--for her sake, monsters--God!----" The tightening of the knot cut short the cries of Falconer, who in that terrible moment thought only of Sybilla; but dragged as he was by the throat, strangulation immediately ensued; his handsome features became swollen, livid, and frightful; his eyeballs protruded. He tossed his arms about him wildly; but the third time he was dragged round the bower, he was senseless, lifeless, and stiff; and the assassins, after bestowing a few parting kicks on the body, carefully sheathed their swords, which had been lying on the ground, and retired, leisurely and without precipitation. "Adieu, lady," said Lord Hailes, with a stern loftiness of manner; "now we have revenged your honour on this presumptuous churl." "Farewell, and I give you joy of your lemane, sweet madam," said Borthwick, mockingly, as he released her. With a shriek Sybilla sprang to the breathless body of her lover. Her fingers were trembling, weak, and powerless; thus she strove fruitlessly to loosen the hateful scarf which encircled his neck. The attempt was vain, for there was no strength in her. Then, overcome by the frightful, swollen, and blackened aspect of that beloved face, she uttered another wild, despairing cry, and fell prostrate and senseless upon him. So ended this scene of horror! CHAPTER XXIII. LORD DRUMMOND AND ROBERT BARTON "How can I 'scape Antonia!--how evade A father's stern inflexible decree? Paint but the means, I ne'er shall be afraid To tread a path prescribed by love and thee." _Bridal of Pisa_