“The proud Eagle,” she soliloquized, “wha condescended to come to earth only for garbage, now lies whar I have lang wished him to be. Robert Ashley has met his deserts, an’ nae tear has wet the cheek o’ Mary Lee. Na—that tear shall only be the clammy rheum that oozes frae the closing ee o’ death, and only maks the cheek o’ the heart-broken mair dry. Did I no say, that I hated the connach worm? Ay, but I, wha have nae love for mortal on earth, could love that creature now, for it will nestle in the heart o’ my destroyer e’en whar I have nestled. Fear nae guile now, ye brawnet reptile—that was a’ wasted in my ruin; an’ bluid will be your repast as it has been my vengeance. Thrice have I lauched in triumph; an’ I would lauch my loud lauch again, if Robin’s ears war open to hear’t; but I have yet anither victim, and my last shout shall be o’er the fate o’ the remainin’ rafter o’ the ruif tree o’ the auld Castle. Then shall be the weird o’ my hatred fulfilled, and the staff o’ the stern wizard, wha guides me on through the dark ways o’ revenge, be broken an’ cast on the waters of the Solway.” As Mary was in the act of pronouncing the last words of her speech, she was interrupted by a voice, apparently that of a man. It was Gerstendorf, who had not been in these parts for many years. He seemed in great agitation, and spoke confusedly, and as if in fear of being overheard. “What brings ye here, man, wi’ that craven look, and these broken sounds?” inquired Mary. “What may that be to you, mein gut child? Donner! have I no power left to look after mein safety, and by returning the knabe, Hector Ashley, to the house of his vater, get a riddence of the outlawry against me and mein crew?” “Hans Gerstendorf,” replied Mary, “is this the faith pledged to me langsyne, when I put into your hand twa hunder siller merks, as the apprentice fee o’ Hector Ashley, and the reward o’ eternal silence as to his birth and lineage? This may be German troth, but it belangs na to the honour o’ Galloway.” “The faith, and the promise, and the covenant,” replied the German, “belong to the men who live under the laws—Teufel! are not the sharks and the hounds, by the sea and by the land, smelling for us and baying for us?—and doesna the hang-tief stand on the lang sands o’ Leith to mak langer, by twa inches, the craigs o’ the pirate and his gang? Ha! mein gut Maria, what is the troth to the life, the breath, and the soul that kensna repentance for ten thousand crimes?—One chance is left, and that is, to tell Peter Fleming the secret o’ his parentage, and his history, from that day when I kidnapped him at the Fisherman’s Cairn, and left his cla’es on the stones to beguile his father. Once in the Castle and we are safe.” The resolution, intention, or wish, thus expressed by the German, deeply affected Mary. For some time she replied not—her hand was on her forehead, and she was apparently musing in deep thought; at last she started.