Chapter 14

"As when a lion in his den,
Hath heard the hunters' cries,
And rushes forth to meet his foes,
So did the Douglas rise--"
_Percy_.

Alice Dunscombe did not find the second of the prisoners buried, like
Griffith, in sleep, but he was seated on one of the old chairs that were
in the apartment, with his back to the door, and apparently looking
through the small window, on the dark and dreary scenery over which the
tempest was yet sweeping in its fury. Her approach was unheeded, until
the light from her lamp glared across his eyes, when he started from his
musing posture, and advanced to meet her. He was the first to speak.

"I expected this visit," he said, "when I found that you recognized my
voice; and I felt a deep assurance in my breast, that Alice Dunscombe
would never betray me."

His listener, though expecting this confirmation of her conjectures, was
unable to make an immediate reply, but she sank into the seat he had
abandoned, and waited a few moments, as if to recover her powers.

"It was, then, no mysterious warning! no airy voice that mocked my ear;
but a dread reality!" she at length said. "Why have you thus braved the
indignation of the laws of your country? On what errand of fell mischief
has your ruthless temper again urged you to embark?"

"This is strong and cruel language, coming from you to me, Alice
Dunscombe," returned the stranger, with cool asperity, "and the time has
been when I should have been greeted, after a shorter absence, with
milder terms."

"I deny it not; I cannot, if I would, conceal my infirmity from myself
or you; I hardly wish it to continue unknown to the world. If I have
once esteemed you, if I have plighted to you my troth, and in my
confiding folly forgot my higher duties, God has amply punished me for
the weakness in your own evil deeds."

"Nay, let not our meeting be embittered with useless and provoking
recriminations," said the other; "for we have much to say before you
communicate the errand of mercy on which you have come hither. I know
you too well, Alice, not to see that you perceive the peril in which I
am placed, and are willing to venture something for my safety. Your
mother--does she yet live?"

"She is gone in quest of my blessed father," said Alice, covering her
pale face with her hands; "they have left me alone, truly; for he, who
was to have been all to me, was first false to his faith, and has since
become unworthy of my confidence."

The stranger became singularly agitated, his usually quiet eye glancing
hastily from the floor to the countenance of his companion, as he paced
the