"You are mad, Allan!" answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden appearance and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks were livid—his eyes started from their sockets—his lips were covered with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac.
"You lie, traitor!" was his frantic reply—"you lie in that, as you lie in all you have said to me. Your life is a lie!"
"Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad," said Menteith, indignantly, "your own life were a brief one. In what do you charge me with deceiving you?"
"You told me," answered M'Aulay, "that you would not marry Annot Lyle!—False traitor!—she now waits you at the altar."
"It is you who speak false," retorted Menteith, "I told you the obscurity of her birth was the only bar to our union—that is now removed; and whom do you think yourself that I should yield up my pretensions in your favour?"
