The Days of Bruce Vol 1

by Grace Aguilar

  CHAPTER XXI.

  The ancient town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, associated as it is withScottish and English history from the time these two kingdoms had aname, presented a somewhat different aspect in the year 1307 to that ofthe present day. The key to both countries, it was ever a scene ofstruggle, unless the sister kingdoms chanced to be at peace, an event inthe middle ages of rare occurrence, and whoever was its fortunatepossessor was undeniably considered as the greater power. Since thedeath of Alexander it had been captured no less than three times byEdward in 1296, by Wallace the succeeding year, and recaptured by theEnglish the following spring. To Edward, consequently, it now belonged,and many and fearful had been the sanguinary executions its walls hadbeheld. Its streets had been deluged with noble Scottish blood; itsprisons filled with the nobles of Scotland; even high-minded women, whoby their countenance and faithfulness had given a yet higher tone topatriotism and valor, were said to be there immured. It might have beentermed not alone the key, but the dungeon and grave of Scotland; andmany a noble spirit which had never quailed in the battle's front,shrunk back appalled as it neared those dismal walls.

  In the time of Edward, the fortifications, though merely consisting of adeep moat and wooden palisades, instead of the stone wall stillremaining, inclosed a much larger space than the modern town. Amagnificent castle, with its "mounts, rampiers, and flankers," itstowers, walls, and courts, crowned an easy ascent overhanging the Tweed,and was at this period peopled by a powerful garrison, filled withimmense stores, both of arms, artillery, and provisions, and manyunhappy prisoners, who from their lonely turrets could look beyond thesilver Tweed on their own beautiful land, their hearts burning with thevain desire to free her from her chains. Both square and round towersguarded the palisades and moat surrounding the town, which presented agoodly collection of churches, hospitals, dwelling-houses, stores, andmonastic buildings; from all of which crowds were continually passingand repassing on their several ways, and forming altogether a motleyassemblage of knights, nobles, men-at-arms, archers, the various ordersof monks, the busy leech from the hospital, the peaceful burgher, thebustling storekeeper, and artisan, noble dames and pretty maidens--allin the picturesque costumes of the day, jostling one another,unconscious of the curious effect they each assisted to produce, andever and anon came the trampling of fiery steeds. It was a rich,thriving, bustling town, always presenting curious scenes of activity,at present apparently under some excitement, which the gay knights andtheir followers tended not a little to increase.

  The popular excitement had, strange to say, been confined for anunusually long time to one subject. Orders had been received from KingEdward for the erection of an extraordinary cage or tower, curiouslyworked in stone and iron, on the very highest turret of the castle,visible to every eye, of a circular form, with pyramidal points,supporting gilded balls, giving it the appearance, when completed, of ahuge coronet or crown. It was barred and cross-barred with iron on allsides, effectually preventing egress from within, but exposing itsinmate, whoever that might be, to every passer-by. The impatient kinghad commanded several of the artisans employed in its erection to bethrown into prison, because it was not completed fast enough to pleasehim; but, despite his wrath and impatience, the work of fashioning theiron, wood, and stone, as he required, occasioned them to proceed butslowly, and it was now, three months after the royal order had beengiven, only just completed, and firmly fixed on the principal turret ofthe castle. Day after day the people flocked to gaze and marvel for whomit could be intended, and when it would be occupied; their thoughts onlyturned from it by the intelligence that the Earl of Hereford, with someScottish prisoners of high rank, was within four-and-twenty hours' marchof the town, and was there to deliver up his captives to the seneschalof the castle, the Earl of Berwick. At the same time rumors were afloat,that the prisoner for whom that cage had been erected was, under astrong guard, advancing from Carlisle, and likely to encounter Herefordat the castle gates.

  The popular excitement increased threefold; the whole town seemed underthe influence of a restless fever, utterly preventing the continuance oftheir usual avocations, or permitting them to rest quiet in theirhouses. Crowds filled the streets, and pressed and fumed to obtainplaces by the great gates and open squares of the castle, through whichboth parties must pass. That wind, rain, and sunshine alternately ruledthe day, was a matter of small importance; nor did it signify thatEnglish soldiers were returning victorious, with Scottish prisoners,being a thing now of most common occurrence. Before the day was over,however, they found anticipation for once had been less marvellous thanreality, and stranger things were seen and heard than they had dreamedof.

  From sunrise till noon they waited and watched, and waxed impatient invain. About that time trumpets and drums were heard from the south, andthere was a general rush towards the bridge, and hearts beat high inexpectancy of they knew not what, as a gallant band of English archersand men-at-arms, headed by some few knights, were discovered slowly andsolemnly advancing from the Carlisle road. Where, and who was theprisoner? A person of some consequence, of dangerous influence it mustbe, else why had the king made such extraordinary provision forconfinement? There were not wanting suggestions and guesses, andwondrous fancies; for as yet there was such a close guard in the centreof the cavalcade, that the very person of the prisoner could not bedistinguished. Nay, there were some who ventured to hint and believe itmight be the excommunicated Earl of Carrick himself. It was most likely,for whom else could the cage, so exactly like a crown, be intended? andthere were many who vaunted the wise policy of Edward, at having hit onsuch an expedient for lowering his rival's pride. Others, indeed,declared the idea was all nonsense; it was not likely he would incursuch expense, king as he was, merely to mortify a traitor he had swornto put to death. The argument waxed loud and warm. Meanwhile thecavalcade had crossed the bridge, been received through the south gate,and in the same slow and solemn pomp proceeded through the town.

  "By all the saints, it is only a woman!" was the information shouted byan eager spectator, who had clambered above the heads of his fellows toobtain the first and most coveted view. His words were echoed in blankamazement.

  "Aye, clothed in white like a penitent, with her black hair streamingall over her shoulders, without any covering on her head at all, andnothing but a thin, torn sandal on her bare feet; and the knights lookblack as thunder, as if they like not the business they are engaged in."

  It was even so. There was an expression on the face of the officersimpossible to be misunderstood; frowningly, darkly, they obeyed theirsovereign's mandate, simply because they dared not disobey; but therewas not one among them who would not rather have sought the most deadlyfront of battle than thus conduct a woman, aye, and a most noble one,unto her prison. The very men, rude, stern, as they mostly were, sharedthis feeling; they guarded her with lowered heads and knitted brows; andif either officer or man-at-arms had to address her, it was with aninvoluntary yet genuine movement and manner of respect that littleaccorded with their present relative position. The crowds looked firstat the cavalcade and marvelled, then at the prisoner, and they did notmarvel more.

  Clad as she was, in white, flowing garments, very similar to those wornby penitents, her head wholly undefended from cold or rain even by aveil; her long, luxuriant, jet-black hair, in which as yet, despite ofcare and woe, no silver thread had mingled, falling round her from hernoble brow, which shone forth from its shade white as snow, anddisplaying that most perfect face, which anguish had only chiselled intopaler, purer marble; it could not rob it of its beauty, that beautywhich is the holy emanation of the soul, _that_ lingered still withpower to awe the rudest heart, to bow the proudest in voluntary respect.

  The sovereign of England had commanded this solemn procession and itsdegrading accompaniments to humble, to crush to dust, the woman who haddared defy his power, but it was himself alone he humbled. As she walkedthere, surrounded by guards, by gazing hundreds, on foot, and butprotected from the flinty grou
nd by a thin sandal, her step was as firmand unfaltering, her attitude, her bearing as dignified, as calmly,imposingly majestic as when, in the midst of Scotland's patriots, shehad placed the crown on the Bruce's head. Edward sought to debase her,but she was not debased; to compel her to regret the part that she hadacted, but she gloried in it still; to acknowledge his power--but in allhe failed.

  Calmly and majestically the Countess of Buchan proceeded on her way,neither looking to the right or left, nor evincing by the slightestvariation of countenance her consciousness of the many hundreds gazingon, or that they annoyed or disturbed her; her spirit was wrapt initself. We should assert falsehood did we say she did not suffer; shedid, but it was a mother's agony heightened by a patriot's grief. Shebelieved her son, who had been in truth the idol of her mourning heart,had indeed fallen. Her Agnes was not amongst the queen's train, of whosecaptivity she had been made aware, though not allowed speech with them.Where was _she_--what would be her fate? She only knew her as a lovely,fragile flower, liable to be crushed under the first storm; and picturedher, rudely severed from Nigel, perchance in the hands of some lawlessspoiler, and heart-broken, dying. Shuddering with anguish, she thoughtnot of her own fate--she thought but of her children, of her country;and if King Robert did enter these visions, it was simply as hersovereign, as one whose patriotism would yet achieve the liberty ofScotland; but there was a dimness even o'er that dream, for the figureof her noble boy was gone, naught but a blank--dull, shapeless--occupiedthat spot in the vision of the future, which once his light had filled.

  The castle-yard was at length gained, and a half and some change in theline of march ensued; the officers and men formed in a compact crescent,leaving the countess, a herald, trumpeters, and some of the highestknights, in front. So intense was the interest of the crowd at thismoment, that they did not heed the rapid advance of a gallant body ofhorse and foot from the north, except to rail at the pressure theyoccasioned in forcing their way through. They gained the castle-yard atlength, and there halted, and fell back in utter astonishment at thescene they witnessed.

  The herald had drawn a parchment from his belt, and made a step forwardas if to speak. The knights, in sullen silence, leant upon theirsheathed swords, without even glancing at their prisoner, who appearedfar the most composed and dignified of all present, and, after a briefpause, words to this effect were distinguished by the crowd.

  "To our loyal and loving subjects of both North and South Britain,Edward, by the grace of God, King of England, Wales, France, andScotland, greeting. Whereas Isabella, born of Fife, and late of Buchan,which latter she hath, by foul dishonor and utter disregard of marriagevows, now forfeited, hath done traitorously and disloyally alike to hersovereign lord the king, and to her gracious lord and husband, John,Earl of Buchan, whom, for his fidelity, we hold in good favor. As shehath not struck by the sword, so she shall not perish by the sword; butfor her lawless conspiracy, she shall be shut up in a stone and ironchamber, circular as the crown she gave, in this proclaiming to bothcountries her everlasting infamy. And this we do in mercy; for, whereasshe deserveth death, we do remit the same, and give her time to repenther of her heinous crime.

  "Given at our palace of Carlisle, this twenty-third day of February, inthe year of our Lord and Saviour, one thousand three hundred and seven.God save the King!"

  But the loyal ejaculation was not echoed, nay, the herald himself hadread the proclamation, as if every word had been forced from him, andthe eyes of every knight and soldier had been fixed upon the ground, asif shame rested on them rather than on their prisoner. A dead silencefor a few minutes followed, broken only by some faint cries of "God saveKing Edward, and down with all traitors!" which seemed raised more todrown the groans which involuntarily burst forth, than as the echo ofthe heart. They dared not evince the faintest sign of disapproval, forthey stood on precarious ground; a groan even might be punished by theirirritable king as treachery; but there was one present who cared littlefor this charge. Scarcely had the words passed the herald's lips, beforea young man, whose bare head and lack of all weapons would haveproclaimed him one of the Earl of Hereford's prisoners, had not theattention of all been turned from him by the one engrossing object, nowsnatching a sword from a soldier near him, sprung from his horse, andviolently attacking the herald, exclaimed, in a voice of thunder--

  "Liar and slave! thinkest thou there is none near to give the lie to thyfoul slanders--none to defend the fair fame, the stainless honor of thismuch-abused lady? Dastard and coward, fit mouthpiece of a dishonored andblasphemous tyrant! go tell him, his prisoner--aye, Nigel Bruce--thrustsback his foul lies into his very teeth. Ha! coward and slave, wouldstthou shun me?"

  A scene of indescribable confusion now ensued. The herald, a man notmuch in love with war, stood cowering and trembling before hisadversary, seeking to cover himself with his weapon, but, from histrembling hold, ineffectually. The stature of the youthful Scotsmanappeared towering, as he stood over him with his uplifted sword,refusing to strike a defenceless man, but holding him with a gripe ofiron; his cheek flushed crimson, his nostrils distended, for his soulwas moved with a mightier, darker passion than had ever stirred itsdepths before. The soldiers of both parties, joined, too, by some fromthe castle--for a party headed by the Earl of Berwick himself hadattended to give countenance to the proclamation--rushed forward, butinvoluntarily fell back, awed for the moment by the mighty spirit of oneman; the knights, roused from their sullen posture, looked much as ifthey would, if they dared, have left the herald to his fate. Herefordand Berwick at the same instant spurred forward their steeds, the oneexclaiming, "Madman, let go your hold--you are tempting your own fate!Nigel, for the love of heaven! for the sake of those that love you, benot so rash!" the other thundering forth, "Cut down the traitor, an hewill not loose his hold. Forward, cowardly knaves! will ye hear yourking insulted, and not revenge it?--forward, I say! fear ye a singleman?"

  And numbers, spurred on by his words, dashed forward to obey him, butfearlessly Sir Nigel Bruce retained his hold with his left hand, andwith his right grasped tighter his sword, and stood, with the fierceundaunted port of a lion lashed into fury, gazing on his foes; but erehe had crossed with the foremost weapons, a slight lad burst through thegathering crowd, and with a piercing shriek threw himself at hismaster's feet, and grasping his knees, seemed by his pleading looks, forhis words were inaudible, imploring him to desist from his rashness. Atthe same moment another form pressed through the soldiers, her look, hermien compelling them involuntarily to open their ranks and give herpassage. The sword of Nigel was in the act of falling on a second foe,the first lay at his feet, when his arm was caught in its descent, andIsabella of Buchan stood at his side.

  "Forbear!" she said, in those rich impressive tones that ever forcedobedience. "Nigel Bruce, brother of my sovereign, friend of my son,forbear! strike not one blow for me. Mine honor needs no defence bythose that love me; my country will acquit me; the words of England'smonarch, angered at a woman's defiance of his power, affect me not!Noble Nigel, excite not further wrath against thyself by this vainstruggle for my sake; put up thy sword, ere it is forced from thee. Letgo thy hold; this man is but an instrument, why wreak thy wrath on him?Must I speak, implore in vain? Nay, then, I do command thee!"

  And those who gazed on her, as she drew that stately form to its fullheight, as they heard those accents of imperative command, scarcemarvelled that Edward should dread her influence, woman as she was.Despite the increasing wrath on the Earl of Berwick's brow, the menwaited to see the effect of these words. There was still an expressionof ill-controlled passion on Nigel's features. He waited one moment whenshe ceased to speak, then slowly and deliberately shook the herald bythe collar, and hurled him from his hold; snapped his sword in twain,and flinging it from him, folded his arms on his breast, and calmlyuttering, "Pardon me, noble lady, mine honor were impugned had Isuffered that dastardly villain to pass hence unpunished--let Edward actas he lists, it matters little now," waited with impenetrable resol
vethe rage he had provoked.

  "Nigel, Nigel, rash, impetuous boy, what hast thou done?" exclaimed thecountess, losing all mien and accent of command in the terror with whichshe clung round him, as if to protect him from all ill, in the tone andlook of maternal tenderness with which she addressed him. "Why, why mustit be my ill fate to hurl down increase of misery and danger on all whomI love?"

  "Speak not so, noble lady, in mercy do not!" he whispered in reply;"keep that undaunted spirit shown but now, I can better bear it thanthis voice of anguish. And thou," he added, laying his hand on theshoulder of the boy, who still clung to his knees, as if fascinatedthere by speechless terror, and gazed alternately on him and thecountess with eyes glazed almost in madness, "up, up; this is no placefor thee. What can they do with me but slay--let them come on--better,far better than a scaffold!" but the boy moved not, Nigel spoke in vain.

  The fate he dared seemed indeed threatening. Wrought well-nigh tophrensy at this daring insult to his sovereign, in whose acts of crueltyand oppression he could far better sympathize than in his more knightlyqualities, the Earl of Berwick loudly and fiercely called on hissoldiers to advance and cut down the traitor, to bring the heaviestfetters and bear him to the lowest dungeon. The men, roused from theirstupor of amaze, rushed on impetuously to obey him; their naked swordsalready gleamed round Nigel; the Countess of Buchan was torn from hisside, her own especial guards closing darkly around her; but vainly didthey seek to unclasp the convulsive grasp of the boy from Nigel, heneither shrieked nor spake, but he remained in that one posture, rigidas stone.

  "Fiends! monsters! would ye, dare ye touch a boy, a child as this!"shouted Nigel, struggling with herculean strength to free himself fromthe rude grasp of the soldiers, as he beheld the sharp steel pointed atthe breast of the boy, to compel him to unloose his hold. "Villains,cowards! bear back and let me speak with him," and nerved to madness bythe violence of his emotions, he suddenly wrenched himself away, therapidity of the movement throwing one of the men to the earth, and bentover the boy; again they rushed forward, they closed upon him, they toreaway the lad by force of numbers, and flung him senseless on the earth;they sought to bear away their prisoner, but at that moment Hereford,who had been parleying loudly and wrathfully with Berwick, spurred hischarger in the very midst of them, and compelled them to bear back.

  "Back, back!" he exclaimed, making a path for himself with his drawnsword; "how dare ye thrust yourselves betwixt me and my lawful prisoner,captive of my sword and power? what right have ye to dare detain him?Let go your hold, none but the men whose prowess gained this gallantprize shall guard him till my sovereign's will be known. Back, back, Isay!"

  "Traitor!" retorted Berwick, "he is no longer your prisoner. An insultoffered to King Edward, in the loyal citadel of Berwick, in my verypresence, his representative as I stand, shall meet with fitretribution. He hath insulted his sovereign by act and word, and Iattach him of high treason and will enforce my charge. Forward, I say!"

  "And I say back!" shouted the Earl of Hereford; "I tell thee, proudearl, he is my prisoner, and mine alone. Thou mayest vaunt thy loyalty,thy representation of majesty, as thou listeth, mine hath been proved atthe good sword's point, and Edward will deem me no traitor because Iprotect a captive, who hath surrendered himself a knight to a knight,rescue or no rescue, from this unseemly violence. I bandy no more wordswith such as thee; back! the first man that dares lay hold on him Ichastise with my sword."

  "Thou shalt repent this!" muttered Berwick, with a suppressed yetterrible oath, but he dared proceed no further.

  A signal from their leader brought up all Hereford's men, who, incompact order and perfect silence, surrounded their prisoner. Sternlythe earl called for a pair of handcuffs, and with his own hands fastenedthem on his captive. "It grieves me," he said, "to see a brave man thusmanacled, but thine own mad act hath brought it on thyself. And now, myLord of Berwick, an it please thee to proceed, we demand admission tothy citadel in King Edward's name. Bring up the other prisoners."

  Concealing his wrath with difficulty, the Earl of Berwick and hisattendants dashed forward over the drawbridge into the castle at fullspeed, closing the gates and lowering the portcullis after them. After abrief space, the portcullis was again raised, the gates flung wideapart, and the men-at-arms were discerned lining either side, in all dueform and homage to the officers of their sovereign. During the wrathfulwords passing between the two earls, the attention of the crowd had beengiven alternately to them and to the Countess of Buchan, who had utterlyforgotten her own precarious situation in anxiety for Nigel, and in pityfor the unfortunate child, who had been hurled by the soldiers close tothe spot where she stood.

  "Do not leave him there, he will be trampled on," she said, imploringly,to the officers beside her. "He can do no harm, poor child, Scotchthough he be. A little water, only bring me a little water, and he willspeedily recover."

  All she desired was done, the boy was tenderly raised and brought withinthe circle of her guards, and laid on the ground at her feet. She kneltdown beside him, chafed his cold hands within her own, and moistened hislips and brow with water. After a while his scattered senses returned,he started up in a sitting posture, and gazed in wild inquiry aroundhim, uttering a few inarticulate words, and then saying aloud, "SirNigel, my lord, my--my--master, where is he? oh! let me go to him; whyam I here?"

  "Thou shalt go to him, poor boy, as soon as thy strength returns; anthey have let thee follow him from Scotland, surely they will not partye now," said the countess soothingly, and her voice seemed to rouse thelad into more consciousness. He gazed long in her face, with anexpression which at that time she could not define, but which startledand affected her, and she put her arm round him and kissed his brow. Aconvulsive almost agonized sob broke from the boy's breast, and causedhis slight frame to shake as with an ague, then suddenly he knelt beforeher, and, in accents barely articulate, murmured--

  "Bless me, oh bless me!" while another word seemed struggling forutterance, but checked with an effort which caused it to die on his lipsin indistinct murmurs.

  "Bless thee, poor child! from my very heart I do, if the blessing of onesorrowing and afflicted as myself can in aught avail thee. For thyfaithfulness to thy master, I bless thee, for it speaketh well for thee,and that face would bid me love and bless thee for thyself, I know notwherefore. Good angels keep and bless thee, gentle boy, thou hastIsabella's prayers, and may they give thee peace."

  "Pray for me, aye, pray for me," repeated the boy, in the same murmuredtones. He clasped her hands in both his, he pressed them again and againto his lips, repeated sobs burst from his laboring breast, and then hesprung up, darted away, and stood at Sir Nigel's side, just as the Earlof Hereford had commanded his men to wheel a little to the right, topermit the Countess of Buchan, her guards and officers, free passageover the drawbridge, and first entrance within the fortress.

  The brow of this noble son of chivalry darkened as, sitting motionlesson his tall steed, his gaze rested on the noble woman whom it hadoriginally been his painful charge to deliver over to his sovereign. Hehad not dreamed of a vengeance such as this. He could not have believeda change so dark as this had fallen on the character of a sovereign whomhe still loved, still sought to admire and revere, and his spirit sunk'neath the sorrow this conviction caused. Almost involuntarily, as theprocession slowly proceeded, and the countess passed within three pacesof his horse's head, he bent his lordly brow in silent homage; she sawit and returned it, more effected by the unfeigned commiseration on thatwarrior's face, than at aught which had occurred to shame and humble herthat morning.

  A brief pause took place in the movements of the officers and theirprisoners, when they reached the great hall of the castle. For a briefminute Lady Seaton and the Countess of Buchan had met, had claspedhands, in sad, yet eager greeting. "My child, mine Agnes?" had been bythe latter hurriedly whispered, and the answer, "Safe, I trust, safe,"just permitted to reach her ear, when roughly and fiercely the Earl ofBerwick summoned the
Lady of Buchan to proceed to the chamber appointedfor her use. Those simple words had, however, removed a load of anxietyfrom her mind, for they appeared to confirm what she had sometimespermitted herself to hope, that Agnes had shared King Robert's exile,under the care of Lady Campbell; prevailed on to do so, perchance, bythe entreaties of Nigel, who in all probability had deemed that course,though one of hardship, less perilous than remaining with him. She hopedindeed against her better judgment, for though she knew not the depth,the might of her daughter's feelings, she knew it must have been aterrible trial so to part, and she absolutely shuddered when she thoughtof the whelming blow it would be to that young heart when the fate ofher betrothed was ascertained.

  Lady Seaton had spoken as she believed. No communication had beenpermitted between the prisoners on their way to England; indeed, fromSir Christopher's wounded and exhausted state, he had travelled moreleisurely in a litter, always in the rear of the earl's detachment, andoccupied by her close attendance upon him, his wife had scarcely beenaware of the young page ever in attendance on her brother, or deemedhim, if she did observe him, a retainer of Hereford's own. There was somuch of fearful peril and misery hovering over her in her husband'sfate, that it was not much wonder her thoughts lingered there more thanon Agnes, and that she was contented to believe as she had spoken, thatshe at least was safe.

  Night fell on the town of Berwick. Silence and darkness had come on herbrooding wings; the varied excitement of the day was now but a matter ofwondering commune round the many blazing hearths, where the busy crowdsof the morning had now gathered. Night came, with her closing pall, hersoftened memories, her sleeping visions, and sad waking dreams. She hadcome, alike to the mourned and mourner, the conqueror and his captive,the happy and the wretched. She had found the Earl of Berwick pacing upand down his stately chamber, his curtained couch unsought, devisingschemes to lower the haughty pride of the gallant warrior whom he yetfeared. She had looked softly within the room where that warrior lay,and found him, too, sleepless, but not from the same dark dreams. Hegrieved for his sovereign, for the fate of one noble spirit shrined in awoman's form, and restless and fevered, turned again and again withinhis mind how he might save from a yet darker doom the gallant youth hisarms had conquered. And not alone on them did night look down. She senther sweet, reviving influence, on the rays of a bright liquid star,through the narrow casement which gave light to the rude unfurnishedchamber where Sir Nigel Bruce and his attendant lay. They had not tornthat poor faithful child from his side. Hereford's last commands hadbeen that they should not part them, and there they now lay; and sleep,balmy sleep had for them descended on the wings of night, hovering overthat humble pallet of straw, when from the curtained couch of power, thedowny bed of luxury, she fled. There they lay; but it was the boy wholay on the pallet of straw, his head pillowed by the arm of the knight,who sat on a wooden settle at his side. He had watched for a brief spacethose troubled slumbers, but as they grew calmer and calmer, he hadpressed one light kiss on the soft yielding cheek, and then leant hishead on his breast, and he too slept--even in sleep tending one beloved.

  And in the dark, close sleeping-chamber within the prison cage of thenoble Countess of Buchan, night too looked pityingly. Sleep indeed wasnot there; it had come and gone, for in a troubled slumber a dream hadcome of Agnes, and she had woke to think upon her child, and pray forher; and as she prayed, she thought of her promise to the poor boy whohad so strangely moved her. She could not trace how one thought hadsprung from the other, nor why in the darkness his features so suddenlyflashed before her; but so it was. His face seemed to gleam upon herwith the same strange, indefinable expression which, even at the time,had startled her; and then a sudden flash appeared to illumine thatdarkness of bewilderment. She started up from her reclining posture; shepressed both hands on her throbbing eyeballs; a wild, sickening yearningtook possession of her whole soul; and then she felt, in its fullbitterness, she was a chained and guarded prisoner and the deep anguishof her spirit found vent in the convulsive cry--

  "Fool, fool that I was--my child! my child!"