, most deserving. He is not lost to thee;
trial will but prove his worth unto his countrymen even more than would
success."

"And how knowest thou these things, my Isabella?" demanded Margaret,
looking up in her face, with a half-playful, half-sorrowful smile. "Hast
thou the gift of prophecy?"

"Prophecy!" repeated the countess, sadly. "Alas! 'tis but the character
of Robert which hath inspired my brighter vision. Had I the gift of
prophecy, my fond heart would not start and quiver thus, when it vainly
strives to know the fate of my only son. I, too, have anxiety, lady,
though it find not words."

"Thou hast, thou hast, indeed; and yet I, weak, selfish as I am, think
only of myself. Stay by me, Isabella; oh, do not leave me, I am stronger
by thy side."

It was growing darker and darker, and the hopes that, ere night fell,
new and more trustworthy intelligence of the movements of the fugitives
would be received were becoming fainter and fainter on every heart.
Voices were hushed to silence, or spoke only in whispers. Half an hour
passed thus, when the listless suffering on the lovely face of Agnes was
observed by Isoline to change to an expression of intense attention.

"Hearest thou no step?" she said, in a low, piercing whisper, and laying
a cold and trembling hand on Isoline's arm. "It is, it is his--it is
Nigel's; he has not fallen--he is spared!" and she started up, a bright
flush on her cheek, her hands pressed convulsively on her heart.

"Nay, Agnes, there is no sound, 'tis but a fancy," but even while she
spoke, a rapid step was heard along the corridor, and a shadow darkened
the doorway--but was that Nigel? There was no plume, no proud crest on
his helmet; its vizor was still closely barred, and a surcoat of coarse
black stuff was thrown over his armor, without any decoration to display
or betray the rank of the wearer. A faint cry of alarm broke from the
queen and many of her friends, but with one bound Agnes sprang to the
intruder, whose arms were open to receive her, and wildly uttering
"Nigel!" fainted on his bosom.

"And didst thou know me even thus, beloved?" he murmured, rapidly
unclasping his helmet and dashing it from him, to imprint repeated
kisses on her cheek. "Wake, Agnes, best beloved, my own sweet love; what
hadst thou heard that thou art thus? Oh, wake, smile, speak to me: 'tis
thine own Nigel calls."

And vainly, till that face smiled again on him in consciousness, would
the anxious in