meet thy fate alone--thee, to whom my mother gave
me--thee, without whom my very life is naught? Nigel, oh, despise me not
for these wild words, unmaidenly as they sound; oh, let me speak them,
or my heart will break!"

"Despise thee for these blessed words!" Nigel answered, passionately, as
he raised her from the ground, and clasped her to his heart. "Oh, thou
knowest not the bliss they give; yet, yet would I speak of parting,
implore thee still to leave me, aye, though in that parting my very
heart-strings snap. Agnes, how may I bear to see thee in the power of
the foe, perchance insulted, persecuted, tortured with the ribald
admiration of the rude crowd, and feel I have no power to save thee, no
claim to bind thee to my side. What are the mere chains of love in such
an hour, abiding by me, as thou mightst, till our last hope is over, and
English colors wave above this fortress--then, dearest, oh, must we not,
shall we not be rudely parted?"

"No, no! Who shall dare to part us?" she said, as she clung sobbing to
his breast. "Who shall dare to do this thing, and say I may not tend
thee, follow thee, even until death?"

"Who? our captors, dearest. Thinkest thou they will heed thy tender
love, thine anguish? will they have hearts for aught save for thy
loveliness, sweet one? Think, think of terrors like to this, and oh,
still wilt thou refuse to fly?"

"But thy sister, the Lady Seaton, Nigel, doth she not stay, doth she not
brave these perils?" asked Agnes, shuddering at her lover's words, yet
clinging to him still. "If she escapes such evil, why, oh, why may not
I?"

"She is Seaton's wife, sweet one, bound to him by the voice of heaven,
by the holiest of ties; the noble knights who head our foes will protect
her in all honorable keeping; but for thee, Agnes, even if the ills I
dread be as naught, there is yet one I have dared not name, lest it
should pain thee, yet one that is most probable as 'tis most fearful;
thou canst not hide thy name, and as a daughter of Buchan, oh, will they
not give thee to a father's keeping?"

"The murderer of my brother--my mother's jailer! Oh, Nigel, Nigel, to
look on him were more than death!" she wildly exclaimed. "Yet, yet once
known as Agnes of Buchan, this will, this must be; but leave thee now,
leave thee to a tyrant's doom, if indeed, indeed thou fallest in his
hands--leave thee, when faithful love and woman's tenderness are more
than ever needed--leave thee for a fear like