them for a union in eternity. His words were
few but earnest, and for the first time the lip of Agnes was observed to
quiver--they were ONE. Agnes was clasped to the heart of her
husband; she heard him call her his own--his wife--that man should never
part them more. The voice of congratulation woke around her, but ere
either could gaze around to look their thanks, or clasp the eagerly
proffered hand, a cry of alarm, of horror, ran though the building. A
red, lurid light, impossible to be mistaken, illumined every window, as
from a fearful conflagration without; darkness had fled before it. On
all sides it was light--light the most horrible, the most awful, though
perchance the most fascinating the eye can behold; fearful shouts and
cries, and the rush of many feet, mingled with the now easily
distinguished roar of the devouring element, burst confusedly on the
ear. A minute sufficed to fling open the door of the church for knights
and men-at-arms to rush forth in one indiscriminate mass. Sir
Christopher would have followed them, utterly regardless of his
inability, had not his wife clung to him imploringly, and effectually
restrained him. The abbot, grasping the silver crosier by his side, with
a swift, yet still majestic stride, made his way through the church, and
vanished by the widely opened door. Agnes and Sir Nigel stood
comparatively alone; not a cry, not a word passed her lips; every
feature was wrapped in one absorbing look upon her husband. He had
clasped his hands convulsively together, his brow was knit, his lip
compressed, his eye fixed and rigid, though it gazed on vacancy.

"It hath fallen, it hath fallen!" he muttered. "Fool, fool that I was
never to dream of this! Friends, followers, all I hold most dear,
swallowed up in this fell swoop! God of mercy, how may it be born! And
thou, thou," he added, in increased agony, roused from that stupor by
the wild shouts of "Sir Nigel, Sir Nigel! where is he? why does he tarry
in such an hour?" that rung shrilly on the air. "Agnes, mine own, it is
not too late even now to fly. Ha! son of Dermid, in good tune thou art
here; save her, in mercy save her! I know not when, or how, or where we
may meet again; I may not tarry here." He clasped her in his arms,
imprinted an impassioned kiss on her now death-like cheek, placed her at
once in the arms of the seer (who, robed as a minstrel, had stood
concealed behind a projecting pillar during the ceremony, and now
approach