gainst the slight and almost paralyzed
form of Gloucester's page as he stood in the doorway, as nearly to throw
him to the ground. Nigel sprung forward, but was held back with a grasp
of iron by the Earl of Gloucester, nor did he relinquish his hold till
Buchan had passed through the doorway, till the heavy hinges had firmly
closed again, and the step of the departing earl had entirely faded in
distance.

"Now, then, we are safe," he said; "thank heaven!" but his words were
scarcely heard, for the page had bounded within the extended arms of
Nigel, had clung so closely to his heart, he could feel nothing, see
nothing, save that slender form; could hear nothing but those deep,
agonized sobs, which are so terrible when unaccompanied by the relief of
tears. For a while Nigel could not speak--he could not utter aught of
comfort, for he felt it not; that moment was the bitterness of death.

"Torture! did he not speak of torture? will he not come again?" were the
words that at length fell, shudderingly, from the lips of Agnes. "Nigel,
Nigel, if it must be, give me up; he cannot inflict aught more of misery
now."

"Fear not, lady; he dare not," hastily rejoined Gloucester. "The torture
dare not be administered without consent of Edward, and that now cannot
be obtained; he will not have sufficient--" time, he was going to say,
but checked himself; for the agonized look of Agnes told him his meaning
was more than sufficiently understood. "Nigel," he added, laying his
hand on the young man's shoulder, "Nigel, my noble, gallant friend--for
so I will call thee, though I sat in judgment on thee, aye, and tacitly
acquiesced in thy sentence--shrink not, oh, shrink not now! I saw not a
quiver on thy lip, a pallor on thy cheek, nay, nor faltering in thy
step, when they read a doom at which I have marked the bravest blench;
oh, let not, that noble spirit fail thee now!"

"Gloucester, it shall not!" he said, with suddenly regained firmness, as
supporting Agnes with his right arm he convulsively wrung the hand of
his friend with the other. "It was but the sight of this beloved one,
the thought--no matter, it is over. Agnes, my beloved, my own, oh, look
on me; speak, tell me all that hath befallen thee since they tore thee
from me, and filled my soul with darker dread for thee than for myself.
To see thee with this noble earl is enough to know how heavy a burden of
gratitude I owe him, which thou, sweetest, must discharge. Yet speak to