nto
almost solemnity; "the safety of thy noble countess shall not be
hazarded through me. Leave me with my husband, add but this last mercy
to the many thou hast showered on me, and the blessing of God will rest
on thee and thy noble wife forever."

She raised his hand to her lips, and Gloucester, much affected, placed
hers in her husband's, and wrung them convulsively together. "We shall
meet again," was all he trusted his voice to utter, and departed.

The hours waned, each one finding no change in the position of those
loving ones. The arm of Agnes twined around the neck of her beloved, her
brow leaned against his bosom, her left hand clasped his right, and his
left arm, though fettered, could yet fold that slender waist, could yet
draw her closer to him, with an almost unconscious pressure; his lips
repeatedly pressed that pale brow, which only moved from its position to
lift up her eyes at his entreaty in his face, and he would look on those
features, lovely still, despite their attenuation and deep sorrow, gaze
at them with an expression that, spite of his words of consoling love,
betrayed that the dream of earth yet lingered; he could not close his
eyes on her without a thrill of agony, sharper than the pang of death.
But the enthusiast and the patriot spoke not at that hour only of
himself, or that dearer self, the only being he had loved. He spoke of
his country, aye, and less deplored the chains which bound her then,
than with that prophetic spirit sometimes granted to the departing,
dilated on her future glory. He conjured Agnes, for his sake, to
struggle on and live; to seek his brother and tell him that, save
herself, Nigel's last thought, last prayer was his; that standing on the
brink of eternity, the mists of the present had rolled away, he saw but
the future--Scotland free, and Robert her beloved and mighty king.

"Bid him not mourn for Nigel," he said; "bid him not waver from his
glorious purpose, because so many of his loved and noble friends must
fall--their blood is their country's ransom; tell him, had I a hundred
lives, I would have laid them down for him and for my country as gladly,
as unhesitatingly as the one I now resign; and tell him, dearest, how I
loved him to the last, how the recollection of his last farewell, his
fervent blessing lingered with me to the end, giving me strength to
strive for him and die, as becomes his brother; tell him I glory in my
death--it has no shame, no terror,