gle moment of suffering called death. It is mine, my beloved,
and shall be thine; and oh, when we meet there, how trivial will seem
the dark woes and boding cares of earth! I have told thee the vision of
my vigil, Agnes, my beloved; again I have seen that blessed spirit, aye,
and there was no more sadness on his pale brow, naught, naught of
earth--spiritualized, etherealized. He hovered over my sleep, and with a
smile beckoned me to the glorious world he inhabits; he seemed to call
me, to await me, and then the shrouding clouds on which he lay closed
thicker and thicker round him, till naught but his celestial features
beamed on me. Agnes, dearest, best, think of me thus, as blessed
eternally, unchangeably, as awaiting thee to share that blessedness, not
as one lost to thee, beloved; and peace, aye, joy e'en yet shall smile
for thee."

"Nigel, Nigel, are there such things for the desolate, the lone?"
murmured Agnes, raising her pale brow and looking despairingly in his
face. "Oh, I will think on thee, picture thee in thy thrice-glorified
home, but it will be with all of mortal clinging to me still, and the
wild yearnings to come to thee will banish all of peace. Speak not such
words to thy poor weak Agnes, my beloved. I will struggle on to bear thy
message to my sovereign; there lies my path when thou art gone, darkness
envelops it when that goal is gained--I have no future now, save that
which gives me back to thee."

He could not answer, and then again there was silence, broken only by
the low voice of prayer. They knelt together on the cold stones, he
raised her cold hands with his in supplication; he prayed for mercy,
pardon for himself, for comfort, strength for her; he prayed for his
country and her king, her chained and sorrowing sons, and the soft,
liquid star of morning, gloaming forth through heavy masses of murky
clouds directly on them as they knelt, appeared an angel's answer. The
dawn broke; bluer and bluer became the small and heavily-barred
casement, clearer and clearer grew the damp walls of the dungeons, and
morning, in its sunshine and gladness, laughed along the earth. Closer
and closer did Agnes cling to that noble heart, but she spoke no word.
"He tarries long--merciful heaven, grant he be not detained too late!"
she heard her husband murmur, as to himself, as time waned and
Gloucester came not, and she guessed his thoughts.

"I care not," she answered, in a voice so hollow he shuddered; "I will