CHAPTER XXV.
The shades of advancing night had already appeared to have enwrapped theearth some hours, when Nigel Bruce was startled from an uneasy slumberby the creaking sounds of bolts and bars announcing the entrance of someone within the dungeon. The name of his beloved, his devoted Agnes,trembled on his lips, but fearful of betraying her to unfriendly ears,ho checked himself, and started up, exclaiming, "Who comes?" No answerwas vouchsafed, but the dim light of a lamp, placed by the intruder onthe floor, disclosed a figure wrapped from head to foot in the shroudingmantle of the time, not tall, but appearing a stout muscular person,banishing on the instant Nigel's scarcely-formed hope that it was theonly one he longed to see.
"What wouldst thou?" he said, after a brief pause. "Doth Edward practisemidnight murder? Speak, who art thou?"
"Midnight murder, thou boasting fool; I love thee not well enough tocheat the hangman of his prey," replied a harsh and grating voice,which, even without the removal of the cloak, would have revealed toNigel's astonished ears the Earl of Buchan. "Ha! I have startledthee--thou didst not know the deadly enemy of thy accursed race!"
"I know thee now, my Lord of Buchan," replied the young man, calmly;"yet know I not wherefore thou art here, save to triumph over the fallenfortunes of thy foe; if so, scorn on--I care not. A few brief hours, andall of earth and earthly feeling is at rest."
"To triumph--scorn! I had scarce travelled for petty satisfaction suchas that, when to-morrow sees thee in the hangman's hands, the scorn ofthousands! Hath Buchan no other work with thee, thinkest thou? dost thouaffirm thou knowest naught for which he hath good cause to seek thee?"
"Earl of Buchan, I dare affirm it," answered Nigel, proudly; "I know ofnaught to call for words or tones as these, save, perchance, that thelove and deep respect in which I hold thine injured countess, myfriendship for thy murdered son, hath widened yet more the breachbetween thy house and mine--it may be so; yet deem not, cruel as thouart, I will deny feelings in which I glory, at thy bidding. An thoucomest to reproach me with these things, rail on, they affect me aslittle as thy scorn."
"Hadst thou said love for her they call my daughter, thou hadst beennearer the mark," retorted the earl, fury rapidly gaining possession ofheart and voice; "but thou art too wise, too politic for that."
"Aye," retorted Nigel, after a fearful struggle with himself, "aye, thoumayest well add love for Agnes of Buchan, as well as friendship for herbrother. Thinkest thou I would deny it--hide it? little dost thou knowits thrilling, its inspiring power; little canst thou know how I gloryin it, cherish, linger on it still. But wherefore speak thus to thee,thou man of wickedness and blood. I love thy pure and spotless child,rejoice that thou didst so desert, so utterly neglect her, that thoucouldst no more leave a shadow on her innocent heart than a cloud uponher way. I love her, glory in that love, and what is it to thee?"
"What is it to me? that a child of the house of Comyn dare hold communewith a Bruce; that thou hast dared to love a daughter of my house, aye,to retain her by thy side a willing mistress, when all others of her sexforsook thee--what is it to me? Did not to-morrow give thee to atraitor's doom, thy blood should answer thee; but as it is, villain andslave, give her to me--where is her hiding-place? speak, or the tortureshall wring it from thee."
"Thinkest thou such threats will in aught avail thee?" calmly repliedNigel. "Thou knowest not the Bruce. Agnes is no longer a Comyn, nolonger a subject to thy guardianship. The voice of God, the rites at thealtar's foot, have broken every link, save that which binds her to herhusband. She is mine, before God and man is mine--mine own faithful andlawful wife!"
"Thou liest, false villain!" furiously retorted Buchan. "The churchshall undo these bonds, shall give her back to the father she has thusinsulted. She shall repent, repent with tears of blood, her desertion ofher race. Canst thou protect her in death, thou fool--canst thou stillcherish and save her, thinkest thou, when the hangman hath done hiswork?"
"Aye, even then she will be cherished, loved for Nigel's sake, and forher own; there will be faithful friends around her to protect her fromthee still, tyrant! Thou canst not break the bonds that bind us; thouhast done no father's part. Forsaken and forgotten, thy children owethee no duty, no obedience; thou canst bring forward no plea topersecute thy child. In life and in death she is mine, mine alone; thepower and authority thou hast spurned so long can no longer be assumed;the love, the obedience thou didst never heed, nay, trampled on, hathbeen transferred to one who glories in them both. She is insafety--slay, torture as thou wilt, I tell thee no more." Fettered,unarmed, firm, undauntedly erect, stood Nigel Bruce, gazing with curlinglip and flashing eyes upon his foe. The foam had gathered on the earl'slip, his hand, clenching his sword, had trembled with passion as Nigelspoke, He sought to suppress that rage, to remember a public executionwould revenge him infinitely more than a blow of his sword, but he hadbeen too long unused to control; lashed into ungovernable fury by thedemeanor of Nigel, even more than by his words, the sword flashed fromits scabbard, was raised, and fell--but not upon his foe, for the Earlof Gloucester suddenly stood between them.
"Art thou mad, or tired of life, my Lord of Buchan?" he said. "Knowestthou not thou art amenable to the law, an thou thus deprivest justice ofher victim? Shame, shame, my lord; I deemed thee not a midnightmurderer."
"Darest thou so speak to me?" replied Buchan, fiercely; "by every fiendin hell, thou shalt answer this! Begone, and meddle not with that whichconcerneth thee nothing."
"It doth concern me, proud earl," replied Gloucester, standingimmediately before Nigel, whose emotion at observing the page by whom hewas accompanied, though momentary, must otherwise have been observed."The person of the prisoner is sacred to the laws of his country, themandate of his sovereign; on thy life thou darest not injure him--thouknowest that thou darest not. Do thou begone, ere I summon those who, atthe mere mention of assault on one condemned, will keep thee in wardtill thou canst wreak thy vengeance on naught but clay; begone, I say!"
"I will not," sullenly answered the earl, unwillingly conscious of thetruth of his words; "I will not, till he hath answered me. Once more,"he added, turning to Nigel with a demoniac scowl, "where is she whomthou hast dared to call thy wife? answer me, or as there is a hellbeneath us, the torture shall wring it from thee!"
"In safety, where thine arm shall never reach her," haughtily answeredthe young nobleman. "Torture! what wilt thou torture--the senselessclay? Hence--I defy thee! Death will protect me from thy lawless power;death will set his seal upon me ere we meet again."
The earl muttered a deep and terrible oath, and then he strode away,coming in such violent contact against the slight and almost paralyzedform of Gloucester's page as he stood in the doorway, as nearly to throwhim to the ground. Nigel sprung forward, but was held back with a graspof iron by the Earl of Gloucester, nor did he relinquish his hold tillBuchan had passed through the doorway, till the heavy hinges had firmlyclosed again, and the step of the departing earl had entirely faded indistance.
"Now, then, we are safe," he said; "thank heaven!" but his words werescarcely heard, for the page had bounded within the extended arms ofNigel, had clung so closely to his heart, he could feel nothing, seenothing, save that slender form; could hear nothing but those deep,agonized sobs, which are so terrible when unaccompanied by the relief oftears. For a while Nigel could not speak--he could not utter aught ofcomfort, 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 thewords 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 miserynow."
"Fear not, lady; he dare not," hastily rejoined Gloucester. "The torturedare not be administered without consent of Edward, and that now cannotbe obtained; he will not have sufficient--" time, he was going to say,but checked himself; for the agonized look of Agnes told him his meaningwas more than sufficiently understood. "Nigel," he added, laying hishand on t
he young man's shoulder, "Nigel, my noble, gallant friend--forso I will call thee, though I sat in judgment on thee, aye, and tacitlyacquiesced in thy sentence--shrink not, oh, shrink not now! I saw not aquiver on thy lip, a pallor on thy cheek, nay, nor faltering in thystep, 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, assupporting Agnes with his right arm he convulsively wrung the hand ofhis 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, lookon me; speak, tell me all that hath befallen thee since they tore theefrom 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 ofgratitude I owe him, which thou, sweetest, must discharge. Yet speak tome, beloved; tell me all, all."
Emulating his calmness, remembering even at that moment her promise notto unman him in the moment of trial by vain repinings, Agnes compliedwith his request. Her tale was frequently interrupted by those terriblesobs, which seemed to threaten annihilation; but Nigel could gather fromit so much of tenderness and care on the part of the princess, that thedeepest gratitude filled his heart, and spoke in his impassioned words.
"Tell her, oh, tell her, if the prayers of the dying can in aught availher, the blessedness of heaven shall be hers even upon earth!" heexclaimed, gazing up in the earl's face with eyes that spoke his soul."Oh, I knew her not, when in former years I did but return her kindnesswith silence and reserve; I saw in her little more than the daughter ofEdward. Tell her, on my knees I beseech her pardon for that wrong; in mylast prayers I shall breathe her name."
"And wherefore didst thou go with her?" he continued, on Agnes narratingthe scene between the princess and the king. "Alas! my gentle one, hadstthou not endured enough, that thou wouldst harrow up thy soul by hearingthe confirmation of my doom from the tyrant's own ruthless lips--didstdream of pardon? dearest, no, thou couldst not."
"Nigel, Nigel, I did, even at that moment, though they told me thou wertcondemned, that nothing could save thee; though the princess besought mealmost on her knees to spare myself this useless trial, I would notlisten to her. I would not believe that all was hopeless; I dreamedstill, still of pardon, that Edward would listen to his noble child,would forgive, and I thought, even if she failed, I would so plead hemust have mercy, he would listen to me and grant my prayer. I did dreamof pardon, but it was vain, vain! Nigel, Nigel, why did my voice fail,my eye grow dim? I might have won thy pardon yet."
"Beloved, thou couldst not," he answered, mournfully. "Mine own sweetAgnes, take comfort, 'tis but a brief farewell; we shall meet where warand blood and death can never enter more."
"I know it, Oh, I know it," she sobbed; "but to part thus, to lose thee,and by such a death, oh, it is horrible, most horrible!"
"Nay, look not on it thus, beloved; there is no shame even in thisdeath, if there be no shame in him who dies."
"Shame!" she repeated; "couldst think I could couple aught of shame withthee, my own? even this dark fate is noble when borne by such as thee."
Nigel held her closer to his heart, and for his sole answer pressed aquivering kiss upon her cheek. Gloucester, who had been in earnestcommune with the sentinel without the door, now returned, and informedhim that the soldier, who was well known to him and who much dislikedhis present watch, had willingly consented that the page (whomGloucester had represented as a former attendant of Sir Nigel's, thoughnow transferred to his service) should remain with his former master, oncondition that the earl would come for him before the priests and otherswho were to attend him to the scaffold entered the dungeon, as thisdeparture from the regular prison discipline, shown as it was to oneagainst whom the king was unusually irritated, might cost him his head.Gloucester had promised faithfully, and he offered them the melancholyoption of parting now, or a few sad hours hence.
"Let me, do let me stay; Nigel, my husband, send me not from thee now!"exclaimed Agnes, sinking at his feet and clasping his knees. "I will notweep, nor moan, nor in aught afflict thee. Nigel, dearest Nigel, I willnot leave thee now."
"But is it wise, is it well, my best beloved? think, if in the deepanguish of to-morrow thy disguise be penetrated, thy sex discovered, andthy cruel father claim thee, dragging thee even from the protection ofthe princess--oh, the bitterness of death were doubled then! Thouthinkest but of me, mine own, but thy safety, thy future peace is allnow left for me."
"Safety, peace--oh, do not, do not mock me, Nigel--where are they forpoor Agnes, save in her husband's grave? What is life now, that thoushouldst seek to guard it? no, no, I will abide by thee, thou shalt notsend me hence."
"But to-morrow, lady, to-morrow," interposed Gloucester, with deepcommiseration. "I would not, from any selfish fear, shorten by oneminute the few sad hours ye may yet pass together, but bethink ye, Idare not promise to shield thee from the horrors of to-morrow, for Icannot. Fearful scenes and sounds may pass before thee; thou mayest comein contact with men from whom thou wilt shrink in horror, and thoughthine own safety be of little worth, remember the betrayal of thy sexand rank may hurl down the royal vengeance on the head of thyprotectress, daughter of Edward though she be. Canst thou be firm--wiltthou, canst thou await the morrow?"
"Yes," answered Agnes, the wildness of her former accents subsiding intoalmost solemnity; "the safety of thy noble countess shall not behazarded through me. Leave me with my husband, add but this last mercyto the many thou hast showered on me, and the blessing of God will reston thee and thy noble wife forever."
She raised his hand to her lips, and Gloucester, much affected, placedhers in her husband's, and wrung them convulsively together. "We shallmeet again," was all he trusted his voice to utter, and departed.
The hours waned, each one finding no change in the position of thoseloving ones. The arm of Agnes twined around the neck of her beloved, herbrow leaned against his bosom, her left hand clasped his right, and hisleft arm, though fettered, could yet fold that slender waist, could yetdraw her closer to him, with an almost unconscious pressure; his lipsrepeatedly pressed that pale brow, which only moved from its position tolift up her eyes at his entreaty in his face, and he would look on thosefeatures, lovely still, despite their attenuation and deep sorrow, gazeat them with an expression that, spite of his words of consoling love,betrayed that the dream of earth yet lingered; he could not close hiseyes 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 ofhimself, or that dearer self, the only being he had loved. He spoke ofhis 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, tostruggle on and live; to seek his brother and tell him that, saveherself, Nigel's last thought, last prayer was his; that standing on thebrink of eternity, the mists of the present had rolled away, he saw butthe future--Scotland free, and Robert her beloved and mighty king.
"Bid him not mourn for Nigel," he said; "bid him not waver from hisglorious purpose, because so many of his loved and noble friends mustfall--their blood is their country's ransom; tell him, had I a hundredlives, 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 Iloved him to the last, how the recollection of his last farewell, hisfervent blessing lingered with me to the end, giving me strength tostrive for him and die, as becomes his brother; tell him I glory in mydeath--it has no shame, no terror, for it is for him and Scotland. Wiltthou remember all this, sweet love? wilt thou speak to him these words?"
"Trust me I will, all, all that thou hast said; they are written here,"placing her hand on her heart, "here, and they will not leave me, evenif all else fail."
"And thou wilt say to him, mine own, that Nigel besought his love, histenderness for thee," he continued, losing the enthusiasm of the
patriotin the tenderness of the husband; "tell him I look to him in part todischarge the debt of love, of gratitude I owe to thee; to guard thee,cherish thee as his own child. Alas! alas! I speak as if thou must reachhim, and yet, beset with danger, misery, as thou art, how may this be?"
"Fear not for me; it shall be, my husband. I will do thy bidding, I willseek my king," she said, for when comfort failed for him, she sought togive it. "Hast forgotten Dermid's words? He would be near me when Ineeded him, and he will be, my beloved, I doubt him not."
"Could I but think so, could I but know that he would be near to shieldthee, oh, life's last care would be at an end, said Nigel, earnestly;and then for some time that silence, more eloquent, more fraught withfeeling in such an hour than the most impassioned words, fell on themboth. When again he spoke, it was on a yet more holy theme; thethoughts, the dreams of heaven, which from boyhood had been his, nowfound vent in words and tones, which thrilled to the inmost spirit ofhis listener, and lingered there, when all other sense had fled. He hadlived in an era of darkness. Revelation in its doctrines belonged to thepriests alone; faith and obedience demanded by the voice of man alone,were all permitted to the laity, and spirits like Nigel's consequentlyformed a natural religion, in which they lived and breathed, hallowingthe rites which they practised, giving scope and glory to their faith.He pictured the world, on whose threshold he now stood, pictured it, notwith a bold unhallowed hand, but as the completion, the consummation ofall those dim whisperings of joy, and hope, and wisdom, which hadengrossed him below--the perfection of that beauty, that loveliness, inthe material and immaterial, he had yearned for in vain on earth.
"And this world of incomparable unshadowed loveliness awaits me," hesaid, the superstition of the age mingling for the moment with thoughtswhich seemed to mark him a century beyond his compeers; "purchased bythat single moment of suffering called death. It is mine, my beloved,and shall be thine; and oh, when we meet there, how trivial will seemthe dark woes and boding cares of earth! I have told thee the vision ofmy vigil, Agnes, my beloved; again I have seen that blessed spirit, aye,and there was no more sadness on his pale brow, naught, naught ofearth--spiritualized, etherealized. He hovered over my sleep, and with asmile beckoned me to the glorious world he inhabits; he seemed to callme, to await me, and then the shrouding clouds on which he lay closedthicker and thicker round him, till naught but his celestial featuresbeamed on me. Agnes, dearest, best, think of me thus, as blessedeternally, unchangeably, as awaiting thee to share that blessedness, notas one lost to thee, beloved; and peace, aye, joy e'en yet shall smilefor thee."
"Nigel, Nigel, are there such things for the desolate, the lone?"murmured Agnes, raising her pale brow and looking despairingly in hisface. "Oh, I will think on thee, picture thee in thy thrice-glorifiedhome, but it will be with all of mortal clinging to me still, and thewild yearnings to come to thee will banish all of peace. Speak not suchwords to thy poor weak Agnes, my beloved. I will struggle on to bear thymessage to my sovereign; there lies my path when thou art gone, darknessenvelops it when that goal is gained--I have no future now, save thatwhich gives me back to thee."
He could not answer, and then again there was silence, broken only bythe low voice of prayer. They knelt together on the cold stones, heraised her cold hands with his in supplication; he prayed for mercy,pardon for himself, for comfort, strength for her; he prayed for hiscountry and her king, her chained and sorrowing sons, and the soft,liquid star of morning, gloaming forth through heavy masses of murkyclouds directly on them as they knelt, appeared an angel's answer. Thedawn broke; bluer and bluer became the small and heavily-barredcasement, clearer and clearer grew the damp walls of the dungeons, andmorning, in its sunshine and gladness, laughed along the earth. Closerand 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 andGloucester came not, and she guessed his thoughts.
"I care not," she answered, in a voice so hollow he shuddered; "I willgo with thee, even to the scaffold."
But Gloucester, true to his promise, came at length; he was evidentlyanxious and disturbed, and a few hurried words told how the Earl ofBerwick had detained him in idle converse, as if determined to preventany private interview with the prisoner; even now the officers andpriests were advancing to the dungeons, their steps already reverberatedthrough the passages, and struck on the heart of Agnes as a bolt of ice."I had much, much I wished to say, but even had I time, what boots itnow? Nigel, worthy brother of him I so dearly loved, aye, even now woulddie to serve, fear not for the treasure thou leavest to my care; asthere is a God above us, I will guard her as my sister! Theycome--farewell, thou noble heart, thou wilt leave many a foe to mournthee!" The voice of the earl quivered with emotion. Nigel convulsivelypressed his extended hand, and then he folded Agnes in his arms; hekissed her lips, her brow, her cheek, he parted those clustering curlsto look again and yet again upon her face--pale, rigid as sculpturedmarble. She uttered no sound, she made no movement, but consciousnesshad not departed; the words of Gloucester on the previous night rung inher ears, demanding control, and mechanically she let her arms unloosetheir convulsive grasp of Nigel, and permitted the earl gently to leadher to the door, but ere it opened, she turned again to look on Nigel.He stood, his hands clasped in that convulsive pressure of agony, hisevery feature working with the mighty effort at control with the laststruggle of the mortal shell. With one faint yet thrilling cry shebounded back, she threw herself upon his swelling bosom, her lips methis in one last lingering kiss, and Gloucester tore her from his arms.They passed the threshold, another minute and the officers, and guard,and priest stood within the dungeon, and a harsh, rude voice bade theconfessor haste to shrive the prisoner, for the hour of execution was athand.
Bearing the slight form of the supposed page in his arms, Gloucesterhastily threaded the passages leading from the dungeon to the postern bywhich he had intended to depart. His plan had been to rejoin hisattendants and turn his back upon the city of Berwick ere the executioncould take place; a plan which, from his detention, he already found wasfutile. The postern was closed and secured, and he was compelled toretrace his steps to a gate he had wished most particularly to avoid,knowing that it opened on a part of the court which, from its commandinga view of the scaffold, he justly feared would be crowded. He had pausedbut to speak one word of encouragement to Agnes, who, with a calmnessappalling from the rigidity of feature which accompanied it, now stoodat his side; he bade her only hold by his cloak, and he hoped speedilyto lead her to a place of safety. She heard him and made a sign ofobedience. They passed the gate unquestioned, traversed an inner court,and made for the great entrance of the castle; there, unhappily, theirprogress was impeded. The scaffold, by order of Edward, had been erectedon the summit of a small green ascent exactly opposite the prison of theCountess of Buchan, and extending in a direct line about half a quarterof a mile to the right of the castle gates, which had been flung wideopen, that all the inhabitants of Berwick might witness the death of atraitor. Already the courts and every vacant space was crowded. A sea ofhuman heads was alone visible, nay, the very buttresses and somepinnacles of the castle, which admitted any footing, although of themost precarious kind, had been appropriated. The youth, theextraordinary beauty, and daring conduct of the prisoner had excited anunusual sensation in the town, and the desire to mark how such a spiritwould meet his fate became irresistibly intense. Already it seemed as ifthere could be no space for more, yet numbers were still pouring in, notonly most completely frustrating the intentions of the Earl ofGloucester, but forcing him, by the pressure of multitudes, with themtowards the scaffold. In vain he struggled to free himself a passage;in vain he haughtily declared his rank and bade the presumptuous serfsgive way. Some, indeed, fell back, but uselessly, for the crowds behindpushed on those before, and there was no retreating, no possible meansof escaping from that sight of horror which Gloucester had designed socom
pletely to avoid. In the agony of disappointment, not a little mixedwith terror as to its effects, he looked on his companion. There was nota particle of change upon her countenance; lips, cheek, brow, wereindeed bloodless as marble, and as coldly still; her eyes werefascinated on the scaffold, and they moved not, quivered not. Even whenthe figure of an aged minstrel, in the garb of Scotland, suddenly stoodbetween them and the dread object of their gaze, their expressionchanged not; she placed her hand in his, she spoke his name to herconductor, but it was as if a statue was suddenly endowed with voice andmotion, so cold was the touch of that hand, so sepulchral was thatvoice; she motioned him aside with a gesture that compelled obedience,and again she looked upon the scaffold. The earl welcomed the old mangladly, for the tale of Agnes had already prepared him to receive him,and to rely on his care to convey her back to Scotland. Engrossed withhis anxiety for her, and whenever that permitted him, speaking earnestlyto the old man, Gloucester remained wholly unconscious of the closevicinity of one he was at that moment most desirous to avoid.
The Earl of Buchan, in the moment of ungovernable rage, had indeed flunghimself on horseback and galloped from the castle the preceding night,intending to seek the king, and petition that the execution might bedeferred till the torture had dragged the retreat of Agnes from Nigel'slips. The cool air of night, however, had had the effect of so fardissipating the fumes of passion, as to convince him that it would bewell-nigh impossible to reach Carlisle, obtain an interview with Edwardat such an unseasonable hour, and return to Berwick in sufficient timefor the execution of his diabolical scheme. He let the reins fall on hishorse's neck, to ponder, and finally made up his mind it was better tolet things take their course, and the sentence of the prisoner proceedwithout interruption; a determination hastened by the thought thatshould he die under the torture, all the ignominy and misery of a publicexecution would be eluded. The night was very dark and misty, the roadin some parts passing through, woods and morasses, and the earl, toomuch engrossed with his own dark thoughts to attend to his path, lostthe track and wandered round and round, instead of going forward. Thisheightened not the amiability of his previous mood; but until dawn hisefforts to retrace his steps or even discover where he was were useless.The morning, however, enabled him to reach Berwick, which he did just asthe crowds were pouring into the castle-yard, and the heavy toll of thebell announced the commencement of that fatal tragedy. He hastilydismounted and mingled with the populace, they bore him onward throughanother postern to that by which the other crowds had impelledGloucester. Finding the space before them already occupied, these twohuman streams, of course, met and conjoined in the centre; and the twoearls stood side by side. Gloucester, as we have said, whollyunconscious of Buchan's vicinity, and Buchan watching his anxious andsorrowful looks with the satisfaction of a fiend, revelling in his beingthus hemmed in on all sides, and compelled to witness the execution ofhis friend. He watched him closely as he spoke with the minstrel, buttried in vain to distinguish what they said. He looked on the page too,and with some degree of wonder, though he believed it only mortal terrorwhich made him look thus, natural in so young a child; but afterwardsthat look was only too fatally recalled.
Sleepless and sad had been that long night to another inmate of BerwickCastle, as well as to Nigel and his Agnes. It was not till the dawn hadbroken that the Countess of Buchan had sunk into a deep though troubledslumber, for it was not till then the confused sounds of the workmenemployed in erecting the scaffold had ceased. She knew not for whom itwas upraised, what noble friend and gallant patriot would there besacrificed. She would not, could not believe it was for Nigel; for whenhis name arose in her thoughts, it was shudderingly repelled, and withhim came the thought of her child--where, oh, where was she?--what wouldbe her fate? The tolling of the bell awoke her from the brief trance ofutter unconsciousness into which, from exhaustion, she had fallen. Sheglanced once beneath her. The crowds, the executioner at his post, theguard already round the scaffold, too truly told the hour was at hand,and though her heart turned sick with apprehension, and she felt as ifto know the worst were preferable to the hour of suspense, she could notlook again, and she would have sought the inner chamber, and endeavor toclose both ears and eyes to all that was passing without, when the Earlof Berwick suddenly entered, and harshly commanded her to stir not fromthe cage.
"It is your sovereign's will, madam, that you witness the fate of thetraitor so daring in your cause," he said, as with a stern grasp heforced her to the grating and retained his hold upon her arm; "that youmay behold in his deserved fate the type of that which will at lengthbefall the yet blacker traitor of his name. It is fitting so loyal apatriot as thyself should look on a patriot's fate, and profit thereby."
"Aye, learn how a patriot can die--how, when his life may no morebenefit his country and his kin, he may serve them in his death," calmlyand proudly she answered. "It is well; perchance, when my turn cometh, Imay thank thy master for the lesson now rudely forced upon me. The hourwill come when the blood that he now so unjustly sheds shall shriekaloud for vengeance. On me let him work his will--I fear him not."
"Be silent, minion! I listen not to thy foul treason," said the earl,hoarse with suppressed passion at the little effect his sovereign'smandate produced, when he had hoped to have enforced it midst sobs andtears; and she was silent, for her eye had caught one face amidst thecrowd that fascinated its gaze, and sent back the blood, which hadseemed to stagnate when the idea that it was indeed Nigel now about tosuffer had been thus rudely thrust upon her--sent it with such suddenrevulsion through its varied channels, that it was only with a desperatestruggle she retained her outward calmness, and then she stood, to theeye of Berwick, proud, dignified, collected, seemingly so cold, that hedoubted whether aught of feeling could remain, or marvelled if themandate of Edward had indeed power to inflict aught of pain. Butwithin--oh, the veriest tyrant must have shuddered, could he have knownthe torture there; she saw, she recognized her child; she read naughtbut madness in that chiselled gaze; she saw at a glance there was noescaping from beholding, to the dreadful end, the fate of her beloved;before, behind, on every side, the crowds pressed round, yet from theslightly elevated position of the scaffold, failing to conceal it fromher gaze. The Earl of Gloucester she perceived close at her side, as ifprotecting her; but if indeed she was under his care, how came she onsuch a spot, at such a time?--did he know her sex, or only looked on heras a favored page of Nigel's, and as such protected? Yet would not theanguish of that hour betray her not alone to him, but to that dark andcruel man whom she also marked beside her, and who, did he once knowher, would demand the right of a father, to give her to his care? andoh, how would that right be exercised! would the murderer of his son,his heir, have pity on a daughter? But it would be a vain effort topicture the deep anguish of that mother's heart, as in that dread momentshe looked upon her child, knowing, feeling _her_ might of grief, as ifit had been her own; well-nigh suffocated with the wild yearning to foldher to her maternal bosom, to bid her weep there, to seek to comfort, tosoothe, by mingling her tears with hers, to protect, to hide her miseryfrom all save her mother's eye--to feel this till every pulse throbbedas to threaten her with death, and yet to breathe no word, to give nosign that such things were, lest she should endanger that precious oneyet more. She dared not breathe one question of the many crowding on herheart, she could but gaze and feel. She had thought, when, they told herthat her boy was dead, that she had caused his death, there was littlemore of misery fate could weave, but at that moment even Alan wasforgotten. It was her own wretchedness she had had then to bear, for hewas at rest; but now it was the anguish of that dearer self, her soleremaining child--and oh, a mother's heart can better bear its individualwoes than those that crash a daughter to the earth.
A sudden rush amidst the crowd, where a movement could take place, theheavy roll of muffled drums, and the yet deeper, more wailing toll ofthe funeral bell, announced that the prisoner had left the dungeon, andirresistibly the gaze of the counte
ss turned from her child to seek him;perchance it was well, for the preservation of her composure, that theintervening crowd prevented her beholding him till he stood upon thescaffold, for hardly could she have borne unmoved the sight of thatnoble and gallant form--beloved alike as the friend of her son, thebetrothed of her daughter, the brother of her king--degraded of allinsignia of rank, chained to the hurdle, and dragged as the commonest,the vilest criminal, exposed to the mocking gaze of thousands, to theplace of execution. She saw him not thus, and therefore she knew notwherefore the features of Agnes had become yet more rigid, bore yet morethe semblance of chiselled marble. He stood at length upon the scaffold,as calmly majestic in his bearing as if he had borne no insult, sufferedno indignity. His beautiful hair had been arranged with care on eitherside his face, and still fell in its long, rich curls, about his throat;and so beautiful, so holy was the expression of his perfect features,that the assembled crowds hushed their very breath in admiration and inawe; it seemed as if the heaven, on whose threshold he stood, hadalready fixed its impress on his brow. Every eye was upon him, and allperceived that holy calmness was for one brief minute disturbed; butnone, save three of those who marked it, knew or even guessed the cause.The countess had watched his glance, as at first composedly it hadwandered over the multitude beneath and around him, and she saw it reston that one face, which, in its sculptured misery, stood alone amidstthousands, and she alone perceived the start of agony that sightoccasioned, but speedily even that emotion passed; he looked from thatloved face up to the heaven on which his hopes were fixed, in whose carefor her he trusted--and that look was prayer. She saw him as he knelt inprayer, undisturbed by the clang of instruments still kept up aroundhim; she saw him rise, and then a deadly sickness crept over her everylimb, a thick mist obscured her sight, sense seemed on the point ofdeserting her, when it was recalled by a sound of horror--a shriek sowild, so long, so thrilling, the rudest spirit midst those multitudesshrunk back appalled, and crossed themselves in terror. On one ear itfell with a sense of agony almost equal to that from whence it came; themother recognized the voice, and feeling, sight, hearing, as by anelectric spell, returned. She looked forth again, and though her eyecaught the noble form of Nigel Bruce yet quivering in the air, sheshrunk not, she sickened not, for its gaze sought her child; she haddisappeared from the place she had occupied. She saw the Earl ofGloucester making a rapid way through the dispersing crowds, a suddengust blew aside his wrapping-cloak, the face of her child was exposed toher view, there was a look of death upon her brow; and if the Earl ofBerwick had lingered to note whether indeed this scene of horror wouldpass unnoticed, unfelt by his prisoner, he was gratified at length, forIsabella of Buchan lay senseless on her prison floor.
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