“No, no; I will not leave thee!” she sobbed forth, as from the sudden failing of strength in every limb she sunk kneeling at his feet.  “Nigel, Nigel, I will not leave thee; in life or in death I will abide by thee.  Force me not from thee; seek not to tempt me by the tale of safety, freedom, peace; thou knowest not the depth, the might of woman’s love, if thou thinkest things like these can weigh aught with her, even if chains and death stood frowningly beside.  I will not leave thee; whom have I beside thee, for whom else wouldst thou call on me to live?  Alone, alone, utterly alone, save thee!  Wilt thou bid me hence, and leave thee to meet thy fate alone—­thee, to whom my mother gave me—­thee, without whom my very life is naught?  Nigel, oh, despise me not for these wild words, unmaidenly as they sound; oh, let me speak them, or my heart will break!”

“Despise thee for these blessed words!” Nigel answered, passionately, as he raised her from the ground, and clasped her to his heart.  “Oh, thou knowest not the bliss they give; yet, yet would I speak of parting, implore thee still to leave me, aye, though in that parting my very heart-strings snap.  Agnes, how may I bear to see thee in the power of the foe, perchance insulted, persecuted, tortured with the ribald admiration of the rude crowd, and feel I have no power to save thee, no claim to bind thee to my side.  What are the mere chains of love in such an hour, abiding by me, as thou mightst, till our last hope is over, and English colors wave above this fortress—­then, dearest, oh, must we not, shall we not be rudely parted?”

“No, no!  Who shall dare to part us?” she said, as she clung sobbing to his breast.  “Who shall dare to do this thing, and say I may not tend thee, follow thee, even until death?”

“Who? our captors, dearest.  Thinkest thou they will heed thy tender love, thine anguish? will they have hearts for aught save for thy loveliness, sweet one?  Think, think of terrors like to this, and oh, still wilt thou refuse to fly?”

“But thy sister, the Lady Seaton, Nigel, doth she not stay, doth she not brave these perils?” asked Agnes, shuddering at her lover’s words, yet clinging to him still.  “If she escapes such evil, why, oh, why may not I?”

“She is Seaton’s wife, sweet one, bound to him by the voice of heaven, by the holiest of ties; the noble knights who head our foes will protect her in all honorable keeping; but for thee, Agnes, even if the ills I dread be as naught, there is yet one I have dared not name, lest it should pain thee, yet one that is most probable as ’tis most fearful; thou canst not hide thy name, and as a daughter of Buchan, oh, will they not give thee to a father’s keeping?”