This movement, however, on the part of the besieged occasioned a brief cessation of hostilities on both sides.  The flames had subsided, except here and there, where the passing wind fanned the red-hot embers anew into life, and caused a flickering radiance to pass athwart the pitchy darkness of the night, and over the bustling scene on either side the ruins.

There was no moon, and Hereford imagined the hours of darkness might be better employed in active measures for resuming the attack by dawn than continuing it then.  Much, very much had been gained:  a very brief struggle more he knew must now decide it, and he hoped, though against his better judgment, that the garrison, would surrender without further loss of blood.  Terms he could not propose, none at least that could prevail on the brave commanders to give up with life, and so great was the admiration Nigel’s conduct had occasioned, that this true son of chivalry ardently wished he would eventually fall in combat rather than be consigned to the fearful fate which he knew would be inflicted on him by the commands of Edward.  Commands to the troops without were forwarded by trusty esquires; the wounded conveyed to the camp, and their places supplied by fresh forces, who, with the joyous sound of trumpet and drum, marched over by torchlight into the ballium, so long the coveted object of their attack.

Sir Nigel meanwhile had desired his exhausted men to lie down in their arms, ready to start up at the faintest appearance of renewed hostility, and utterly worn out, they most willingly obeyed.  But the young knight himself neither shared nor sought for that repose; he stood against a buttress on the walls, leaning on a tall spear, and gazing at once upon his wearied followers, and keeping a strict watch on the movements of his foes.  A tall form, clothed in complete armor, suddenly stood beside him; he started.

“Seaton!” he said; “thou here, and in armor?”

“Aye,” answered the knight, his voice from very weakness sounding hollow in his helmet.  “Aye, to make one last stand, and, if it may be, die as I have lived for Scotland.  I have strength to strike one last blow, for last it will be—­all is lost!”

A low groan broke from Nigel’s lips, but he made no further answer than the utterance of one word—­“Agnes!”

“Is safe, I trust,” rejoined the knight.  “The son of Dermid, in whose arms I last saw her, knoweth many a secret path and hidden passage, and can make his way wherever his will may lead.”

“How! thinkest thou he will preserve her, save her even now from the foe?”

“Aye, perchance conceal her till the castle be dismantled.  But what do they now?  See, a herald and white flag,” he added, abruptly, as by the light of several torches a trumpeter, banner-bearer, herald, and five men-at-arms were discerned approaching the walls.

“What would ye?  Halt, and answer,” demanded Sir Nigel, recalled on the instant to his sterner duties, and advancing, spear in hand, to the utmost verge of the wall.