“In safety, where thine arm shall never reach her,” haughtily answered the young nobleman.  “Torture! what wilt thou torture—­the senseless clay?  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 paralyzed form of Gloucester’s page as he stood in the doorway, as nearly to throw him to the ground.  Nigel sprung forward, but was held back with a grasp of iron by the Earl of Gloucester, nor did he relinquish his hold till Buchan had passed through the doorway, till the heavy hinges had firmly closed again, and the step of the departing earl had entirely faded in distance.

“Now, then, we are safe,” he said; “thank heaven!” but his words were scarcely heard, for the page had bounded within the extended arms of Nigel, had clung so closely to his heart, he could feel nothing, see nothing, save that slender form; could hear nothing but those deep, agonized sobs, which are so terrible when unaccompanied by the relief of tears.  For a while Nigel could not speak—­he could not utter aught of comfort, 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 the words 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 misery now.”

“Fear not, lady; he dare not,” hastily rejoined Gloucester.  “The torture dare not be administered without consent of Edward, and that now cannot be obtained; he will not have sufficient—­” time, he was going to say, but checked himself; for the agonized look of Agnes told him his meaning was more than sufficiently understood.  “Nigel,” he added, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “Nigel, my noble, gallant friend—­for so I will call thee, though I sat in judgment on thee, aye, and tacitly acquiesced in thy sentence—­shrink not, oh, shrink not now!  I saw not a quiver on thy lip, a pallor on thy cheek, nay, nor faltering in thy step, 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, as supporting Agnes with his right arm he convulsively wrung the hand of his 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, look on me; speak, tell me all that hath befallen thee since they tore thee from 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 of gratitude I owe him, which thou, sweetest, must discharge.  Yet speak to me, beloved; tell me all, all.”

Emulating his calmness, remembering even at that moment her promise not to unman him in the moment of trial by vain repinings, Agnes complied with his request.  Her tale was frequently interrupted by those terrible sobs, which seemed to threaten annihilation; but Nigel could gather from it so much of tenderness and care on the part of the princess, that the deepest gratitude filled his heart, and spoke in his impassioned words.