midnight the now happy, yet unhappy Clare, that she might bind on the
spurs, buckle on the belt, and hear the magic words uttered which made
her lover a noble knight. She was unhappy to think that so soon they
must part, perhaps never to meet.

Sweetly, tearfully she pleaded:

"'O Wilton! must we then
Risk new-found happiness again,
Trust fate of arms once more?
And is there not a humble glen,
Where we content and poor,
Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid
Thy task on dale and moor?--
That reddening brow!--too well I know,
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,
While falsehood stains thy name:
Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go!
Clare can a warrior's feelings know,
And weep a warrior's shame;
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel,
And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
And send thee forth to fame!'"

At midnight, the slumbering moon-beams lay on rock and wave. Silvery
light fell through every loop-hole and embrasure. In the witching hour
two priests, the Lady Clare, Ralph de Wilton, and Douglas, Lord of
Tantallon, stood before the altar of the chapel. De Wilton knelt, and
when Clare had bound on sword and belt, Douglas laid on the blow,