her warrior fire, as thou deemest it, guard her from woman's trials,
what will be thy fate? This is no time for happy love, for peaceful
joys, returned as it may be; for--may I doubt that truthful brow, that
knightly soul (her glance was fixed on Nigel)--yet not now may the
Scottish knight find rest and peace in woman's love. And better is it
thus--the land of the slave is no home for love."

A faint yet a beautiful smile, dispersing as a momentary beam the
anxiety stamped on her features, awoke at the enthusiastic reply of
Nigel. Then she turned again to the casement, for her quick eye had
discerned a party of about ten horsemen approaching in the direction of
the tower, and on the summons of the bugle she advanced from her retreat
to the centre of the apartment.

"Why, surely thou art but a degenerate descendant of the brave Macduff,
mine Agnes, that a bugle blast should thus send back every drop of blood
to thy little heart," she said, playfully. "For shame, for shame! how
art thou fitted to be a warrior's bride? They are but Scottish men, and
true, methinks, if I recognize their leader rightly. And it is even so."

"Sir Robert Keith, right welcome," she added, as, marshalled by young
Alan, the knight appeared, bearing his plumed helmet in his hand, and
displaying haste and eagerness alike in his flushed features and soiled
armor.

"Ye have ridden long and hastily. Bid them hasten our evening meal, my
son; or stay, perchance Sir Robert needs thine aid to rid him of this
garb of war. Thou canst not serve one nobler."

"Nay, noble lady, knights must don, not doff their armor now. I bring ye