rt the representative of thy royal line; wert thou in
Earl Robert's place, thus, thus would Alan kneel to thee and hail thee
king!"

"Peace, peace, thou foolish boy, the crown and sceptre have no charm for
me; let me but see my country free, the tyrant humbled, my brother as my
trusting spirit whispers he _shall_ be, and Nigel asks no more."

"Art thou indeed so modest, gentle Nigel--is thy happiness so distinct
from self? thine eyes tell other tales sometimes, and speak they false,
fair sir?"

Timidly, yet irresistibly, the maiden glanced up from her embroidery,
but the gaze that met hers caused those bright eyes to fall more quickly
than they were raised, and vainly for a few seconds did she endeavor so
to steady her hand as to resume her task. Nigel was, however, spared
reply, for a sharp and sudden bugle-blast reverberated through the
tower, and with an exclamation of wondering inquiry Alan bounded from
the chamber. There was one other inmate of that apartment, whose
presence, although known and felt, had, as was evident, been no
restraint either to the employments or the sentiments of the two youths
and their companion. Their conversation had not passed unheeded,
although it had elicited no comment or rejoinder. The Countess of Buchan
stood within one of those deep embrasures we have noticed, at times
glancing towards the youthful group with an earnestness of sorrowing
affection that seemed to have no measure in its depth, no shrinking in
its might; at others, fixing a long, unmeaning, yet somewhat anxious
gaze on the wide plain and distant ocean, which the casement overlooked.

It was impossible to look once on the countenance of Isabella of Buchan,
and yet forbear to look again, The calm dignity, the graceful majesty of
her figure seemed to mark her as one born to command, to hold in willing
homage the minds and inclinations of men; her pure, pale brow and marble
cheek--for the rich rose seemed a stranger there--the long silky lash of
jet, the large, full, black eye, in its repose so soft that few would
guess how it could flash fire, and light up those classic features with
power to stir the stagnant souls of thousands and guide them with a
word. She looked in feature as in form a queen; fitted to be beloved,
formed to be obeyed. Her heavy robe of dark brocade, wrought with thick
threads of gold, seemed well suited to her majestic form; its long,
loose folds detracting naught from the graceful ease of her carr