oss my waking hours; it is not well to note them," and
he turned away as if he might not meet those eager eyes.

"Not here! yet I was at his side, good father," and Agnes laid her fair
hand on the old man's arm.

"Thou wert, thou wert, my child. Beautiful, beautiful!" he half
whispered, as he laid his hand dreamily on those golden curls, and
looked on her face; "yet hath sorrow touched thee, maiden. Thy morn of
life hath been o'erclouded; its shadow lingers yet."

"Too truly speakest thou, father," replied Nigel, drawing Agnes closer
to his heart, for tears were starting in her eyes; "yet will not love
soon chase that sorrow? Thou who canst penetrate the future, seer of the
Bruce's line, tell me, shall she not be mine?"

The old man looked on them both, and then his eyes became fixed on
vacancy; long and painfully once or twice he passed his hand across his
high, pale brow.

"Vain, vain," he said, sadly; "but one vision comes to mine aching
sight, and there she seems thine own. She is thine own--but I know not
how that will be. Ask me no more; the dream is passing. 'Tis a sad and
fearful gift. Others may triumph in the power, but for me 'tis sad, 'tis
very sad."

"Sad! nay, is it not joy, the anticipating joy," answered Nigel, with
animation, "to look on a beloved one, and mark, amid the clouds of
distance, glory, and honor, and love entwining on, his path? to look
through shades of present sorrow, and discern the sunbeam afar off--is
there not joy in this?"

"Aye, gentle youth; but now, oh, now is there aught in Scotland to
whisper these bright things? There was rejoicing, find glory, and
triumph around the patriot Wallace. Scotland sprung from her sluggish
sleep, and gave back her echo to his inspiring call. I looked upon the
hero's beaming brow, I met the sparkle of his brilliant eye, I bowed
before the native majesty of his god-like form, but there was no joy
for me. Dark masses of clouds closed round the present sunshine; the
present fled like a mist before them, and they oped, and then--there was
still Wallace; but oh! how did I see him? the scaffold, the cord, the
mocking crowds, the steel-clad guards--all, all, even as he fell. My
children! my children! was there joy in this?"

There was a thrilling pathos in the old man's voice that touched the
very heart of his listeners. Agnes clung closer to the arm of her
betrothed, and looked up tearfully in his face; his cheek was very pale,
and his lip slightly