chain, link after link starts up till we see the illumined
whole. We have said Nigel had never heard the particulars of the
tradition; but he looked on that misshapen plank, and in an instant a
tale of blood and terror weaved itself in his mind; in that room the
deed, whatever it was, had been done, and from that plank the sanguine
evidence of murder had been with difficulty erased. A cold shuddering
passed over him, and he turned instinctively away, and strode hastily to
examine the frame which had attracted him. It did contain a picture--we
should rather say a portrait--for it comprised but one figure, the
half-length of a youthful warrior, clad in steel, save the
beautifully-formed head, which was covered only by his own luxuriant
raven curls. In a better light it could not have been placed,
particularly in the evening; the rays, condensed and softened, seemed to
gather up their power into one focus, and throw such an almost
supernatural glow on the half face, give such an extraordinary
appearance of life to the whole figure, that a casual visitant to that
chamber might well fancy it was no picture but reality on which he
gazed. But no such emotion was at work in the bosom of Nigel Bruce,
though his first glance upon that face occasioned an almost convulsive
start, and then a gaze of such intense, such almost fearful interest,
that he stood as if fascinated by some overpowering spell. His features,
worked with internal emotions, flushed and paled alternately. It was no
weak-minded terror which bound him there, no mood in which a step or
sound could chill and startle, for so wrapt was he in his own strange
dreams that he heard not a slow and measured step approach him; he did
not even start when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the melodious
voice of the seer caused him to turn slowly around.

"The warnings thou hast heard have no power on thee, young lord," he
said, slightly smiling, "or I should not see thee here at this hour
alone. Yet thou wert strangely wrapt."

"Knowest thou aught of _him_, good father?" answered Nigel, in a voice
that to his own ears sounded hoarse and unnatural, and turning his
glance once again to the portrait. "My thoughts are busy with that face
and yon tale-telling plank; there are wild, feverish, incongruous dreams
within me, and I would have them solved. Thou of all others art best
fitted to the task, for amid the records of the past, where thou hast
loved to linger, thou hast surel