much at the dangers that would encircle her--for from those he might
defend her--but that his father was still a follower of the unmanly
tyrant, who would even war against a woman--his father should still
calmly assist and serve the man who set a price upon his mother's head.
Alas! poor boy, he little knew that father's heart.

It was evening, a still, oppressive evening, for though the sun yet
shone brightly as he sunk in the west, a succession of black
thunder-clouds, gradually rising higher and higher athwart the intense
blue of the firmament, seemed to threaten that the wings of the tempest
were already brooding on the dark bosom of night. The very flowers
appeared to droop beneath the weight of the atmosphere; the trees moved
not, the birds were silent, save when now and then a solitary note was
heard, and then hushed, as if the little warbler shrunk back in his
leafy nest, frightened at his own voice. Perchance it was the stillness
of nature which had likewise affected the inmates of a retired chamber
in the palace, for though they sate side by side, and their looks
betrayed that the full communion of soul was not denied, few words were
spoken. The maiden of Buchan bent over the frame which contained the
blue satin scarf she was embroidering with the device of Bruce, in gold
and gems, and it was Nigel Bruce who sate beside her, his deep,
expressive eyes fixed upon her in such fervid, such eloquent love, that
seldom was it she ventured to raise her glance to his. A slight shadow
was on those sweet and gentle features, perceptible, perchance, to the
eye of love alone; and it was this that, after enjoying that silent
communion of the spirit, so dear to those who love, which bade Nigel
fling his arm around that slender form, and ask--

"What is it, sweet one? why art thou sad?"