wild thoughts had found a shape and semblance. Within the arch formed by
the high window stood or seemed to stand a tall and knightly form, clad
from the gorget to the heel in polished steel; his head was bare, and
long, dark hair shaded a face pale and shadowy indeed, but strikingly
and eminently noble; there was a scarf across his breast, and on it
Nigel recognized the cognizance of his own line, the crest and motto of
the Bruce. It could not have been more than a minute that the blue
lightning lingered there, yet to his excited spirit it was long enough
to impress indelibly and startlingly every trace of that strange vision
upon his heart. The face was turned to his, with a solemn yet sorrowful
earnestness of expression, and the mailed hand raised on high, seemed
pointing unto heaven. The flash passed and all was darkness, the more
dense and impenetrable, from the vivid light which had preceded it; but
Nigel stirred not, moved not, his every sense absorbed, not in the
weakness of mortal terror, but in one overwhelming sensation of awe,
which, while it oppressed the spirit well-nigh to pain, caused it to
long with an almost sickening intensity for a longer and clearer view of
that which had come and passed with the lightning flash. Again the vivid
blaze dispersed the gloom, but no shadow met his fixed impassioned gaze.
Vision or reality, the form was gone; there was no trace, no sign of
that which had been. For several successive flashes Nigel remained
gazing on the spot where the mailed form had stood, as if he felt it
would, it must again appear; but as time sped, and he saw but space, the
soul relaxed from its high-wrought mood, the blood, which had seemed
stagnant in his veins, rushed back tumultuously through its varied
channels, and Nigel Bruce prostrated himself before the altar, to
wrestle with his perturbed spirit till it found calm in prayer.

A right noble and glorious scene did the great hall of the palace
present the morning which followed this eventful night. The king,