burst through them, and flung his plumed helmet from his beautiful brow,
and, after glancing hastily round the room, bounded to the side of
Robert, knelt at his feet, and clasped his knees without uttering a
syllable, voiceless from an emotion whose index was stamped upon his
glowing features.

"Nigel, by all that's marvellous, and as moon-stricken as his wont! Why,
where the foul fiend hast thou sprung from? Art dumb, thou foolish boy?
By St. Andrew, these are times to act and speak, not think and feel!
Whence comest thou?"

So spoke the impatient Edward, to whom the character of his youngest
brother had ever been a riddle, which it had been too much trouble to
expound, and that which it _seemed_ to his too careless thought he ever
looked upon with scorn and contempt. Not so, King Robert; he raised him
affectionately in his arms, and pressed him to his heart.

"Thou'rt welcome, most, most welcome, Nigel; as welcome as unlooked for.
But why this quick return from scenes and studies more congenial to thy
gentle nature, my young brother? this fettered land is scarce a home for
thee; thy free, thy fond imaginings can scarce have resting here." He
spoke sadly, and his smile unwittingly was sorrowful.

"And thinkest thou, Robert--nay, forgive me, good my liege--thinkest
thou, because I loved the poet's dream, because I turned, in sad and
lonely musing, from King Edward's court, I loved the cloister better
than the camp? Oh, do me not such wrong! thou knowest not the guidings
of my heart; nor needs it now, my sword shall better plead my cause than
can my tongue." He turned away deeply and evidently pained, and a half
laugh from Sir Edward prevented the king's reply.