flashing eye of jet, and darker skin, appeared to forswear such near
relationship--criticising her embroidery, and then transferring his
scrutiny to the strange figures on the gorgeously-illuminated
manuscript, and then for a longer period listening, as it were,
irresistibly to the wild legends which that deep voice was so
melodiously pouring forth.

"It will never do, Agnes. You cannot embroider the coronation of Kenneth
MacAlpine and listen to these wild tales at one and the same time. Look
at your clever pupil, Sir Nigel; she is placing a heavy iron buckler on
the poor king's head instead of his golden crown." The boy laughed long
and merrily as he spoke, and even Sir Nigel smiled; while Agnes,
blushing and confused, replied, half jestingly and half earnestly, "And
why not tell me of it before, Alan? you must have seen it long ago."

"And so I did, sweet sister mine; but I wished to see the effect of such
marvellous abstraction, and whether, in case of necessity, an iron
shield would serve our purpose as well as a jewelled diadem."

"Never fear, my boy. Let but the king stand forth, and there will be
Scottish men enow and willing to convert an iron buckler into a goodly
crown;" and as Sir Nigel spoke his eyes flashed, and his whole
countenance irradiated with a spirit that might not have been suspected
when in the act of reading, but which evidently only slept till awakened
by an all-sufficient call. "Let the tyrant Edward exult in the
possession of our country's crown and sceptre--he may find we need not
them to make a king; aye, and a king to snatch the regal diadem from the
proud usurper's brow--the Scottish sceptre from his blood-stained
hands!"