The noble baron of Tantallon had promised to bring to the chapel at midnight the now happy, yet unhappy Clare, that she might bind on the spurs, buckle on the belt, and hear the magic words uttered which made her lover a noble knight.  She was unhappy to think that so soon they must part, perhaps never to meet.

Sweetly, tearfully she pleaded: 

    “’O Wilton! must we then
      Risk new-found happiness again,
        Trust fate of arms once more? 
      And is there not a humble glen,
        Where we content and poor,
      Might build a cottage in the shade,
      A shepherd thou, and I to aid
        Thy task on dale and moor?—­
      That reddening brow!—­too well I know,
      Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,
        While falsehood stains thy name: 
      Go then to fight!  Clare bids thee go! 
      Clare can a warrior’s feelings know,
        And weep a warrior’s shame;
      Buckle the spurs upon thy heel,
      And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
        And send thee forth to fame!’”

At midnight, the slumbering moon-beams lay on rock and wave.  Silvery light fell through every loop-hole and embrasure.  In the witching hour two priests, the Lady Clare, Ralph de Wilton, and Douglas, Lord of Tantallon, stood before the altar of the chapel.  De Wilton knelt, and when Clare had bound on sword and belt, Douglas laid on the blow, exclaiming as it fell: 

    “’I dub thee knight. 
      Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton’s heir! 
      For King, for Church, for Lady fair,
        See that thou fight.’”

De Wilton knelt again before the giant warrior, and grasping his hand, exclaimed: 

“Where’er I meet a Douglas, that Douglas will be to me as a brother.”

“Nay, nay,” the Lord of Tantallon replied, “not so; I have two sons in the field armed against your king.  They fight for James of Scotland; you for Henry of England.

    “’And, if thou meet’st them under shield,
      Upon them bravely,—­do thy worst;
      And foul fall him that blenches first!”

They parted; De Wilton to Surrey’s camp, the Douglas to his castle to ponder on the strange events of the past few days, and Clare to weep in loneliness.

It was yet early when Marmion ordered his train to be ready for the southward march.  He had safe pass-ports for all, given under the royal seal of James.  Douglas provided a guide as far as Surrey’s camp.  The ancient earl, with stately grace, placed the Lady Clare on her palfrey and whispered in her ear, “The falcon’s prey has flown.”

As adieus were about to be said, Lord Marmion began: 

“In the treatment received, I, your guest, by your king’s command, might well complain of coldness, indifference, and disrespect; but I let it pass, hoping that,