“Arm him and welcome, noble lady,” answered the king, and a buzz of approbation ran through the hall; “and may thy noble spirit and dauntless loyalty inspire him:  we shall not need a trusty follower while such as he are around us.  Yet, in very deed, my youthful knight must have a lady fair for whom he tilts to-day.  Come hither, Isoline, thou lookest verily inclined to envy thy sweet friend her office, and nothing loth to have a loyal knight thyself.  Come, come, my pretty one, no blushing now.  Lennox, guide those tiny hands aright.”

Laughing and blushing, Isoline, the daughter of Lady Campbell, a sister of the Bruce, a graceful child of some thirteen summers, advanced nothing loth, to obey her royal uncle’s summons; and an arch smile of real enjoyment irresistibly stole over the countenance of Alan, dispersing the emotion his mother’s words produced.

“Nay, tremble not, sweet one,” the king continued, in a lower and yet kinder tone, as he turned from the one youth to the other, and observed that Agnes, overpowered by emotion, had scarcely power to perform her part, despite the whispered words of encouraging affection Nigel murmured in her ear.  One by one the cuirass and shoulder-pieces, the greaves and gauntlets, the gorget and brassards, the joints of which were so beautifully burnished that they shone as mirrors, and so flexible that every limb had its free use, enveloped those manly forms.  Their swords once again girt to their sides, and once more kneeling, the king descended from his throne, alternately dubbing them knight in the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George.

THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE

From ‘Home Influence’

Mrs. Hamilton was seated at one of the tables on the dais nearest the oriel window, the light from which fell on her, giving her figure—­though she was seated naturally enough in one of the large maroon-velvet oaken chairs—­an unusual effect of dignity and command, and impressing the terrified beholder with such a sensation of awe that had her life depended on it, she could not for that one minute have gone forward; and even when desired to do so by the words “I desired your presence, Ellen, because I wished to speak to you:  come here without any more delay,”—­how she walked the whole length of that interminable room, and stood facing her aunt, she never knew.

Mrs. Hamilton for a full minute did not speak, but she fixed that searching look, to which we have once before alluded, upon Ellen’s face; and then said, in a tone which, though very low and calm, expressed as much as that earnest look:—­

“Ellen! is it necessary for me to tell you why you are here—­necessary to produce the proof that my words are right, and that you have been influenced by the fearful effects of some unconfessed and most heinous sin?  Little did I dream its nature.”

For a moment Ellen stood as turned to stone, as white and rigid—­the next she had sunk down with a wild, bitter cry, at Mrs. Hamilton’s feet, and buried her face in her hands.