The eye of Agnes voluntarily sought her betrothed.  His head was still bent down in earnest prayer, but she had not looked long before she saw him raise it, and lift up his clasped hands in the evident passionate fervor of his prayer.  So beautiful, so gloriously beautiful was that countenance thus breathing prayer, so little seemed that soul of earth, that tears started to the eyes of Agnes, and the paleness of strong emotion over-spread the cheek, aye, and the quivering lip, which the war and death-speaking trumpet had had no power to disturb.

“Let me abide by him, merciful Father, in weal or in woe; oh, part us not!” she prayed again and yet again, and the bright smile which now encircled his lips—­for he had caught her glance—­seemed an answer to her prayer.

It was a beautiful, though perhaps to many of the inmates of Kildrummie a terrible sight, which from the roof of the turret now presented itself to their view.  The English force lay before them, presenting many a solid phalanx of steel, many a glancing wood of spears.  Nor were these all; the various engines used in sieges at this time, battering-rams, and others, whose technical names are unfortunately lost to us, but used to fling stones of immense weight to an almost incredible distance; arbalists, and the incomparable archer, who carried as many lives as arrows in his belt; wagons, heavily laden, with all things necessary for a close and numerous encampment—­all these could be plainly distinguished in rapid advance towards the castle, marking their path through the country by the smoke of the hamlets they had burned.  Many and eager voices resounded in various parts of the castle; numbers had thronged to the tower, with their own eyes to mark the approach of the enemy, and to report all they had seen to their companions below, triumphantly or despondingly, according to the temper of their minds.  Sir Nigel Bruce and Sir Christopher Seaton, with others of the superior officers, stood a little apart, conversing eagerly and animatedly, and finally separating, with an eager grasp of the hand, to perform the duties intrusted to each.

“Ha!  Christine, and thou, fair maiden,” exclaimed Sir Christopher, gayly, as on turning he encountered his wife and Agnes arm-in-arm.  “By mine honor, this is bravely done; ye will not wait in your tiring-bower till your knights seek ye, but come for information yourselves.  Well, ’tis a goodly company, is’t not? as gallant a show as ever mustered, by my troth.  Those English warriors tacitly do us honor, and proclaim our worth by the numbers of gallant men they bring against us.  We shall return the compliment some day, and pay them similar homage.”

His wife smiled at his jest, and even felt reassured, for it was not the jest of a mind ill at ease, it was the same bluff, soldier spirit she had always loved.

“And, Nigel, what thinkest thou?”

“Think, dearest?” he said, answering far more the appealing look of Agnes than her words; “think? that we shall do well, aye, nobly well; they muster not half the force they led me to expect.  The very sight of them has braced me with new spirit, and put to ignominious flight the doubts and dreams I told thee had tormented me.”