a union in eternity.  His words were few but earnest, and for the first time the lip of Agnes was observed to quiver—­they were ONE.  Agnes was clasped to the heart of her husband; she heard him call her his own—­his wife—­that man should never part them more.  The voice of congratulation woke around her, but ere either could gaze around to look their thanks, or clasp the eagerly proffered hand, a cry of alarm, of horror, ran though the building.  A red, lurid light, impossible to be mistaken, illumined every window, as from a fearful conflagration without; darkness had fled before it.  On all sides it was light—­light the most horrible, the most awful, though perchance the most fascinating the eye can behold; fearful shouts and cries, and the rush of many feet, mingled with the now easily distinguished roar of the devouring element, burst confusedly on the ear.  A minute sufficed to fling open the door of the church for knights and men-at-arms to rush forth in one indiscriminate mass.  Sir Christopher would have followed them, utterly regardless of his inability, had not his wife clung to him imploringly, and effectually restrained him.  The abbot, grasping the silver crosier by his side, with a swift, yet still majestic stride, made his way through the church, and vanished by the widely opened door.  Agnes and Sir Nigel stood comparatively alone; not a cry, not a word passed her lips; every feature was wrapped in one absorbing look upon her husband.  He had clasped his hands convulsively together, his brow was knit, his lip compressed, his eye fixed and rigid, though it gazed on vacancy.

“It hath fallen, it hath fallen!” he muttered.  “Fool, fool that I was never to dream of this!  Friends, followers, all I hold most dear, swallowed up in this fell swoop!  God of mercy, how may it be born!  And thou, thou,” he added, in increased agony, roused from that stupor by the wild shouts of “Sir Nigel, Sir Nigel! where is he? why does he tarry in such an hour?” that rung shrilly on the air.  “Agnes, mine own, it is not too late even now to fly.  Ha! son of Dermid, in good tune thou art here; save her, in mercy save her!  I know not when, or how, or where we may meet again; I may not tarry here.”  He clasped her in his arms, imprinted an impassioned kiss on her now death-like cheek, placed her at once in the arms of the seer (who, robed as a minstrel, had stood concealed behind a projecting pillar during the ceremony, and now approached), and darted wildly from the church.  What a scene met his gaze!  All the buildings within the ballium, with the sole exception of the church, were in one vivid blaze of fire; the old dry wood and thatch of which they were composed, kindling with a mere spark.  The wind blew the flames in the direction of the principal wall, which was already ignited from the heaps of combustibles that had been raised within for the purpose; although it was likely that, from its extreme thickness and strength, the fire had there done but partial evil, had not the