“Thy fate, sweet one, is also written in letters of light above us. I am not deeply versed in heavenly lore, but from thy presentiment and mine, I read a crisis is at hand. Seest thou yon pale orb,” he continued, raising his hand aloft, “my father told me once it shone upon _thy_ birth, and from that hour it has been the object of my vigil and study; so pale, so pure, it seemeth like thy fair face set in heaven. Of late methought it shone with sadder beam, and wandered from its track. See!” he cried with a shout, “it journeys the skies, side by side, with yon red-eyed planet.” Lillian raised her soft eyes, and met the lurid glare of the blood-red star. “What orb is that?” she inquired, with a shudder, clinging closer to Kenneth’s side. “_The star of my nativity!_” * * * * * “Lillian! _my_ Lillian! tremble not, beloved! hath not kind Heaven given thee to me?” He wound his arms around her frail form, and laid her to his heart. “Dark youth, I fear thee!” she shrieked, and bursting from his embrace, fled into the night. Suddenly she paused, and covering her face with her hands, crushed the big tears that were gushing from their fountains, “ay!” she murmured, “but I love thee also!” “Thou dost, my fawn!” said Kenneth, as he regained her side, “swear, then, to be mine.” The maiden hesitated, for the angel whose ward she was, whispered a warning. “Swear not, for his brow is dark and his heart fierce—his path lieth through blood, and endeth in blackness!” Then love lifted up his voice, crying, “What grief so great as parting from thy beloved! What wo so heavy as a disappointed heart!” And the maiden said, “I swear! Whether for good or evil, for blessing or for blight, my doom is sealed, and I am thine.” “The crisis is past, beloved,” whispered the wooer—“where is now thy fear?” The maiden abode in the halls of her sires, while the youth rode forth intent on valiant deeds, for ’twas in the days when a hero’s laurels were his bridal gift. But his heart was not strong in hope—neither was it girt with patience—neither was it seasoned with denial; and temptation beset him by the way and endurance failed, and when he returned, his knightly spurs were dimmed, and tarnished his knightly honor. “Oh, spurn me not, beloved!” he cried, in agonized abasement. And the lady answered, “Through glory and shame I will be true to thee.” Then was Kenneth comforted by her tenderness, and strengthened by her counsels—and he went forth with hope to retrieve the errors of the past. But the glory of his youth had departed, and the fear of God dwelt no more in his bosom; and his heart was curdled by the scorn of men, and hardened against his kind; and his right hand became a hand of power, but it was red with wrath—and injustice, and oppression, and cruelty, and wrong, and rapine, and murder, stalked in his train. Then he returned to his lady, and stood before her with a sullen brow, saying,