"And how the clan united prayed The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. XXVI. "She looked to river, looked to hill, Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still, 'Not you, _but Fate_, has vanquished me; _Their influence kindly stars may shower_ On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, For pride _is_ quelled, and love _is_ free.'" The mission of the elf is now accomplished, his last special service having been to steal the armour of William of Deloraine "while slept the knight," and thus to enable his master to personate that warrior. It may be remarked that hitherto there is no direct evidence that the Page was sent by Michael Scott. That evidence is reserved for the moment of his final disappearance. On the same evening, after the celebration of the nuptials, a mysterious and intense blackness enveloped the assembled company in Branksome Hall. "A secret horror checked the feast, And chilled the soul of every guest; Even the high Dame stood half aghast, She knew some evil in the blast; The elvish Page fell to the ground, And, shuddering, muttered, 'Found! found! found!' XXV. "Then sudden through the darkened air, A flash of lightning came, So broad, so bright, so red the glare, The castle seemed on flame, &c. &c. Full through the guests' bedazzled band Resistless flashed the levin-brand, And filled the hall with smouldering smoke, As on the elvish Page it broke, &c. &c. When ended was the dreadful roar, The elvish Dwarf was seen no more. XXVI. "Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, Some saw a sight, not seen by all; That dreadful voice was heard by some Cry, with loud summons, 'Gylbin, come!' And on the spot where burst the brand, Just where the Page had flung him down, Some saw an arm, and some a hand, And some the waving of a gown: The guests in silence prayed and shook, And terror dimmed each lofty look, But none of all the astonished train _Was so dismayed as Deloraine,_ &c. &c. {367} At length, by fits, he darkly told, With broken hint, and shuddering cold, That he had seen, right certainly, _A shape with amice wrapped around,_ _With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,_ _Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea,_ And knew--but how it mattered not-- IT WAS THE WIZARD, MICHAEL SCOTT." After this final consummation, it is amusing to notice a slight "incuria" on the part of the poet, which I wonder has never been corrected in the later editions. Having described the nuptial ceremony of Cranstoun and Margaret in the early part of the last Canto, he says in Section xxviii., "Nought of the bridal _will_ I tell, Which _after_ in short space befell," &c. &c.