The Days of Bruce: A Story from Scottish History. Vol. 1Aguilar, Grace
History
The Days of Bruce: A Story from Scottish History. Vol. 1
Aguilar, Grace
Robert I, King of Scots, 1274-1329 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- Robert I, 1306-1329 -- Fiction
The deep, sonorous voice of the abbot audibly faltered as he commenced
the sacred service, and looked on the fair beings kneeling, in the
beauty and freshness of their youth, before him. Accustomed, however, to
control every human emotion, he speedily recovered himself, and
uninterruptedly the ceremony continued. Modestly, yet with a voice that
never faltered, Agnes made the required responses; and so deep was the
stillness that reigned around not a word was lost, but, sweetly and
clearly as a silver clarion, it sunk on every ear and thrilled to every
heart; to his who knelt beside her, as if each tone revealed yet more
the devoted love which led her there. Towards the conclusion of the
service, and just as every one within the church knelt in general
prayer, a faint, yet suffocating odor, borne on what appeared a light
mist, was distinguished, and occasioned some slight surprise; by the
group around the altar, however, it was unnoticed; and the men-at-arms,
on looking towards the narrow windows and perceiving nothing but the
intense darkness of the night, hushed the rising exclamation, and
continued in devotion. Two of the knights, too, were observed to glance
somewhat uneasily around, still nothing was perceivable but the light
wreaths of vapor penetrating through the northern aisle, and dissolving
ere long the arches of the roof. Almost unconsciously they listened, and
became aware of some sounds in the distance, but so faint and
indefinable as to permit them to rest in the belief that it must be the
men-at-arms hurrying from the keep to the walls, although they were
certain the trumpet had not yet sounded. Determined not to heed such
vague sounds, they looked again to the altar. The abbot had laid a
trembling hand on either low-bent head, and was emphatically pronouncing
his blessing on their vows, calling on heaven in its mercy to bless and
keep them, and spare them to each other for a long and happy life; or if
it must be that a union commenced in danger should end in sorrow, to
keep them still, and fit them for 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
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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