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
"Fear not for me; it shall be, my husband. I will do thy bidding, I will
seek my king," she said, for when comfort failed for him, she sought to
give it. "Hast forgotten Dermid's words? He would be near me when I
needed him, and he will be, my beloved, I doubt him not."
"Could I but think so, could I but know that he would be near to shield
thee, oh, life's last care would be at an end, said Nigel, earnestly;
and then for some time that silence, more eloquent, more fraught with
feeling in such an hour than the most impassioned words, fell on them
both. When again he spoke, it was on a yet more holy theme; the
thoughts, the dreams of heaven, which from boyhood had been his, now
found vent in words and tones, which thrilled to the inmost spirit of
his listener, and lingered there, when all other sense had fled. He had
lived in an era of darkness. Revelation in its doctrines belonged to the
priests alone; faith and obedience demanded by the voice of man alone,
were all permitted to the laity, and spirits like Nigel's consequently
formed a natural religion, in which they lived and breathed, hallowing
the rites which they practised, giving scope and glory to their faith.
He pictured the world, on whose threshold he now stood, pictured it, not
with a bold unhallowed hand, but as the completion, the consummation of
all those dim whisperings of joy, and hope, and wisdom, which had
engrossed him below--the perfection of that beauty, that loveliness, in
the material and immaterial, he had yearned for in vain on earth.
"And this world of incomparable unshadowed loveliness awaits me," he
said, the superstition of the age mingling for the moment with thoughts
which seemed to mark him a century beyond his compeers; "purchased by
that single moment of suffering called death. It is mine, my beloved,
and shall be thine; and oh, when we meet there, how trivial will seem
the dark woes and boding cares of earth! I have told thee the vision of
my vigil, Agnes, my beloved; again I have seen that blessed spirit, aye,
and there was no more sadness on his pale brow, naught, naught of
earth--spiritualized, etherealized. He hovered over my sleep, and with a
smile beckoned me to the glorious world he inhabits; he seemed to call
me, to await me, and then the shrouding clouds on which he lay closed
thicker and thicker round him, till naught but his celestial features
beamed on me. Agnes, dearest, best, think of me thus, as blessed
eternally, unchangeably, as awaiting thee to share that blessedness, not
as one lost to thee, beloved; and peace, aye, joy e'en yet shall smile
for thee."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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