We shall not enter into tedious details of the measures taken to pursue, or endeavours to discover the prisoner, nor yet of the surmises thrown out that his escape had been connived at. Neither shall we claim the sympathy of our readers, for the disappointment of those who flocked to Arden to witness the expected execution; but rather, confining our attention to the more interesting persons of our narrative, go on to say, that through the long hours of that day, whatever were the varied occupations of others, the eye of Lady Arden still kept watch on that lonely turret which held her son, and which (hence its title of the eagle's nest) projecting from the side of the highest of the elevated group of towers, seemed to have its dwelling among the clouds. So conspicuous an object had it become in her sight, that though, as Mr. Cameron said, it appeared in the distance but a speck, not larger than a hand lantern, and was completely enveloped with ivy, yet the most unreasonable dread assailed her lest it should draw the attention and excite the suspicion of every creature who passed by. If but a wandering mendicant crossed the park, her heart would cease to beat the while, and her anxious gaze follow the form, till the pathway leading to the rock on which the castle stood was left behind. Nor did she withdraw affection's eye, nor cease to be the guardian spirit of the spot, till the shadows of evening closing round, shut out the ruins from her view.

Alfred had now, she knew, commenced his journey. Her devoted affection would have led her to accompany her son, but such a step would hamper his flight, and endanger his safety. Even a farewell interview was not to be thought of.

In utter desolation of spirit, therefore, our unhappy hero, even at the moment we are describing, rapidly descended the height on which the castle stood, and strode across the wide extent of park, thus abdicating, as it were, the princely domain of his forefathers, with scarcely a consciousness of where he was, or what his purpose; and when, after pursuing his journey for a time, he became capable of any approach to reflection, his thoughts were all of wretchedness. An exile, an outlaw, dishonoured, beggared, disguised, he was quitting his native land, probably for ever; unless, indeed, he should be pursued and dragged back, to suffer an ignominious death. He was, it is true, in the very act of escaping for the present this last, and in the estimation of most people worst, because irremediable ill; but accompanying this reflection were sensations which, perhaps, he could not himself have defined. For, since his sentence had been pronounced, notwithstanding the anxious efforts still making in his behalf, he had been strenuously preparing his mind for the most fatal issue, and, with the assistance of the pious Mr. Edwards, endeavouring to wean his affections from things below and to centre all his hopes in heaven. However little understood such feelings may be by those who are engaged in the busy whirl of terrestrial concerns, to those who have lately stood on the brink of the grave, they possess an awful reality not soon to be forgotten.

Compared with views of peace, and rest, and hope so obtained, there was, as a counterpoise to the mere instinct of self preservation, a strong sense of distaste to the weary pilgrimage of life renewed; nor will this seem overstrained, when we remember under what circumstances it was renewed; when we contemplate the universal blight which had fallen upon the fair spring of all his earthly prospects.

At an early hour the next morning, the melancholy ceremony of Willoughby's funeral, which had been so long delayed in the hope of his brother being able to take with honour his place of chief mourner, was at length obliged to be performed in all the hopeless misery of present circumstances. Immediately after the conclusion of the dismal solemnities the family set out for London.

Lady Arden had determined to remain in England till every effort had been made to obtain the reprieve of her son; but, if all failed, to join him under a feigned name at Geneva, the place at which they had appointed to meet; and become, for the remainder of her sojourn upon earth, the kind companion and solace of his wanderings.

Two of her daughters were already married; Mr. Cameron had generously declared his unaltered determination to become the husband of Madeline; Lady Arden had that morning consigned to the grave the remains of poor Willoughby; Alfred alone, therefore, now claimed all her care, all her tenderness, all the consolation her maternal affection could bestow.

How the affair would have concluded had not our hero made his escape, remains enveloped in mystery; that circumstance might have been supposed to supersede the necessity for a reprieve. It was, however, generally believed, that Lady Arden had received an assurance that there should be no efforts made to pursue her son, or to require him at the hands of foreign powers, but that unless some circumstances in his favour came to light, it would be necessary for him to live abroad, and remain unknown.