My father stood for his true king, Till standing it could do nae mair; The day is lost, and so are we,-- Nae wonder mony a heart is sair. The sound of the organ pealed through the chapel of the English Augustine convent at Bruges: a bright gleam of sunshine, streaming through the painted window to the south of the altar, shone upon the clouds of incense which arose in silvery folds from the censers; it shone upon the white-robed assistants, upon the priests, and upon the calm brow of the young nun who had that moment taken the irrevocable vows which separated her from the world--a world of which she knew but little; but which, from the circumstances in which her family was placed, offered n…
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