HHT *■• ■• -^'iV.-, CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PR 4001.A45D2 1891 The days of Bruce; a story "■"H? ,^c°"'s*' 3 1924 013 205 137 T1\ H 00] a Cornell University § Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 32051 37 p. 148. J). ^^^^IP^ ^i^ THE DAYS OF BRUCE A js Ton r SCOTTISH HISTORY. BY GRACE AGTJILAR, AUTHOE OF "HOMB UrFLTTENOE," "THE MOTHEE'S EK0OMPEN8B," "WOMAn'O FEIENDSmP," "OHE TALE OF CEDAES," ETC., ETO. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 1891. m.l/7<^ FREFJiCE. As these pages have passed through the press, min- gled feelings of pain and pleasure have actuated my heart. Who shall speak the regret that she, to whom its composition was a work of love, cannot participate in the joy which its publication would have occasion- ed — ^who shall tell of that anxious pleasure which I feel in witnessing the success of each and all the efforts of her pen 2 The Days of Beuce must be considered as an en- deavor to place before the reader an interesting nar- rative of a period of history, in itself a romance, and one perhaps as delightful as could well have been se- lected. In combination with the story of Scotland's brave deliverer, it must be viewed as an illustration of female character, and descriptive of much that its Author considered excellent in woman. In the high- minded Isabella of Buchan is traced the resignation of a heart wounded in its best affections, yet trustful midst accumulated misery. In IsoKne may br seen ■Vl PBEFACB. the seK-inflicted unhappiness of a too confident and Bell reliant nature ; while in Agnes is delineated- the overwhelming of a mind too mucli akin to heaven in purity and innocence to battle with the stern and bitter Borrows with which her life is strewn. How far the merits of this work may be perceived becomes not me to judge ; I only know and feel that on me has devolved the endearing task of publishing the writings of my lamented child — that I am ftilfilling the desire of her life. Sakah Aomi.AB. May, 1852. THE DAYS OF BRUCE. CHAPTER I. Thb month of March, rough and stormy as it is in England, would perhaps be deemed mild and beautiful as May by those accustomed to meet and brave its fury in the eastern High- lands, nor would the evening on which our tale commences bely its wild and fitful character. The wind howled round the ancient Tower of Buchan, in alternate gusts of wailing and of fury, so mingled with the deep, heavy roll of the lashing waves, that it was impossible to distiijgiush the roar of the one element from the howl of the other. Neither tree, hill, nor wood intercepted the rushing gale, to change the dull monotony of its gloomy tone. The Ythan, indeed, darted by, swollen and turbid from continued storms, threatening to overflow the barren plain it watered, but its voice was undistinguishable amidst the louder wail of wind and ocean. Pine-trees, dark, ragged, and stunted, and scat- tered so widely apart that each one seemed monarch of some thirty acres, were the only traces of vegetation for miles round. Nor were human habitations more abundant ; indeed, few dwell- ings, save those of such soUd masonry as the Tower of Buchan, could hope to stand scathless amidst the storms that in winter ever swept along the moor. No architectural beauty distinguished the residence of the Earls of Buchan ; none of that tasteful decoration peculiar to the Saxon, nor of the more sombre yet more imposing style mtroduced by the Norman, and known as the Gothic archi- tecture. Originally a hunting-lodge, it had been continually enlarged by succeeding lords, without any regard either to symmetry oi /iit>pDrtion, elegance or convenience; and now, early in th« 8 THE DATS OP BEUOE. year 1306, appeared witilin its outer walls as a most hetero- geneous mass of ill-staped turrets, courts, offices, and galleries, huddled together in ill-sorted confusion, though presenting to the distant view a massive square building, remarkable only for a strength and solidity capable of resisting alike the war of ele- ments and of man. . -' ■ Without all seemed a dreary wilderness, but within existed, indisputable signs of active life. The warlike inhabitants of the tower, though comparative^ few in number, were contin- ually passing to and fro in the courts and galleries, or congre- gating in Uttle knots, in pager converse. Some cleansing their armor or arranging banners ; others, young and active, prac- tising the' various manoeuvres of mimic war; each and all bearing on their brow that indescribable expression of antici- pation and excitement which seems ever on the expectant of it knows not what. The condition of Scotland was indeed such as to keep her sons constantly on the alert, preparing for defence or attack, as the insurging eflfbrts of the ' English or the commands of their lords should determine. From the richest noble to the veriest serf, the aged man to the little child, however contrary their politics and feelings, one spirit actuated all, and that spirit was war — war in all its deadliest evils, its unmitigated horrors, for it was native blood which deluged the 'rich plains, the smiling vales, and fertile hills of Scotland. Although the castle of Buchan resembled more a citadel intended for the accommodation of armed vassals than the com- modious dwelling of feudal lords, one turret gave evidence,; by its internal arrangenient, of a degree of refinement and a nearer approach to comfort than its fellows, and seeming to proclaim that within its massive walls the lords of the castle were ao- custoined to reside. The apartments were either hung with heavy tapestry, which displayed, in gigantic proportions, the combats of the Scots and Danes, or panelled with polished oak, rivalling ebony in its glossy blackness, inlaid with solid silver. Heavy draperies of damask fell from the ceiling to the floor at every window, a pleasant guard, indeed, from the con stant winds which found entrance through many creaks and comers of the Gothic casements, but imparting a dingy aspect to apartments lordly in their dimensions, and somewhat rich in decoration. THE DATS OF BEUOE. 9 riie deep embrasures of the casements were thus in a mail: h»i severed from the main apartment, for even when the cur- tains wei'e completely lowered there was space enough to con- tain a chair or two and a table. The furniture corresponded in solidity and proportion to the panelling or tapestry of the walls; nor, was there any approach even at those doubtful comforts already introduced in the more luxurious Norman cas- tles of South Britain. The group, however, assembled in one of these ancient rooms needed not the aid of adventitious ornament to betray the nobility of birth, and those exalted and chivalric feehngs inherent to their rank. The sun, whose stormy radiance dur- ing the day had alternately deluged earth and sky with fitful yet glorious brilliance, and then, burying itself in the dark masses of overhanging clouds, robed every object in deepest gloom, now seemed to conoqntrate his departing rays in one Uving flood of splendor, and darting within the chamber, Un- gered in crimson glory around the youthful form of a gentle girl, dyeing her long and clustering curls with gold. Slightly bending over a large and cumbrous frame which supported her embroidery, her attitude could no more conceal the grace and lightness of her childlike form, than the glossy ringlets the soft and radiant features which they shaded. There was arch- ness lurking in those dark blue eyes, to which tears seemed yet a stranger ; the clear and snowy forehead, the full red lip, and health-bespeaking cheek had surely seen but smiles, and mirrored but the Joyous light which filled her gentle heart. Her figure ssemed to speak a child, but there was a something in that fa,ce, bright, glowing as E was, which yet would tell of somewhat more than childhood — that seventeen summers had done their work, and taught that guileless heart a sterner tale ^an gladness. A young man, but three or four years her senior, occupied, an embroidered settle at her feet. In complexion, as in the color of his, hair and eyes, there was similarity between them, but the likeness went no further, nor would the most casua. observer have looked on them as kindred. Fair and lovely ae the maiden would even have been pronounced, it was perhaps more the expression, the sweet innocence that characterized her features which, gave to them tl eir charm ; buj; in the young man there was infinitelv more than this, tl.ough eflfem 10 THE DATS OF BEtTOE. mate as was )>18 complexion, and the bright sunny curls which floated over his t'uvoat, he was eminently and indescribably beautiful, for it \fas the mind, the glorious mind, the kindling (ipirit which threw their radiance over his perfect features ; the spirit and mind which that noble form enshrined stood ipart, and though he knew it not himself, found not their »qual in that dark period of warfare and of woe. The sword "md lance were the only instniments of the feudal aristocracy ; ambition, power, warUke fame, t!»e principal occupants of their thoughts ; the chase, the tourney, or the foray, the relaxation of their spirits. But unless that fnce deceived, there was more, much more, which characterized the elder youth within that chamber. A large and antique volume of Nt*rse legends rested on bis knee, which, in a rich, manly voice, he was reading aloud to his companion, diversifying his leotjre with remarks and ex- planations, which, from the happy Biniles and earnest attention of the maiden, appeared to impart the pleasure intended by the speaker. The other visible inhabitant of the apartment was a noble-looking boy of about fifteen, far less steadily em- ployed than his companions, for at one time he was poising a heavy lance, and throwing himself into the various attitudes of a finished warrior ; at others, brandished a two-handed sword, somewhat taller than himself ; then glancing over the shoul- der of his sister — for so nearly was he connected with the maiden, though the raven curls, the bright flashing eye of jet, and darker sEn, appeared to forswear such near relationship — criticising her embroidery, anjl then transferring his scrutiny to the strange figures on the gorgeously-illuminated manu- script, and then for a longer period listening, as it were, irre- sistibly to the wild legends which that deep voice was so me- lodiously pouring forth. " It will never do, Agnes. You cannot embroider the cor- onation of Kenneth MacAlpine and listen to these wild talea at one and the same time. Look at your clever pupil. Sir Ni- gel ; she is placing a heavy iron buckler on the poor king's head instead of his golden crown." The boy laughed long smd merrily as he spoke, and even Sir Nigel smiled ; while Agnes, blushing and confused, replied, half jestingly and hall earnestly, " And why not tell me of it before, Alan '? you must have seen it long ago." THE DATS OF BEtlCE. 11 " And so I did, sweet sister mine ; but I wished to see the f iFect of such marvellous abstraction, and whether, in case of necessity, an iron shield would serve oiu- purpose as well as a jewelled diadem." " Never fear, my boy. Let but the king stand forth, and there will be Scottish men enow and willing to convert an iron buckler into a goodly crown ;" and as Sir Nigel spoke his eyes flashed, and his whole countenance irradiated with a spirit that might not have been suspected when in the act of reading, but which evidently only slept till awakened by an all-sufficient call. " Let the tyrant Edward exult in the possession of our country's crown and sceptre — he may find we need not them to make a king ; aye, and a king to snatch the regal diadem from the proud usurper's brow — the Scottish sceptre from his blood-stained hands !" " Thou talkest wildly, Nigel," answered the lad, sorrowfully, his features assuming an expression of judgment and feeling beyond his years. "Who is there in Scotland will do this thing ? who will dare again the tyrant's rage ? Is not this un- happy country divided within itself, and how may it resist the foreign foe ?" " Wallace ! think of Wallace ! Did he not well-nigh wrest our country from the tyrant's hands ? And is there not one to follow in the path he trod — no noble heart to do what he hath done?" " Nigel, yes. Let but the rightful king stand forth, and were there none other, I — even I, stripling as I am, with my good sword and single arm, even with the dark Jblood of Comyn in my veins, Alan of Buchan, would join him, aye, and die for him !" " There spoke the blood of DuflF, and not of Comyn 1" burst impetuously from the lips of Nigel, as he grasped the strip- ling's ready hand ; " and doubt not, noble boy, there are other hearts in Scotland bold and true as thine ; and even as Wallace, one will yet arise to wake them from their stagnant sleep, and give them freedom." " Wallace," said the maiden, fearfully ; " ye talk of Wallace, of his bold deeds and bolder heart, but bethink ye of his /ate. Oh, were it not better to be still than follow in his steps unto thesoaflfold?" " Dearest, no ; better the scaffold and th« axe, aye, even the 13 TBE DAYS OF BKUC!K. iron chains and hangman's cord, than the gilded fetteiis of s tyrant's yoke. Shame on thee, sweet Agnes, to counse' thoughts as these, and thou a Scottish maiden." Yet even aa he spoke chidingly, the voice of Nigel became soft and thril- ling, even as it had before been bold and daring. " I fear me, Nigel, I have but little of my mother's blood within my veins. I cannot bid them throb and bound as hers with patriotic love and warrior fire. A lowly cot with him I loved were happiness for me." " But that cot must rest upon a soil unchained, sweet Agnesj or joy could have no resting there. Wherefore did Scotland rise against her tyrant — why struggle as she hath to fling aside her chains ? Was it her noble sons ? Alas, ajas ! degenerate and base, they sought chivalrio fame ; forgetful of their coun- try, they asked for knighthood from proud Edward's hand, regardless that that hand had crowded fetters on their father- land, and would enslave their sons. Net to them did Scotland owe the transient gleam of glorious light which, though extin- guished in the patriot's blood, hath left its trace behind. With the bold, the hardy,; lowly. Scot that gleam had birth; they would be free to them. What mattered that their tyrant was a valiant knight, a, worthy son of chivalry: they saw but ar. usurper, an enslaver, and they rose and spurned his smiles — aye, and they will rise again. And wert thou one of them, sweet girl, a cotter's wife, thou too wouldst pine for freedom Yes ; Scotland will bethink her of her warrior's fate, and shout aloud revenge for Wallace !" Either his argument was unanswerable, or the energy of his voice and manner carried conviction with them, but a brighter glow mantled the maiden's cheek, and with it stole the momen- tary shame — 4he wish, the simple words that she had spoken could be recalled. " Give us but a king for whom to fight — a kin^ to love, re- vere, obey — :a. king from whose hand knighthood were an hon- or, precious as life itself, and there are noble hearts enough to Bwear fealty to him, and bright swords ready to defend his throne," said the young heir of Buchan, a* he brandished his own weapon above his head, and then rested his arms upon ifa broad hilt, despondingly. " But where is that kinsc ? Men speak of my most gentle kinsman Sir John Com'yn, calW the Eed-r-bah 1 . 'Che sceptre were the same jewelled bauble in his THE DATS OF BBUCE. 13 unpotewt hand as in his sapient uncle's ; a gem, a toy, forsooth, the loan of crafty Edward. No! the Red Comyn is no king for Scotland ; and who is; there besides? The rightful heir^ — a cold, dull-blooded neutral — a wild and wavering changeling. I pray thee be not angered, Nigel ; it cannot be gainsaid, e'en though he. is thy. brother." " I know it Alan ; know it but too well," answered Nigel, sadly, *,hough the dark glow rushed up to cheek and brow. " Yet Robert's blood is hot enough. His deeds are plunged in mystery — his words not less so ; yet I cannot look on him aa tliou dost, as, alas ! too many do. It may be that I love him all too well; thait dearer even than Edward, than all tie rest, has Robert ever been to me. He knows it not ; for, sixteen years my senior, he has ever held me as a child taking Uttle heed of his wayward course ; and yet my heart has throbbed beneath his word, his look, as if' he were not what he seemed, but would — but must be something more." " I ever thought thee but a wild enthusiast, gentle Nigel, imd this confirms it. Mystery, aye, such mystery as ever springs from actions at variance with reason, judgment, valor — with all that frames the patriot. Would that thou wert the representative of thy royal line ; wert thou iii Earl Robert's jilace, thus, thus would Alan kneel to thee and hail thee king !" " Peace, peace, thou foolish boy, the crown and sceptre have no charm for me ; let me but see my country free, the tyrant humbled, my brother as my trusting spirit whispers he shaU be, and Nigel asks no more." " Art thou indeed so modest, gentle Nigel — is thy happiness so distinct from self ? thine eyes tell other tales sometimes, and speak they false, fair sir ? Timidly, yet irresistibly, the maiden glanced up from her embroidery, but the gaze that met hers caused those bright eyes to fall more quickly than they were raised, and vainly for a few seconds did she endeavor so to steady her hand as to re- sume her task. Nigel was, however, spared reply, for a sharp and sudden bugle-blast reverberated through the tower, and •with an exclamation of wondering inquiry Alan bounded from the chamber. There was one other inmate of that apartment, wliose presence, although known and felt, had, as was evident, been no restraint either to the employments or the sentiments i)f the two youths and their companion. Their conversation li THE DA ITS OF BEUCE. had not passed unheeded, although it had elicited no comment or rejoinder. The Countess of Buchan stood ■within one ol those deep embrasurtes we have noticed, at times glancing to- wards the youthful group with an earnestness of sorrowing affection that seemed to have no measure in its depth, no shrink- ing in its might ; at others, fixing a long, unmeaning, yet some- what anxious gaze on the wide plain and distant ocean, which the casement overlooked. It was impossible to look once on the countenance of Isabella of Buchan, and yet forbear to look again. The calm dignity, the graceful majesty of her figure seemed to mark her as one born to command, to hold in willing homage the minds and in- clinations of men ; her pure, pale brow and marble cheek — for the rich rose seemed a stranger there — ^the long silky lash of jet, the large, full, black eye, in its repose so soft that few would guess how it could flash fire, and light up those classic features with power to stir the stagnant souls of thousands and guide them with a word. She looked in feature as in form a queen ; fitted to be beloved, formed to be obeyed. Her heavy robe of dark brocade, wrought with thick threads of gold, seemed well suited to her majestic form ; its long, loose folds detracting naught from the graceful ease of her carriage. Her thick, glossy hair, vying in its rich blackness with the raven's wing, was laid in smooth bands upon her stately brow, and gathered up behind in a careless knot, confined with a bodkin of massive gold. The hood or coif, formed of curiously twisted black and golden threads, which she wore in compliance with the Scottish custom, that thus made the distinction between the matron and the maiden, took not from the peculiarly grace- ful form of the head," nor in any part concealed the richness ol the hair. Calm and pensive as was the general expression ot her countenance, few could look upon it without that peculiar sensation of respect, approaching to awe, which restrained and conquered sorrow ever calls for. Perchance the cause of such emotion was all too delicate, too deeply veiled to be defined by those rude hearts who were yet conscious of its existence ; and for them it was enough to own her power, bow before it, and fear her as a being set apart. Musingly she had stood looking forth on the wide waste ; the distant ocean, whose tumbling waves one moment gleamed in living light, at others immersed in inky blackness were THE DATS OF BKTrOE. 15 scarcely distinguished from the lowering sky. The moaning winds swept by, bearing the storm-cloud on their wings; patclies of blue gleamed strangely and brightly forth ; and, far in the west, crimson and amber, and pink and green, inlaid in beautiful mosaic the departing luminary's place of rest. " Alas, my gentle one," she had internally responded to her daughter's words, •' if thy mother's patriot heart could find no shield for woe, nor her warrior fire, as thou deemest it, guard her from woman's tnals, what will be thy fate ? This is no time for happy love, for peaceful joys, returned as it may be ; for — may I doubt that truthful brow, that knightly soul (her glance was fixed on Nigel) — yet not now may the Scottish knight find rest and peace in woman's love. And better is it thus — the land of the slave is no home for love." A faint yet a beautiful smile, dispersing as a momentary beam the anxiety stamped on her features, awoke at the enthusiastic reply of Nigel. Then slie tumed again to the casement, for her quick eye had discerned a party of about ten horsemen ap- proaching in the direction of the tower, and on the summons of the bugle she advanced from ner retreat to the centre of the apartment. " Why, surely thou art hut a degenerate descendant of the brave Macduff, mine Agnes, tnat a bugle blast should thus send back every drop of blood to thy little heart," she said, play- fully. " For shame, for shame ! how art thou fitted to be a warrior's bride? They are but Scottish men, and true, methinks, if I recognize their leader rightly. And it is even so." "Sir Robert Keith, right welcome," she added, as, mar- shalled by young Alan, the knight appeared, bearing his plumed helmet in his hand, and displaying haste and eager- ness alike in his flushed features and soiled armor. " Ye have ridden long and hastily. Bid them hasten our evening meal, my son ; or stay, perchance Sir Robert needs thine aid to rid him of this garb of war. Thou canst not serve one nobler." "Nay, noble lady, knights must don, not doff their armor now. I bring ye news, great, glorious news, which will not brook delay. A royal messenger I come, charged by his grace my king — my country's king — with missives to his friends, call- ing on all who spurn a tyrant's yoke — who love their land. 16 THE BATS OF BETJOE. their homes, their freedom — on all who wish for Wallace — to awake, arise, and join their patriot king !" " Of whom speakest thou, Sir Robert Keith ? I charge, thee, speak !" exclaimed Nigel, Starting from the posture of dignified reserve with which he had welcomed the knight, and springing towards him. . " The patriot and the king 1 — of whom canst thou SDeak ?" said Alan; at the same instant. "Thine are, in very truth, marvellous tidings, Sir Knight ; an' thou canst call up one to unite such names, and worthy- of them, he shall not call on me in vain." " Is he not worthy, Alan of Buchan, who thus flings down the gauntlet, who thus dares the fury of a mighty sovereign, and with a handful of brave men prepares to follow: in the steps of Wallace, to the throne or to the scaffold ?" ' ■ " Heed not my reckless boy, Sir Robert," said the countess, earnestly, as the eyes of her son fell beneath the knight's glance of fiery reproach ; " no heart is truer to his country, no arm more eager to rise in her defence." " The king ! the king !" gasped Nigel, , some strange over- mastering emotion checking his utterance. " Who, is it that has thus dared, thus — " " And canst thou too ask, young sir ?" returned the knight, with a smile of peculiar meaning. " Is thy sovereign's name unknown to thee? Is Robert Bruce a name unknown, unheard, unloved, that thou, too, breathest it not ?" "My brother, my brave, my noble brother! — I saw it, I knew it 1 Thou wert no changeling, no slavish neutral ; but even as I felt, iou art, thou wilt be ! My brother, my brother, I may live and die for thee !" and the young enthusiast raised his clasped hands above his head, as in speechless thanksgiving for these strange, excitingnews; his flushed cheek, his quiver- ing lip, his moistened eye' betraying an emotion which seemed for the space of a moment to sink on the hearts of all who wit- nessed it, and hush each feeling into silence. A shout from the court below broke that momentary pause. " God save Kmg Robert ! then, say I," vociferated AUn, eagerly grasping the knight's hand. " Sit, sit. Sir Knight ; and for the love of heaven, speak more of this most wondrous tale. ErewLile, we hear of this goodly Earl of Oarrick at Edward's ooui-t, doing him homage, serving him as his own English THE DATS OF BEITCE. 17 knight, and now in Scotland — aye, and Scotland's king. How may we reconcile these contradictions ?" " Rather how did he vanish from the tyrant's hundred eyes, and leave the court of England ?" inquired Nigel, at the same instant as the Countess of Buchan demanded, somewhat anx- iously^ — " And Sir John Comyn, recognizes he our sovereign's claim ? Is he amongst the Bruoe's slender train ?" A dark cloud gathered on the noble brow of the knight, replacing the chivalrio courtesy with which he had hitherto responded to his interrogators. He paused ere he answered, m a stem, deep voice — *' Sir John Comyn lived and died a traitor, lady. He hath received the meed of his base treachery ; his traitorous design for the renewed slavery of his country — ^the imprisonment and death of the only one that stood forth in her need." " And by whom did the traitor die ?" fiercely demanded the young heir of Buchan. " Mother, thy cheek is blanched ; yet wherefore ? Comyn as I am, shall we claim kindred with a traitor, and turn away from the good cause, because, forsooth, a traitorous Comyn dies ? No ; were the Bruce's own right hand red with the recreant's blood — ^he only is the Comyn's king." " Thou hast said it, youthful lord," said the knight, impres- sively. "Alan of Buchan, bear that bold heart and patriot sword unto the Bruce's throne, and Comyn's traitorous name shall be forgotten in the scion of Macduff. Tl^ mother's loyal blood runs reddest in thy veins, young sir ; too pure for Comyn's base alloy. Know, then, the Bruce's hand is red with the trait- or's blood, and yet, fearless and firm in the holy justice of his cause, he calls on his nobles and their vassals for their homage and their aid — he calls on them to awake from their long sleep, and shake off the iron yoke from their necks ; to prove that Scotland — the free, the dauntless, the unconquered soil, which once spurned the Roman power, to which all other kingdoms bowed — is free, undaunted, and unconquered still. He calls aloud, aye, even on ye, wife and son of Comyn of Buchan, to snap the hnk that binds ye to a traitor's house, and prove — ■ though darkly, basely flows the blood of Macduff in one de- scendant's veins, that the Earl of Fife refuses homage and alle- ^ance to his sovereign — in ye it rushes free, and bold, and ^yal stiU." 18 THE DAYS OF BEUCE. "And he shall find it so. Mother, why do ye not speak? You, from whose lips my heart first learnt to beat for Scotland my lips to pray that one might come to save her from the yoke of tyranny You, who taught me to forget all private feud; tc merge all feeling, every claim, in the one great hope of Scot- land's freedom. Now that the time is come, wherefore art thou thus? Mother, my own noble mother, let me go forth with the whole field, dis- closing for the first time to King Robert the exact situation in which he stood. Any further struggle, and defeat, imprison- ment, death, all stared him in the face, and Scotland's liberty w;is lost, and forever. The agony of this conviction was known to none save to the sovereign's own heart, and to that Searcher of all, by whom its every throb was felt. The wood behind him was still plunged in deep shadows, and he knew the Grampian Hills, with all their inaecessible paths and mountain fastnesses — known only to the true chil- dren of Scotland — could easily be reached, were the pursuit of the English eluded, which he believed could be easily ac- complished, were they once enabled to retreat into the wood. The consummate skill and prudence of the Bruce character- izing him as a general, even as his extraordinary daring and exhaustless courage marked the warrior, enabled him to effect this precarious and delicate movement, in the very sight of and almost surrounded by foes. Covering his troops, or rather the scattered remnant of troops, by exposing his own person to the enemy, the king was still the first object of attack, the desire of securing his person, or, at least, obtaining possession of his head, becoming more and more intense. But it seemed as though a protecting angel hovered round him : for he had oeen seen in every part of the field ; wherever the struggle nad been fiercest, he had been the centre ; twice he had been unhorsed, and bareheaded almost from the commencement of the strife, yet there he was still, seemingly as firm in his sad- dle, as strong in frame, as unscathed in limb, as determined in purpose, as when he sent back his acceptance of Pembroke's shallenge. Douglas, Fitz-Alan, Alexander and Nigel Bruce, and Alan of Buchan, still bearing the standard, were close around the king, and it was in this time of pi«eaution, of less 112 THE DATS OF BETJOB. inspiriting service, that the young Alan became consciuiis thai he was either severely wounded, or that the strength he had taxed far beyond its natural powers was beginning to fail. Still mechanically he grasped the precious banner, and still he crossed his sword with every foe that came ; but the quick eye of Nigel discerned there was a flagging of strength, and he kept close beside him to aid and defend. The desired goal was just attained, the foes were decreasing in numbers, for they were scattered some distance from each other, determined on scouring the woods in search of fugitives, the horses of the king and his immediate followers were urged to quicken iheir pace, when an iron-headed quarel, discharged from an arbalist, struck the royal charger, which, with a shrill cry of death, dropped instantly, and again was the king unhorsed. The de- lay occasioned in extricating him from the fallen animal was dangerous in the extreme ; the greater part of his men were at some distance, for the king had ordered them, as soon as the unfrequented hollows of the wood were reached, to dis- perse, the better to elude their pursuers. Douglas,. Alexander Bruce, and Fitz-Alan had galloped on, unconscious of the acci- dent, and Nigel and Alan were alone near him. A minute sufficed for :the latter to spring from his horse and aid the king to mount, and both entreated, conjured him to follow their companions, and leave them to cover his retreat. A while he J-efused, declaring he would abide with them : he would not so cowardly desert them. " Leave you to death !" he ■ cried ; " my friends, my chil- dren ; no, no ! Urge me no more. If I may not save my country, I may die for her." " Thou shalt not, so nelp me heaven !" answered Nigel, impetuously. " King, friend, brother, there is yet time. Hence, I do beseech thee, hence. Nay, an thou wilt not, I wiU e'on forget thou art my king, and force thee from this spot." He snatched the reins of his brother's horse, and urging it with his own to their fullest speed, took the most unfrequented path, and dashing over every obstacle, through brake and oriar, and over hedge and ditch, placed him in comparative safety. And was A.lan deserted ' Did his brother in arms, in his anxiety to save the precious person of his royal brother, forget the tie that bound them, and leave him to die alone ? A sick- THE DATS OF BKUCE. ll',\ emng sense of inability, of utter exhaustion, crept over the boy's sinking frame, inability even to drag his lim^s towards the wood and conceal himself from his foes. Mechanically he at first stood grasping the now-tattered colors, as if his hand were nailed unto the staff, his foot rooted to the ground. There were many mingled cries, sending their shrill echoes on tht night breeze ; there were chargers scouring the plain ; bodies of men passing and repassing within twenty yards of the spot where he stood, yet half hidden by the deep shadow of a large tree, for some minutes he was unobserved. An armed knight, with about twenty followers, were rushing by ; they stopped, they recognized the banner ; they saw the bowed and drooping figure who supported it, they dashed towards him. With a strong effort Alan roused himself from that lethargy of faint- ness. Nearer and nearer they came. " Yield, or you die !" were the words borne to his ear, shrill, loud, fraught with death, and his spirit sprang up with the sound. He waved his sword above his head, and ihrew him- self into a posture of defence ; but ere they reached him, there- was a sudden and rapid tramp of horse, and the voice of Nigel Bruce shouted — • " Mount, mount ! God in heaven be thanked, I am here in time !" Alan sprung into the saddle; he thought not to inquire how that charger had been found, nor knew he till some weeks after that Nigel had exposed his own person to immi- nent danger, to secure one of the many steeds flying mas- terless over the plain. On, on they went, and frequently the head of Alan drooped from very faintness to his saddle-bow, and Nigel feared to see him fall exhausted to the earth, but still they pursued their headlong way. Death was behind them, and the lives of all tme and loyal Scotsmen were too precious to admit a pause. The sun had risen when King Robert gazed round him on the remnant of his troops. It was a wild brake, amid sur- rounding rocks and mountains where they stood ; a torrent threw itself headlong from a craggy steep, and made its way to the glen, tumbling and roaring and dashing over the black stones that opposed its way. The dark pine, the stimted fir, the weeping birch, and many another mountain tree, marked the natural fertility of the soil, although its aspect seemed wild 114 TUE DATS OF BETJCE. and rude. It was to this spot the king had desii-ed the fiigi tives to direct their several ■vrays, and now he gazed upon all, all that were spared to him and Scotland from that disastrous night. In scattered groups they stood or sate ; their sworde fallen from their hands, their heads drooping on their breasts, with the mien of men whose last hope had been cast on a sin- gle die, and wrecked forever. And when King Robert thought of the faithful men who, when the sun had set the previous evening, had gathered round him in such devoted patriotism, such faithful love, and now beheld the few there were to meet his glance, to give him the sympathy, the hope he needed, scarcely could he summon energy sufficient to speak against hope, to rally the failing spirits of his remaining followers, Mar, Athol, Hay, Eraser, he knew were prisoners, and he knew, too, that in their cases that word was but synonymous witli death. Lennox, his chosen friend, individually the dear- est of all his followers, he too was not there, though none re- membered his being taken ; Randolph, his nephew, and about halfof those gallant youths who not ten days previous had re- ceived and welcomed the honor of knighthood, in all the high hbpes and buoyancy of youth and healthful life ; more, many more than half the number of the stout yeomen, who had risen at his call to rescue their land from chains — where now were these ? Was it wonder that the king had sunk upon a stone, and bent his head upon his hands ? But speedily he rallied ; he addressed each man by name ; he spoke comfort, hope, not lessening the magnitude of his defeat, but still promising theip liberty — still promising that yet would their homes be redeemed, their country free ; aye, even were he compelled to wander months, nay, years in those mountain paths, with naught about him but the title of a king ; stUl, while he had hfe, would he struggle on for Scotland ; still did he feel, despite of blighted hope, of bitter disappointment, that to him was intrusted the sacred task of her deliverance. Would he, might he sink and relax in his efforts and resign his purpose, because his first en- gagement was attended by defeat ? had he done so, it was easy to have found death on the field. Had he listened to tlie voice of despair, he confessed, he would not have left that field alive. " But I lived for my country, for ye, her children," he con- tinued, his voice becoming impassioned in its fervor ; " lived to iiedeem this night, to suffer on a while, to be youi- savior s(iU. THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 115 Will ye thpn desert me ? will ye despoud, because of one de- feat — yield to despair, when Scotland yet calls aloud? No, 30, it cannot be 1" and roused by his earnest, his eloquent ap- peal, that devoted band sprung from their drooping posture, and kneeling at his feet, renewed their oaths of allegiance to him ; the oath that bound thern to seek liberty for Scotland. It was then, as one by one advanced, the king for the first time missed his brother Nigel and the heir of Buchan; amidst the overwhelming bitterness of thought which had engrossed him, he had for a brief while forgotten the precarious situation of Alan, and the determination of Nigel to seek and save, or die with him ; but now the recollection of both rushed upon him, and the flush which his eloquence had summoned faded at once, and the sudden expression of anguish passing over his features roused the attention of all who stood near him. "They must have fallen," he murmured, and for the first time, in a changed and hollow voice. " My brother, my brother, dearest, best ! can it be that, in thy young beauty, thou, too, art taken from me ? — and Alan, how can I tell his mother — how face her sorrow for her son ?" Time passed, and there was no sound ; the visible anxiety of the king hushed into yet deeper stillness the voices hushed before. His meaning was speedily gathered from his broken words, and many mounted the craggy heights to mark if there might not yet be some signs of the missing ones. Time seemed to linger on his flight. The intervening rocks and bushes con- fined all sounds within a very narrow space ; but at length a faint unintelligible noise broke on the stillness, it came nearer, nearer stUl, a nioment more and the tread of horses' hoofs echoed amongst the rocks — a shout, a joyful shout proclaimed them friends. The king sprung to his feet. Another minute Nigel and Alan pressed around him ; with the banner still in his hand, Alan knelt and laid it at his sovereign's feet. " From thy hand I received it, to thee I restore it," he said, but his voice was scarcely articulate ; he bowed his head to press Robert's extended hand to .his lips, and simk senseless at luQ feet. 11(5 THE DATS OF BEFOM CHAPTER XI. RuMOBS of the fatal issue of the engagement at Metbveu tipeedily reached Scone, laden, of course, with yet more dis- astrous tidings than had foundation in reality. King Robert, it was said, and all his nobles and knights — nay, his whole army — were cut off to a man ; the king, if Hot taken prisoner, was left dead on the field, and all Scotland lay again crushed and enslaved at the feet of Edward. For four-and- twenty hours did the fair inhabitants of the palace labor under this belief, well-nigh stunned beneath the accumulation of misfor- tune. It was curious to remark the different forms in which affliction appeared in different characters. The queen, in loud sobs and repeated wailing, at one time deplored her own mise- ry ; at others, accused her husband of rashness and madness. Why had he not taken her advice and remained quiet ? Why could he not have been contented with the favor of Edward and a proud, fair heritage ? What good did he hope to get for himself by assummg the crown of so rude and barren a land as Scotland ? Had she not told him he was but a summer king, that the winter would soon blight his prospects and nip his budding hopes ; and had she iiot proved herself wiser even than he was himself ? and then she would suddenly break ofi in these reproaches to declare that, if he were a prisoner, she would go to him ; she would remain with him to the last ; she would prove how much she idolized him — ^her owii, her brave, her noble Robert. And vain was every effort on the part of her sisters-in-law and the Countess of Buchan, and other of her friends, to mitigate these successive bursts of sorrow. The Lady Seaton, of a stronger mind,: yet struggled with despond- ency, yet strove to hope, to believe all was not as overwhelm- ing as had been described ; although, if rumor were indeed true, she had lost a husband and a son, the gallant, young Earl of Mar, whom she had trained to all noble deeds and honora- ble thoughts, for he had been fatherless from infancy. Lady Mary could forget her own deep anxieties, her own fearful fore- bodings, silently and unobservedly to watch, to follow, to tend the Countess of Buchan, whose marble cheek and Hp, and somewhat sternei- expression of countenance than usual, alono THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 117 betrayed the anxiety passing within, for words it found not. She could share with her the task of soothing, of cheering Agnes, whose young spirit lay crushed beneath this heavy blow. She did not complain, she did not murmur, but evi- dently struggled to emulate her mother's calmness, for she would bend over her frame and endeavor to continue her em- broidery. But those who watched her, marked her frequent Bhudder, the convulsive sob, the tiny hands pressed closely to- gether, and then upon her eyes, as if to still their smarting throbs ; and Isohne, who sat in silence on a cushion at her feet, could catch such low whispered words as these — " Nigel, Nigel, could I but know thy fate ! Dead, dead ! — ' could I not die with thee ? Imprisoned, have I not a right to follow thee; to tend, to soothe thee? Any thing, oh, any thing, but this horrible suspense ! Alan, my brother, thou too, BO young, to die." The morning of the second day brought other and less dis- tressing rumors ; all had not fallen, all were not taken. There were tales of courage, of daring, gallantry, of mighty struggles almost past belief; but what were they, even in that era of chivalry, to the heart sinking under apprehensions, the hopes just springing up amidst the wild chaos of thoughts to smile a moment, to be crushed 'neath suspense, uncertainty, the next ? Still the eager tones of conjecture, the faintest-spoken whispers of renewed hope, were better than the dead stillness, the heavy hush of despair. And the queen's apartments, in which at sunset all her friends had assembled, presented less decided sounds of mourn- ing and of waU, than the previous day. Margaret was indeed still one minute plunged in tears and sobs, and the next hoping more, believing more than any one around her. Agnes had tacitly accompanied her mother and Lady Mary to the royal boudoir, but she had turned in very sickness of heart from all her companions, and remained standing in a deep recess fonnod by the high and naiTow casement, alone, save Isoline, who still clung to her side, pale, motionless as the marble statue neai Ler, whose unconscious repose she envied. " Speak, Isabella, why will you not speak to me ?" said the queen, fretfully. " My husband bade me look to thee foi strength, for suppoi-t under care and a£Biction like to this, yel 118 THE DATB OF BETICB. thou keepest aloof from me ; thou hast words of comfort, of cheering for all save me." " Not so, royal lady, not so," she answered, as with a faint, scarcely perceptible smile, she advanced to the side of her royal mistress, and took her hand in hers. " I have spoken, I have u;ged, entreated, conjured thee to droop not ; for thy husband's sake, to hope on, despite the terrible rumors abroad. I have besought thee to seek firmness for his sake ; but thou didst but tell me, Isabella, Isabella, thou canst not feel as I do, he is naught to thee but thy king ; to me, what is he not ? king, hero, husband — all, my only all ; and I have desisted, lady, for I deemed my words offended, my counsel unadvised, and looked on but as cold and foolish." " Nay, did I say all this to thee ? Isabella, forgive me, for indeed, indeed, I knew it not," replied Margaret, her previous fretfulness subsiding into a softened and less painful burst of weeping. " He is in truth, my all, my heart's dearest, best, and without him, oh ! what am I ? even a cipher, a reed, use- less to myself, to my child, as to all others. I am not like thee, Isabella — would, would I were ; I should be more worthy of my Robert's love, and consequently dearer to his heart. I can be but a burden to him now." , " Hush, hush ! would he not chide thee for such words, my Margaret ?" returned the countess, soothingly, and in a much lower voice, speaking as she would to a younger sister. " Had he not deemed thee worthy, would he have made thee his ? oh, no, believe it not ; he is too true, too honorable for such thought." " He loved me, because he saw I loved," whispered the queen, perceiving that her companions had left her w humor with which these demands were complied with : the dance, too, would diversify these meetings. A night of repose might per- haps succeed, to bs disturbed at its close by a cause for alarm, and those pleasant resting-places must be abandoned, the hap- py party be divided, and scattered far and wide, to encounter fatigue, danger, perchance even death, ere they met again. Yet still they drooped not, murmured not. No voice was ever heard to wish the king's advice had been taken, and they had sought refuge in Norway. Not even Margaret breathed one sigh, dropped one tear, in her husband's presence, although many were the times that she would have sunk from exhaustion, Lad not Isabella of Buchan been near as her guardian angel to revive, encourage, infuse a portion of her own spirit in thfl weaker heart, which so confidingly clung to her. The youngeM THE DATS OF BEICE. 129 and most timid maiden, the oldest and most ailing man, still maintained the same patriotic spirit and resolute devotion which had upheld them at first. " The Bruce and Scotland" were the words imprinted on their souls, endowed with a power to awake the sinking heart, and rouse the fainting frame. To Agnes aad Nigel, it was shrewdly suspected, these wan- derings in the centre of magnificent nature, their hearts oper to each other, revelling in the scenes around them, were sea- sons of unalloyed enjoyment, happiness more perfect than the state and restraint of a court. Precarious, indeed, it was, but even in moments of danger they were not parted ; for Nigel "was ever the escort of the Countess of Buchan, and danger by his side lost half its terror to Agnes. He left her side but to return to it covered with laurels, unharmed, uninjured, even in the midst of foes ; and so frequently did tljis occur, that the fond, confiding spirit of the young Agnes folded itseli around the behef that he bore a charmed life ; that evil and death could not injure one so faultless and beloved. Their love grew stronger with each passing week ; for nature, beautiful nature, is surely the field of that interchange of thought, for that silent commune of soul so dear to those that love. • The simplest flower, the gushing brooks, the frowning hills, the va- ried hues attending the rising and the setting of the sun, all were turned to poetry when the lips of Nigel spoke to the ears of love. The mind of Agnes expanded before these rich com- munings. She was so young, so guileless, her character mould- ed itself on his. She learned yet more to comprehend, to ap- preciate the nobility of his soul, to ehng yet closer to him, as the consciousness of the rich treasure she possessed in his love became more and more unfolded to her view. The natural feai fulness of her disposition gave way, and the firmness, the et thusiasm of purpose, took possession of her heart, secretly and silently, indeed ; for to all, save to hei-self, she was the same gentle, timid, clinging girl that she had ever been. So passed the summer months ; but as winter approached, and the prospects of the king remained as apparently hope- less and gloomy as they were on his first taking refuge in the mountains, it was soon pretty evident that some other plan must be resorted to ; for strong as the resolution might be, tlie delicate frames of his female companions, already sufferin;^ from the privations to which they had been exposed, could not sus- 1.30 THE DAYS OF BEUCE. tain the intense cold and heavy snows peculiar to the mountaio region. Gaflantly as the king had borne himself in every en* counter with the English and Anglo -Scots, sustaining with un- exampled heroism repeated defeats and blighted hopes, driven from one mountainous district by the fierce opposition of iis inhabitants, from another by a cessation of supplies, till faminfl absolutely threatened, closely followed by its grim attendant, disease, all his effoils to collect and inspire his countrymen with his own spirit, his own hope, were utterly and entirely fruitless, for his enemies appeared to increase around him, the autumn found him as far, if not further, from the successful termination of his desires than he had been at first. All Scotland lay at the feet of his foe. John of Lorn, ma- ternally related to the slain Red Comyn, had collected his forces to the number of a thousand, and eflfectually blockaded his progress through the district of Breadalbane, to which he had retreated from a superior body of English, driving him to s narrow pass in the mountains, where the Bruco's cavalry had no power to be of service ; and had it not been for the king's extraordinary exertions in guarding the rear, and there checking the desperate fury of the assailants, and interrupting their head- long pursuit of the fugitives, by a strength, activity, and prudence, that in these days would seem incredible, the patriots must have been cut off to a man. Here it was that the family of Lorn obtained possession of that brooch of Bruce, which even to this day is preserved as a relic, and lauded as a triumph, prov- ing how nearly their redoubted enemy had fallen into their hands. Similar struggles had marked his progress through the mountains ever since the defeat of Methven ; but vain was every effort of his foes to obtain possession of his person, de- stroy his energy, and thus frustrate his purpose. Perth, Inver- ness, Arfiryle, and Aberdeen had alternately been the scene of his wandeiings. The middle of autumn found him with about a hundred followers, amongst whom were the Countess of Buchan and her son, amid the mountains which divide Kincar- dine from the southwest boundary of Aberdeen. The remain- der of his officers and men, divided into small bands, each with some of- their female companions under their especial charge, were scattered over the different districts, as better adapted to concealment and rest. It was that part of the year when day gives place t<; THE DATS OF BEDCE. 131 oight so suddenly, that the sober calm of twilight e^en appeare denied to us. The streams rushed by, turbid and swollen from ;he heavy autumnal rains. A rude wind had robbed most of the trees of their foliage ; the sere and withered leaves, indeed, yet remained on the boughs, beautiful even in their decay, but the slightest breath would carry them away from their resting- places, and the mountain passes were incumbered, and ofteu jlippery from the fallen leaves. The mountains looked frown- ing and bare, the pine and fir bent and rocked in their craggy cradles, and the wind moaned through their dark branches sadly and painfully. The sun had, indeed, shone fitfully through the day, but still the scene was one of melancholy desolation, and the heart of the Countess of Buchan, bold and firm in general, could not successfully resist the influence of Nature's sadness. She sat comparaitively alone ; a covering had, indeed, been thrown over some thick poles, which inter- wove with brushwood, and with a seat and couch of heather, which was still in flower, formed a rude tent, and was destined for her repose ; but until night's dark mantle was fully unfurl- ed, she had prefeiTed the natural seat of a jutting crag, shel- tered from the wind by an overhanging rock and some spread- ing firs. Her companions were scattered in different directions in search of food, as was their wont. Some ten or fifteenlnen had been left with her, and they were dispersed about the mountain collecting firewood, and a supply of heath and moss for the night encampment; within hail, indeed, but scarcely within sight, for the space where the countess sate commanded little more than protruding crags and stunted trees, and mount- ains lifting their dark, bare brows to the starless sky. It was not fear which had usurped dominion in the Lady Isabella's heart, it was that heavy, sluggish, indefinable weight which sometimes clogs the spirit we kiiow not wherefore, until some event following quick upon it forces us, even against our will, to beUeve it the overhanging shadow of the future which had darkened the present. She was sad, very sad, yet she 30uld not, as was ever her custom, bring that sadness to judg- ment, and impartially examining and determining its cause, re- move it if possible, or banish it resolutely from her thoughts. An impulse indefinable, yet impossible to be resisted, had caused her to intrust her Agnes to the care of Lady Maiy and Nigel, and compelled her to follow her son, who had been tht 132 THE DATS OF BKUCE. chosen companion of the king. Rigidly, sternly, she had que* tioned her own heart as to the motives of this decision. It was nothing new her accompanying her son, for she had invariably done so; but it was something unusual her being separated from the queen, and though her heart told her that her motive? were so upright, so pure, they could have borne the • sternest scrutiny, there, was naught which the most rigid mentor could condemn, yet a feeling that evil would come of this was amongst the many others which weighed on her heart. She could not tell wherefore, yet she wished lit had been otherwise, wished the honor of being selected as the king'sjcompanion had fallen on other than her son, for separate, i herself from him she could not. One cause of this despondency might have been traced to the natural sinking of the spirit, when it finds itself alone, with time for its own fancies, after a long period of exer- tion, and that mental excitement which, unseen to all outward observers, preys upon itself. Memory had awakened dreams and visions she had long looked upon as dead ; it did but pic- ture brightly, beautifully, joyously what might have been, and disturbed the tranquil sadness which was usual to her now; disturb it as with phantasmagoria dan.iing on the brain, yet it was a struggle hard and fierce to banish them again. As one sweet fancy sunk another rose, even as gleams of moonlight on the waves which rise and fall with every breeze. Fancy and reason strove for dominion, but the latter conquered. What could be now the past, save as a vision of the night; the pres- ent, a stem reaUty with all its duties — duties, not alone to oth' ers, but to herself. These were the things on which her thoughts must dwell ; these must banish all which might have been and they did ; and Isabella of Buchan came through that fiery ordeal unscathed, uninjured in her self-esteem, conscious that not in one thought did she wrong her husband, in not one dream did she wrong the gentle heart of the queen which sc clung to her ; in not the wildest flight of fancy did she look on Robert as aught save as the deliverer of his country, the king of all trae Scottish men. She rose up from that weakness of suifering, strengthened in her resolve to use every energy in the queen's service in sup- poiting, encouraging, endeavoring so to work on her apprecia- tion of her husband's character, as to render her yet more worthy of his love. She bad ever sought to remain beside the THE DATS OF BEUCE. 133 queen, ever contrived they should be of the samo party ; tl'.al her mind was ever on the stretch, on the excitement, could iio( be denied, but she knew not how great its extent till the call for exertion was comparatively over, and she found herself, she scarcely understood how, the only female companion of her sovereign, the situation she had most dreaded, most determined to avoid. While engaged in the performance of her arduous task, the schooling her own heart and devoting herself to Rob- ert's wife, virtue seemed to have had its own reward, for a new spirit had entwined her whole being — excitement, internal as it was, had given a glow to thought and action ; but in her pres- ent solitude the reaction of spirit fell upon her as a dull, slug- gish weight of lead. She had suffered, too, from both privation and fatigue, and she was aware her strength was failing, and this perhaps was another cause of her depression ; but be that as it may, darkness closed round her unobserved, and when startled by some sudden sound, she raised her head from her hands, she could scarcely discern one object from another in the density of gloom. " Surely night has come suddenly upon us," she said, hall aloud ; " it is strange they have not yet retm-ned," and rising, she was about seeking the tent prepared for her, when a rude grasp was laid on her arm, and a harsh, unknown voice uttered, in suppressed accents — " Not so fast, fair mistress, not so fast ! My way does not lie in that direction, and, with your leave, my way is yours." " How, man ! fellow, detain me at your peril !" answered the countess, sternly, permitting no trace of terror to falter in her voice, although a drawn sword gleamed by her side, and a gi- gantic form fully armed had grasped her arm. " Unhand me, or I will summon those that will force thee. I am not alone, and bethink thee, insult to me will pass not with impunity." The man laughed scornfully. " Boldly answered, fair one," he said ; " of a truth thou art a brave one. I grieve such an office should descend upon me as the detention of so stout a heart; yet even so. In King Edward's name, you are my prisoner." " Your prisoner, and wherefore ?" demanded the countess beheving that calmness would be a better protection than an) symptoms of fear. " You are mistaken, good friend, I knei* not Edwai-d warred with women." 134 THE DATB OF BiiUCB. "Prove my mistake, fail- mistress, and I will crave youi pardon," replied the man. " We have certain intelligence, thai a party of Scottish rebels, their quondam king perhaps among them, are hidden in these mountains. Give us trusty news of their movements, show us their track, and Edward will hold you. in liigh favor, and grant liberty and rich presents in excuse of his servant's too great vigilance. Hearest thou, what is the track of these rebels — what their movements ?" " Thou art a sorry fool, Murdook," retorted another voice, ere the countess could reply, and hastily glancing around,, she beheld herself surrounded by armed men ; "a sorry fool, an '.hou wastest the precious darkness thus. Is not one rank rebel sufficient, think you, to satisfy our lord ? he will get intelligence enough out of her, be sure. Isabella of Buchan is not fool enough to hold parley with such as we, rely on't." A suppressed exclamation of exultation answered the uttei- iince of that name, and without further parley the arms of the countess were strongly pinioned, and with tive quickness of thought the man who had first spoken raised her in his arms, and bore her through the thickest brushwood and wildest crags in quite the contrary direction to the encampment ; their move- ments accelerated by the fact that, ere her arms were confined, the countess, with admirable presence of mind, had raised tr her lips a silver whistle attached to her girdle, and blown a shrill, distinct blast. A moment sufficed to rudely tear it from her hand, and hurry her off as we have said ; and when that call was answered, which it was as soon as the men scattered on the mountain sufficiently recognized the sound, they flung down their tools and sprung to the side whence it came, but there was no sign, no trace of her they sought ; they scoured with lighted torches every mossy path or craggy slope, but in vain ; places of concealment were too numerous, the darkness too intense, save just the space illumined by the torch, to per- mit success. The tramplmg of horses announced the return of the king and his companions, ere their search was concluded ; his bugle summoned the stragglers, and speedily the loss of the countess was ascertained, their fruitless search narrated, and an.xiety and alarm spread over the minds of all. The agony of the youthful Alan surpassed description, even the efforts of liis BO'rereign failed to calm him. Nor was the Bruce himself mucli less agitated. THE DATS OF BBTJCE. 135 " She did wrong, she did wrong," he said, " to lea^e herself 30 long unguarded ; yet who was there to conamit this outrage ? There is some treachery here, which we must sift; we must not leave our noble countrywoman in the hands of these marau- ders. Trust me, Alan, we shall recover her yet." But the night promised ill for the fulfilment of this trust. Many hours passed in an utterly fruitless search, and about one hour before midnight a thick fog increased the dense gloom, and even prevented all assistance from the torches, for not ten yards before them was distinguishable. Dispirited and disap- pointed, the king and his companions threw themselves around the watchfires, in gloomy meditation, starting at the smallest sound, and determined to renew their search with the first gleara of dawn ; the hurried pace of Alan, as he strode up and down, for he could not rest, alone disturbing the stillness all around. CHAPTER XIII. It was already two hours after midnight when a hurried tread, distinct from Alan's restless pacing, disturbed the watch- ers, and occasioned many to raise themselves on their elbows and listen. It came nearer and nearer, and very soon a young lad, recog- nized as Sir Alan's page, was discerned, springing from crag to crag in breathless haste, and finally threw himself at his sove- reign's feet. "It is not too late — ^up, up, and save her!" were the only words he had power to gasp, panting painfully for the breath of which speed had deprived him. His hair and dress weie heavy with the damp occasioned by the fog, and his whole appearance denoting no common agitation. ""Where?" "How?" "What kno west thou?" "Speak lut." " What ailest thee, boy ?" were the eager words uttered at once by all, and the king and others sprung to their feet, while Alan laid a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder, and glared on him in silence; the lad's glance fell beneath his, and he sobbed forth — " Mercy, mercy 1 my thoughtlessness has done this, yet I 136 THE DATS OF BEUCE. guessed nut, dreamed not this ill would follow. Bui oh, do not wait for my tale now ; up, up, and save her ere ii Of too latel" " And how may we trust thee now, an this is the effect of former treachery ?" demanded Robert, with a sternness that seemed to awe the terrified boy into composure. " I am not treacherous, sire. No, no ! I would have exposed my throat to your grace's sword rather than dok traitor's deed: trust me, oh, trust me, and follow without delay !" ■ ' ■ " Speak first, and clearly," answered Alan, fiercely ; " even for my mother's sake the sacred person of the King of Scotland shall not be risked by a craven's word. Speak, an thou wouldst bid me trust thee — speak, I charge thee." " He is right — he is right ; let him explain this mystery ere we follow," echoed round; and thus urged, the boy s tale was hurriedly told. It was simply this. Some days previous, when wandering alone about the rocks, he had met a woodman, whom he recog- nized as one of the retainers of Buchan, and, as such, believed him as loyal and faithful to King Robert's interest as himsell and others in the countess's train. The man had artfully evaded all young Malcolm's expression of astonishment and inquiries as to why Donald MacAlpine, whom he well knew to be one of the stoutest and most sturdy men-at-arms which the clan possessed, should have taken to so peaceful an employmeiit as cutting wood, and skilfully drew from the boy much informa- tion concerning the movements of the party to whom he belonged. Malcolm freely spoke of Sir Alan and the Countess of Buchan, dilating with no little pleasui'e on his youngi master having received knighthood at the hand of his king, and all the honors and delights which accompanied it. Aware, however, of the dangers which environed the 'Bruce, hfr spoke of him more cautiously, and the more Donald sought to discover if the king were near at hand, the more carefully did Malcolm con ceal that he was, telling the woodman if he wished to know all particulars, he had better turn his sickle into a spear, his cap into a helmet, and strike a good blow for Scotland and King Robert. This the man refused to do, alleging he loved his own sturdy person- and independent freedom too well to run his neck into such a noose ; that King Robert might do very well for a while, but eventually he must fWll into King Edward's hands THE LAYS OP BEUCE. 137 Malcolm angrily denied this, and they parted, noi the best friends imaginable. On reviewing all that had passed, the boy reproached himself incessantly for having said too much, and was continually tormented by an indefinable fear that some evil would follow. This fear kept him by the side of the count- ess, instead of, as was his wont, following Sir Alan to the chase. The increasing darkness had concealed her from him, but he was the first to distinguish her whistle. He had reached tne spot time enough to recognize the supposed woodman in the second speaker, and to feel with painful acuteness his boy- ish thoughtlessness had brought this evil on a mistress, to serve whom he would willingly have laid down his life. Resistance he knew, on his part, was utterly useless, and therefore he determined to follow their track, and thus bring accurate intel- ligence to the king. The minds of the rpen preoccupied by the thought of their distinguished prisoner, and the thickening gloom, aided his resolution. Happening to have a quantity of thick flax in his pocket, the boy, with admirable foresight, fast- ened it to different shrubs and stones as he passed, and thus secured his safe return ; a precaution very necessaiy, as from the windings and declivities, and in parts well-nigh impregnable hollows, into which he followed the men, his return in time wOuld have been utterly frustrated. The gathering, mist had occasioned a halt, and a consultation ■IS to" whether they could reach the encampment to which they belonged, or whether it would not be better to halt till dawn They had decided in favor of the latter, fearing, did they con- tinue marching, they might lose their track, and' perhaps fall in with the foe. He had waited, he said, till he saw them making such evident preparations for a halt of some hours, that Jie felt certain they would not remove till daylight. It was a difficult and precarious path, he said, yet he was quite sure he could lead fifteen or twenty men easily to the spot, and, taken by surprise, nothing would prevent the recovery of the count- ess : less than two hours would take them there. This tale was told in less time than we have taken to tran- scribe it, and not twenty minutes after Malcolm's first appear- ance, the king and Sir Alan, with fifteen tried followers, departed on their expedition. There had hewn some attempt to dissuade the king from venturing his own person where fur- ther treachery might yet lurk, but the attempt was vain. L38 THE DATS OF BEUCM. " She has peiilled her life for me," was his sole answei', " and were there any real peril, mine would be hazarded foi her ; but there is none — 'tis but a child's work we are about to do, not even glory enough to call for envy." The fog had sufficiently cleared to permit of their distinguish- ing the route marked out by Malcolm, but not enough to betray their advance, even had there been scouts set to watch the pass. Not a word passed between them. Rapidly, stealthily they advanced, and about three in the morning stood within sight of their foes, though still unseen themselves. There was little appearance of caution : two large fires had been kindled, round one of which ten or twelve men were stretched their fuU length, still armed indeed, and their hands clasping their unsheathed swords, but their senses fast locked in slumber. Near the other, her arms and feet pinioned, Alan, with a heart beating almost audibly with indignation, recognized his mother. Two men, armed with clubs, walked up and down beside her, and seven others were grouped in various attitudes at her feet, most of them fast asleep. It was evident that they had no idea of surprise, and that their only fear was associated with the escape of their prisoner. •' They are little more than man to man," said the Bruce ; " therefore is there no need for further surprise than will attend the blast of your bugle. Sir Alan. Sound the reveille, and on to the rescue." He was obeyed, and the slumberers, with suppressed oaths, started to their feet, glancing around them a brief minute in mquiring astonishment as to whence the sound came. It was speedily explained : man after man sprang through the thicket, and rushed upon the foes, several of whom, gathering them- selves around their prisoner, seemed determined that her liberty should not be attained with her life, more than once causing the swoids of the Bruce's followers to turn aside in their rapid descent, less they should injure he'r they sought to save. Like a young lion Alan fought, ably seconded by the king, whose gigantic eflibrts clearing his path, at length enabled himself anil Alan to stand uninjured beside the countess, and thus obtain possession of her person, and guard her from the injury to which her captors voluntarily exposed her. There was at first 110 attempt at flight, although the Bruce's men carried aU before them ; the men fell where they stood, till only five re- THE DAYS OF BBUCB. 139 jiained, and these, after a moment's hesitation, turned and fled. A shrill cry from Malcolm had turned the king's and Alan's Bttention m another dii'ection, and it was well they did so. Determined on foiling the efforts of his foes, Donald MacAlpine, who was supposed to be among the fallen, had stealthily ap- proached the spot where the countess, overcome with excessive faintness, still reclined, then noiselessly rising, his sword was descending on her unguarded head, when Alan, aroused by Malcolm's voice, turned upon him and dashed his weapon from his grasp, at the same minute that the Bruce's sword pierced the traitor's heart: he sprung in the air with a loud yell oi agony, and fell, nearly crushing the countess with his weight. It was the voice of Alan which aroused that fainting heart. It was in the bosom of her son those tearful eyes were hid, after one startled and bewildered gaze on the countenance of her sovereign, who had been leaning over her in unfeigned anxiety. A thicket of thorn, mingled with crags, divided her from the unseemly signs of the late affray ; but though there was naught to renew alarm, it ■ was with a cold shudder she had clung to her son, as if even her firm, bold spirit had given way. Gently, cheeringly the king addressed her, and she evi- dently struggled to regain composure ; but her powers of body were evidently so prostrated, that her friends felt rest of some kind she must have, ere she could regain sufficient strength to accompany them on their wanderings. She had received three or four wounds in the m&lee, which though slight, the loss of blood that had followed materially increased her weakness, and the king anxiously summoned his friends around him to delib- erate on the best measures to puraue. Amongst them were two of Sir Alan's retainers, old and faithful Scottish men, coeval with his grandfather, the late Earl of Buchan. Devoted alike to the countess, the king, and their country, they eagerly listened to all that was passing, de- claring that rather than leave the Lady Isabella in a situation of such danger as the present, they would take it by turns to carry her in their arms to the encampment. The king listened with a benevolent smile. " Is there no hut or house, or hunting-lodge to which wp could convey your lady," he asked, " where she might finrt qijueter shelter and greater rest than hitherto ? An ye knew of such, it Tirouid be the wiser plan to seek it at break of day.' l40 THE DATS OF BETJCB. A hunting-lodge, belonging to the Earls of Buohan, there was, or ought to be, the old men said, near the head of the Tay, just at the entrance of Athol Forest. It had not been used since their old master's days ; he had been very partial to it when a boy, and was continually there ; it had most likely fallen into decay from disuse, as they behered the present earl did not even know of its existence, but that was all the better, as it would be a still more safe and secure retreat for the countess, and they were sure, when once out of the hollows and intricacies of their present halting-place, they could easily dis- cover the path to it. And how long did they think it would be, the king in- quired, before their lady could be taken to it ? the sooner, they must perceive as well as himseK, the better for her com- fort. He was relieved when they declared that two days, or at The very utmost three, would bring them there, if, as the old men earnestly entreated he would," they retraced their steps to the encampment as soon as daylight was sufficiently strong for them clearly to distinguish their path. This was unanimously resolved on, and the few intervening hours were spent by thp countess in calm repose. ' Conscious that filial affection watched over her, the sleep of the countess tranquillized her sufficiently to commence the re- tu-Ti to the encampment with less^ painful evidences of exhaus- tion. A rude litter waited for her, in which she could recline when the pass allowed its safe passage, and which could br easily borne by the bearers when the intricacies of the path prevented all egress save by pedestrianism. It had been •hur-' riedly made by her devoted adherents, and soothed and grati- fied, her usual energy seemed for the moment to return. By nine o'clock forenoon all traces of the Bruce and his party had departed from the glen, the last gleam of their aimor was lost in the winding path, and then it was that a man, who had lain concealed in a thicket from the moment of the affray, hearing all that had passed, unseen himself, now slowly, cautiously raised himself on his knees, gazed carefully round him, then with a quicker but as silent motion sprung to his feet, >Uid raised his hands in an action of triumph. " He is amongst them, then," he muttered, " the traitor Bruce himself. This is well. The countess, her son, and the would-be king — ha! ha' My fortune's made !" and li< THE DATS OF BKLOE. 141 bounded away m quite a contrary direction to that taken by the Bruce. The old retainers of Buchan were correct in their surmises. The evening of the second day succeeding, the event we have narrated brought them to the hunting-lodge. It was indeed very old, and parts had fallen almost to ruins, but there were still three or four rooms remaining, whose compact walls and well-closed roofs rendered them a warm and welcome refuge for the Countess of Buchan, whose strenuous exertions the two pi-eoeding days had ended, as was expected, by exhaustion more painful and overpowering than before. The exertions of her friends — for the Bruce and his follow- ers with one consent had permitted their wanderings to be guided by the old men-^— speedily rendered the apartments hab- itable. Large ires were soon blazing on the spacious hearths, and ere night fell, all appearance of damp and discomfort had vanished. The frugal supper was that night a jovial meal; the very look of: a cheerful blaze beneath a walled roof was re- viving to the wanderers ; the jest passed round, the wine-cup sparkled to the health of thei countess, and many a fervent as- piration echoed round for the speedy restoration of her strength , for truly she was the beloved, the venerated of all, alike from her sovereign to his lowest follower. " Trust my experience, my young knight," had been the Bruce's address to Alan ere they parted for the night. " A few days' complete repose will q,uite restore your valued parent and my most honored friend. This hunting-lodge shall be our place of rendezvous for a time, till she is sufficiently restored to accompany us southward. You are satisfied, are you noi, with the diligence of our scouts?" " Perfectly, your highness," was Alan's reply ; for well-tried and intelligent men had been sent in eveiy direction to discover, if possible, lo what party of the enemy the captors of the Lady Isabella , belonged, and to note well the movements and ap- pearance, not only of any martial force, but of the country people themselves. They had executed their mission as well as the intricate passes and concealed hollows of the mountains l)crmitted, and brought back the welcome intelligence, that for miles round the country was perfectly clear, and to all appear- ance peaceful. The hunting-lodge, too, waa so completely hidden by Jark woods of pine and overhanging crags, thai 142 THE DAYS OF BETTCE. even had there been foes prowling about the mountains, tliej might pass within twenty yards of its vicinity and yet fail to discover it. The very path leading to the bottom of the hol- low in which it stood was concealed at the entrance by thick shrubs and an arch of rock, which had either fallen naturally into that shape, or been formed by the architects of the lodge. 1 1 seemed barely possible that the retreat could be discovered, except by the basest treachery, and therefore the king and Sir Alan felt perfectly at rest regarding the safety of the countess, even though they could only leave with her a guard of some twenty or thirty men. So much was she refreshed the following morning, that the hopes of her son brightened, and with that filial devotion so peculiarly his characteristic, he easily obtained leave of absence from his sovereign, to remain by the couch of his mother for at least that day, instead of accompanying him, as was his wont, in the expeditions of the day. The countess combated this decision, but in vain. Alan was resolved. He was con- vinced, he said, her former capture, and all its ill consequences, would not have taken place had he been by her side ; and even were she not now exposed to such indignity, she would be lonely and sad without him, and stay, in consequence, he would. The king and his officers approved of the youth's res- olution, and reluctantly Isabella yielded. About two hours before noon the Bruce and his companions departed, desiring Sir Alan not to expect their return till near midnight, as they intended penetrating a part of the country which had not yet been explored ; they might be a few houis sooner, but they scarcely expected it. It was afterwards re- membered that a peculiar expression of sadness overclouded the countenance of the countess, as for a moment she fixed her speaking eyes on the king's face when he cheerfully bade her farewell, and said, in a low emphatic voice — " Farewell, sire ! It may be the hour of meeting L° longer defen-ed than we either of us now believe. Fain would I be* Beech your grace to gi-ant me one boon, make me but one prom- be ere you depart." " Any boon, any promise that our faithful friend and sub- ject can demand, is granted ere 'tis asked," answered the king, without a moment's pause, though startled alike at the expres- eion of her features and the sadness of her voice. " Gladly THE DATS OF BKITCE. 143 trould we give any pledge that could in any way bespeak our warm sense of thy true merit, lady, therefore speak, and feai not." " 'Tis simply this, sire," she said, and her voice was still mournful, despite her every effort to prevent its being so, " Should unforeseen evil befall me, captivity, danger of death, or aught undreamed of now, give me your royal word as a knight and king, that you will not peril your sacred person, and with it the weal and liberty of our unhappy country, for my sake, but leave me to my fate ; 'tis a strange and fanciful boon, yet, gracious sovereign, refuse it not. I mean not treach- ery such as we have encountered, where your grace's noble gallantry rescued me with little peril to yourself. No ; I mean other and greater danger ; where I well know that rather than leave me exposed to the wrath of my husband and Edward of England, you would risk your own precious life, and with it the liberty of Scotland. Grant me this boon, my liege, and perchance this heavy weight upon my spirit will pass and leave me free." " Nay, 'tis such a strange and unknightly promise, lady, how may I pledge my word to its fulfilment ?" answered Rob- ert, gravely and sadly. " You bid me pledge mine honor to a deed that will stain my name with an everlasting infamy, that even the liberty of Scotland will not wash away. How may I do this thing? You press me sorely, lady. Even for thee, good and faithful as thou art, how may I hurt my knightly fame ?" " Sire, thou wilt not," she returned, still more entreatingly ; " thy brilliant fame, thy noble name, will never— can never, re- ceive a stain. I do but ask a promise whose fulfilment may never be demanded. I do but bid thee remember thou art not only a knight, a noble, a king, but one by whom the jireserva- don, the independence of our country can alone be achieved — one on whose safety and freedom depends the welfare of a na- tion, the unchained glory of her sons. Were death thy por- tion, Scotland lies a slave forever at the feet of England, and therefore is it I do beseech thee, King of Scotland, make me this pledge. I know thy noble spirit well, and I know thy too chivalric honor would bhnd thee to a sense of danger, to a sense of country, duty, glory, of all save the rescue of one who, though she be faithful to thee and to her countiy, is but as a 144 THE DATS OF BKTICE. drop of water in the ocean, compared to other clauns. My liege, thy word is already in part pledged," she continued, more proudly. " Any pledge or promise I might demand is granted ere it is asked, your highness deigned to say.; thou canst not retract it now." " And wherefore shouldst thou, royal brother ?" cheeringly interrupted Alexander Bruce. " The Lady Isabella asks not um°easonably ; she does but suggest, liiAat may he, although ■that may be is, as we all know, next to impossible, particularly now when nature has fortified this pleasant lodge even as would a garrison of some hundred men. Come, be not so churlish in thy favors, good my liege ; give her the pledgee, she demands, and be sure its fulfilment \\ ill never be required." " Could I but think so," he replied, still gravely. " Lady, I do entreat thee, tell me wherefore thou demandest this strange boon ; fearest thou evil— dreamest thou aught of danger hover- ing near ? If so, as there is a God in heaven, I will not go forth to-day!" "Pardon me, gracious sovereign," answered Isabella, eva- sively ; " I ask it, because since the late adventure there has been a weight upon my spirit as if I, impotent, of little conse- quence as I am, yet even I might be the means of hurling down evil on thy head, and through thee on Scotland ; and, therefore, until thy promise to the effect I have specified is given, I cannot, I will not rest — even though, as Lord Alex- ander justly believes, its fulfilment will never be required. Evil here, my liege, trust me, cannot be ; therefore go forth in confidence. I fear not to await your return, e'en should I linger here alone. Grant but my boon." " Nay, an it must be, lady, I promise all thou demandest," answered Bruce, more cheerfully, for her words reassured him ; "but, by niine honor, thou hast asked neither well nor kindly. Remember, my pledge is passed but for real danger, and that only for Scotland's sake, not for mine own ; and now farewell, lady. I trust, ere we meet again, these depressing fancies will liavo left thee." "They have well-nigh departed now, my liege; 'twas (amply for thee and Scotland these heavy bodings oppressed me. My son," she added, after a brief pause, " I would yom highness could prevail on him to accompany you to-day Wherefore should he stay with me ?" THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 145 " Wherefore not rather, lady ?" replied the king, smiling. " I may not leave thee to thine own thoughts to weave fresh boons like to the last. No, no ! our young knight must guard thee till we meet again," and with these words he departed. They did not, however, deter the countess from resuming her persuasions to Alan to accompany his sovereign, but without success. Isabella of Buchan had, however, in this instance de- parted from her usual strict adherence to the truth , she did uot feel so secure that no evil would befall her in the absence of the Bruce, as she had endeavored to make him beheve. Some words she had caught during her brief captivity caused her, she scarcely knew why, to believe that the Earl of Buchan himself was in the neighborhood ; nay, that the very party which had captured her were members of the army under his command. She had gathered, too, that it was a very much larger force than the king's, and therefore it was that she had made no objection to Robert's wish that she should rest some few days in the hunting-lodge. She knew that, however her failing strength might detain and harass their movements, Bruce and his followers would never consent to leave her, un- less, as in the present case, under a comparatively comfortable roof and well-concealed shelter ; and she knew, too, that how- ever she might struggle to accompany them in their wander- ings, the struggle in her present exhausted state would be ut- terly in vain, and hngering for her might expose her sovereign to a renewal of the ills with which he had already striven so nobly, and perchance to yet more irreparable misfortune. The information of the scouts had partially reassued her, at least to the fact that no immediate danger was to be apprehended, and for a while she indulged the hope that safety might be found in this hidden spot until the peril passed. She had full confi- dence in the fidelity of the old retainers who had guided them to the spot, and sought to feel satisfied that its vicinity was unknown to the earl, her husband ; but, whether from the rest- lessness of a shght degree of fever, or from that nervous state of mind attendant on worn-out strength, ere the Bruce departed til J same foreboding came on her again, and all her desiie was the absence of her sovereign and his followers, to have some hold upon his almost too exalted sense of chivalry, which would prevent any rash act of daring on his part ; and this, as we nave seen, she obtained. 7 146 THE DATS OP BEUCE. Could she but have prevailed on her son to arsoinpany them, she ■would calmly and resignedly have awaited her fate, what- ever it might be ; but the horror of beholding him a prisoner in the hands of his father — that father perhaps so enraged at the boy's daring opposition to his will and poUtical opinions, that he would give him up at once to the wrath of Edward — was a picture of anguish from which her mind revolted in such intense suffering, she could not rest. She stn.ve with the fancy ; she sought to rouse every energy, to feel secure in her present resting-place. But who can resist the influence of feeUngs such as these ? What mother's heart cannot enter into the emotions of Isabella of Buchan, as she gazed on her noble boy, improved as he was in manliness and beauty, and with the dread anticipation of evil, believing only absence could protect him ; that perchance the very love which kept him by her side would expose him to danger, imprisonment, and death ? She did not speak her fears, but Alan vainly sought to soothe that unwonted restlessness. She had endeavored to secure the Bnice's safety by the aid of Malcolm, the young page, b^ whose instrumentality she had been both" captured and re- leased. Taking advantage of Sir Alan's absence, she had called the boy to her side, and made him promise that, at the first manifest sign of danger, he would make his escape, which, by his extreme agility and address, would easily be achieved, seek the king, and give him exact information of the numbers, strength, and situation of the foes, reminding him, at the same time, of his solemn pledge. She made him promise the pro- foundest secrecy, and adjured him at all hazards to save the king. The boy, affected by the solemnity of her manner, promised faithfully to observe her minutest sign, and on the re-entrance of Sir Alan departed, to marvel wherefore his lady should so have spoken, and examine the localities around, as to the best means of concealment and escape. The hours waned, and night fell, as is usual in October, some five hours after noon, the gloom perhaps greatly increased by the deep shades in which their place of concealment lay. Sir Alan roused the fire to a cheerful blaze, and lighting a torch of pine-wood, placed it in an iron bracket projecting from the wall, and amused himself by polishing his arms, and talking in tiiat joyous tone his mother so loved, on every subject that his THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 147 affection fancied might interest and amuse her. He was wholly unarmed, except his sword, which, secured to his waist by a crimson sash, he never laid aside ; and fair and graceful to his mother's eye did he look in his simple doublet of Lincoln -green, cut and slashed with ruby velvet, his dark curls clustering round his bare throat, and his bright face beaming in all the animation of youth and health, spiritualized by the deeper feelings of his soul ; and she, too, was still beautiful, though her frame was slighter, her features more attenuated than when we first beheld her. He had insisted on her reclining on the couch, and drawn from her otherwise painful thoughts by his animated sallies, smiles circled her pale lip, and her sorrows were a while for- gotten. An hour, perhaps rather more, elapsed, and found the mother and son still as we have described. There had been no souud without, but about that "period many heavy footsteps might have been distinguished, cautiously, it seemed, advancing. Alan started up and listened ; the impatient neigh of a charger was heard, and then voices suppressed, yet, as he fancied, familiar. " King Robert returned already !" he exclaimed ; " they must have had an unusually successful chase. I must e'en seek them and inquire." " Alan ! my child !" He started at the voice, it was so un- like his mother's. She had risen and flung her arm around him with a pressure so convulsive, he looked at her with terror. There was no time to answer ; a sudden noise usurped the place of the previous stillness — a struggle — a heavy fall ; the door was flung rudely open, and an armed man stood upon the threshold, his vizor up, but even had it not been, the heart of the countess too truly told her she gazed upon her husband ! CHAPTER XIV. A BRIEF pause followed the entrance of this unexpected •Tsitor. Standing upon the threshold, his dark brow knit, hia eyes fixed on his prisoners, the Earl of Buchan stood a tew laiinutes immovable. Alan saw but a mail-clad warrior, more 14:8 THE DAJTS OF BEUCB. fierce and brutal in appearance than the geneiality of thch' foas, and felt, -with all that heartrsinking despondency natural to youth, that they were betrayed, that resistance was in vain, for heavier and louder grew the tramp of horse and man, and the narrow passage, discernible thrpugh the open door, was filled with steel-clad forms, their drawn swords glancing jn the torch- light, their dark brows gleaming in ill-concealed triumph. Alan was still a boy in years, despite iis experience as a warrior, and in the first agony of this discovery, the first dream of chains and captivity, when his young spirit revelled in the thought of freedom, and joyed as a bird in the fresh air of mount and stream, weaving bright hopes, not exile or wandering could re- move, his impulse had been to dash his useless sword in anguish to the earth, and weep ; but the sight of his mother checked that internal weakness. He felt her convulsive clasp ; he be- held the expression on her features, — how unlike their wort — terror, suffering, whose entire cause he vainly endea,voreid to define, and he roused himself for her. And she, did she see more than her eon ? She kneip that face, and as she gazed, she felt hope had departed ; she beheld naught but a long, endless vista of anguish ; yet she felt not for herself, she thought but of her child. .And the earl, can we define his exulting mood ? — it was the malice, the triumph of a fiend. "Who and what art thou?" demanded Man, fiercely, lay- ing his right hand on his sword, and with the left firmly clasp- ing his mother's waist. " What bold knight and honorable chevalier art thou, thus seeking by stealth the retreat of a wanderer, and overpowering , by numbers and treachery men, who on the field thou and such as thou had never dared to meet ?" The earl laughed ; that bitter, biting laugh of contempt and triumph so difficult to bear. " Thou hast a worthy tongue, my pretty springald," said he ; " canst thou wie thy sword as bravely ? Who and what am I? ask of the lady thru hast so caressingly encircled with thine arm, perchance she can give thee information." Alan started, a cold thrill passed through his frame, as the real cause- of his mother's terror flashed on his mind ; her lips, parched and quivei-ing, parted as to speak, but there was no tiound. " Mother," he said, " mother, speak to thy son. Why, wh^ THE DATS OF BErCE. 149 art thou thus ? it is not the dread of imprisonment, of death. No, no ; they have no terrors for such as thee. Who is thif man ?" Engrossed in his own agitation, Alan had not heard the muttered exclamation which burst from Buchan's lips with his first words, for great was the earl's surprise as he looked on his son ; the impression he was still a child had remained on his mind despite all reports to the contrary, but no softer feeling obtained dominion. " Who and what am I ?" he continued, after a brief pause. " Wouldst thou know, Alan of Buchan ? Even a faithful knight, soldier, and subject of his Eoyal Highness Edward, king of England and Scotland, and consequently thy foe ; the ins^teSd and dishonored husband of the woman thou callest mother, and consequently thy father, young man. Ha! have I spoken home ? Thy sword, thy sword ; acknowledge thy disloyalty to thy father and king, and; for thee all may yet be well." " Never !" answered Alan, proudly, the earl's concluding words rousing the spirit which the knowledge of beholding his father and the emotion of • his mother seemed to have crushed. " Never, Lord of Buchan ! for father I cannot call thee. Thou mayest force me to resign my sword, thou mayest bring me to the block, but acknowledge allegiance to a foreign tyrant, who hath no claims on Scotland or her sons, save those of hate and detestation, that thou canst never do, even if thy sword be pointed at my heart." " Boy !" burst from the earl's lips, in accents of irrepressible rage, but he checked himself ; " thou hast learned a goodly lesson of disobedience and daring, of a truth, and I should ten- der grateful thanks to thy most worthy, most efficient and vir- tuous teacher," he added, in his own bitterly sarcastic tone. " The Lady Isabella deems, perchance, she has done her duty to her husband in placing. a crown on the head of his hercditai-y and hated foe, and leading his son in the same path of rebellion and disloyalty, and giving his s'^rvice to the murderer of his kinsman." " Earl of Buchan, I have done my duty alike to my country and my son," rephed the countess, her high spirit roused by the taunts of her husband. ".According to the dictates of my con- science, mine honor as a Scottish woman, the mother of n Scottish warrior, I have done my duty, and neither imprison- 150 THE DAYS OF BErOE. ment, nor torture, nor death ■will bid me retrace those principlea, or waver in my acknowledgment of Scotland and her king, Pardon me, my lord ; but there is no rebellion in resisting the infringement of a tyrant, no disloyalty in raising the standard against Edward, for there is no treason when there is no lawful authority ; and by what right is Edward of England king of Scotland ? Lord of Buchan, I have done my duty. As my father taught me I have taught my child !" " Regarding, of course, madam, all which that child's father would have taught him, particularly that most Christian virtue returning good for evil, as in the fact of revenging the death of a kinsman with the gift of a crown. Oh ! thou hast done well, most intrinsically well." "I own no relationship with a traitor," burst impetuously from A-lan. " Sir John Comyn was honored in his death, for the sword of the Bruce was too worthy a weapon for the black heart of a traitor. Lord of Buchan, we are in thy power, it is enough. Hadst thou wished thy son to imbibe thy- peculiar principles, to forget his country and her rights, it had been better perchance hadst thou remembered thou hadst a child — a son. Had the duty of a father been performed, perchance I had not now forgotten mine as a son ! As it is, we stand as strangers and as foes. Against thee in truth I will not raise my sword ; but further, we are severed and forever !" He crossed his arms proudly on his bosom, and returned the dark, scowling glance of his father with a flashing eye, and a mien as firm and nobler than his own. " It is well, young man ; I thank you for my freedom," re- turned the earl, between his teeth. " As my son, I might stand between thee and Edward's wrath ; as a stranger and my foe, why, whate'er his sentence be — the axe and block without doubt — let it work, it will move me little." " Heed not his rash words, in mercy, heed them not !" ei claimed the countess, her voice of agony contrasting strangely with its former proud reserve. " Neglected, forgotten him aa thou hast, yet. Lord of Buchan, he is still thy son. Oh, in mercy, expose him not to the deadly wrath of Edward ! thou canst save him, thou canst give him freedom. It is I — I who am the attainted traitor, not my child. Give me up to EdVrard, and he will heed not, ask not for thy son. It is I who have offended hira and thee, not my child. Art thou not a Scottish THE DATS OF BErCE, loj aoble, descendant of a house as purely loyal and devoted to their country as mine own — art thou not indeed this man, and yet hath Edward, the deadly foe of thy race, thy land, thy countrymen, more exalted claims than thine own blood ? No. no, it cannot be ! thou wilt relent, thou wilt have mercy ; lei him be but free, and do with me even what thou wilt !" " Free ! go free !" repeated the earl, with a hoarse laugh, ere Alan could interfere. " Let him go free, forsooth, when he tells me he is my foe, and will go hence and join my bitterest enemies the moment he is free. Qo free ! and who art thou who askest this boon ? Hast thou such claims upon me, that for thy pleasure I should give freedom to thy son ?" " My lord, my lord, 'tis for thine own sake, for his, thy child as well as mine, I do beseech, implore thy mercy ? draw not the curse of heaven on thy heart by exposing him to death. Thou wilt know and feel him as indeed thy child when he lies bleeding before thee, when thine own hand hath forged the death-bolt, and then, then it will be too late ; thou wilt yearn for his voice in vain. Oh ! is it not suflScient triumph to have in thy power the wife who hath dared thy authority, who hath joined the patriot band, and so drawn down on her the ven- geance of Edward ? The price of a traitor is set upon her head. My lord, my lord, is not one victim enough — will not my cap- ture insure thee reward and honor in the court of Edward ? Then do with me what thou wilt — chains, torture, death ; but my child, my brave boy — oh, if thou hast one spark of mercy in thy heart, let him go 1" " Mother," hoarsely murmm-ed Alan, as he strove to raise her from her suppliant posture, " mother, this shall not be ! look upon that face and know thou pleadest in vain. I will not accept my freedom at such a price ; thy knee, thy supplications unto a heart of stone, for me ! No, no ; mother, dear mother, we will die together !" " Thou shalt not, thou shalt not, my beloved, my beautiful ! thy death will be on my head, though it come from a father's hand. I will plead, I will be heard ! My lord, my lord," she continued, wrought to a pitch of agonized feeling, no heart save that to which she pleaded could have heard unmoved, " I ask but his freedom, the freedom of a boy, a child — and of whom do I ask it ? — of his father, his own father ! Speak to me, answer me ; thou canst not be so lost to the voice, the feelings 152 THE DAYS OF BETJCE. of nature. For the sake of the mother who loved, the fathei who blessed tJvee, whose hlessing hallowed our union and smiled on our infant boy, have mercy on me, on thyself — let him, oh, let him be free !" ■■' Mercy on thee, thou false and perjured woman !" the earl burst forth, the cold sarcastic expression with which he had at first listened to her impassioned entreaties giving way to the fearful index of ungoverned rage ; " on thee, thou false traitress, not alone to thy husband's principles but to his honor ! Do I not know thee, minion — do I not know the motives of thy con- duct in leaving thy husband's castle for the court of Brure ? Patiiotism, forsooth — patriotism, ha! the patriotism that had vent in giving and receiving love from him ; it was so easy to do homage to him in public as thy king. Oh, most rare and immaculate specimen of female loyalty and virtue, I know thee well !" " Man !" answered the countess, springing from her knee, and standing before him with a mien and countenance of such ma- J'estic dignity, that for a brief moment it awed even him, and ler bewildered son gazed at her with emotions of awe, strug- gling with surprise. " Ha ! faithless minion, thou bravest it well," continued Bu- chan, determined on evincing no faltering in his purpose, " but thou bravest it in vain ; dishonored thou art, and hast been, aye, from the time thy minion Robert visited thee in Buchan Tower, and lingered with thee the months he had disappeared from Edward's court. Would Isabella of Buchan have ren- dered homage to any other bold usurper, save her minion Rob- ert ? Would the murder of a Comyn have passed unavenged by her had the murderer been other than her gallant Bruce ? Would Isabella of Buchan be here, the only female in the Bruce's train — for I know that he is with thee — were loyalty and patriotism her only motive ? Woman, I know thee! I know that thou didst love him, ere that false hand and falser heart were given to me ; thy hps spoke perfidy when they vowed allegiance at the altar ; and shall I have mercy on thy ion, for such as thee ? Mercy ! ha, have I silenced thy elo- quence now ?" " Silenced, false, blasphnmous villian I" vociferated Alan, every other fr.eling lost in the whirlwind of passion, and sprinjr- iiig on the eai-l, with his drawn sword. " 'Tis thou who ai i THE DATS OF BETJCE. 153 '.lie false and faithless — thou who art lost to every feeling of honor and of truth. Thy words are false as hell, from whenc( they spring !" " Alan, by the love thou bearest me, I charge thee put up thy sword — it is thy father !" exclaimed the countess, com- mandingly, and speaking the last word in a tone that thrilled to the boy's heart. He checked himself in his full career ; he snapped his drawn sword in twain, he cast it passionately from liim, and uttering, convulsively, " Oh God, oh God, my father !" flung himself in agony on the ground. With arms foldedand the smile of a demon on his lip the earl had awaited his attack, but there was disappointment within, for bis foul charge had failed in its intended eflFect. Prouder, colder, more command- ingly erect had become the mein of the countess as he spoke, till she even appeared to increase in stature ; her flashing eyes had never moved from his face, till his fell beneath them ; her lip had curled, his cheek had flushed : powerful indeed became the contrast between the accused and the accuser. " Arise, my son," she said, " arise and look upon thy mother ; ner brow even as her heart is unstained with shame ; she fears not to meet the glance of her child. Look up, my boy ; I speak these words to thee, not to that bold, bad man, who hath dared unite the name of a daughter of Fife with shame. He hath no word either of exculpation, denial, or assent from me. But to thee, my child, my young, my innocent child, thee, whose ear, when removed from me, they may strive to poison with false tales, woven with such skill that hadst thou not thy mother's word, should win thee to belief — to thee I say, look on me, Alan — is this a brow of guilt ?" "Uo, no, no, I will not look on thee, my mother! I need not to gaze on thee to know the horrid falsity of the chaj-ge," answered Alan, flinging his arms passionately around his mother. "Did I never see thee more, never list that voice again, and did all the fiends of hell come around me with their lies, I would not hear, much less believe such charge. No, no ! oh God, 'tis my father, speaks it ! Father — and my hand is powerless to avenge." " I need not vengeance, my beloved ; grieve not, weep not that thy hand is chained, and may not defend thy mother's stainless name ; I need it not. My heart is known unto my God, my innocence to thee; his blessing rest with thee, my 154 THE DATS OF BEtTCE. beautiful, and give thee strength for all thou mayest en dure." She bent down to kiss his brow, which was damp with the dew of intense anguish. He started up, he gave one long look ou her calm and noble face, and then he flung himself in hei arras, and sobbed like a child on her bosom. It was a fearful moment for that woman heart ; had she been alone with he; child, both nerve and spirit must have given way, but fortu- nately, perhaps, for the preservation of her fortitude, the Etirl of Buchan was still the witness of that scene, triumphing in the sufiForings he had caused. The countess did indeed fold her boy convulsively to her breast, but she did not bend her head on his, as Nature prompted ; it was still erect ; her mien ma- jestic still, and but a slight quivering in her beautiful lip be- trayed emotion. " Bo firm ; be thy noble self," she said. " Forget not thou art a knight and soldier amid the patriots of Scotland. And now a while, farewell." She extricated herself with some difficulty from his embrace ; she paused not to gaze again upon the posture of overwhelm- ing despondency in which he had sunk, but with a step quick and firm advanced to the door. " Whither goest thou, madam ?" demanded the earl fiercely. " Bold as thou art, it is well to know thou art a prisoner, ac- cused of high treason against King Edward." " I need not your lordship's voice to give me such informa- tion," she answered, proudly. "Methinks these armed follow- ers are all-sufficient evidence. Guard me, aye, confine me with fetters an thou wilt, but in thy presence thou canst not force me to abide." " Bid a last farewell to thy son, then, proud minion," he re- plied, with fiendish malignity ; " for an ye part now, it is for- ever. Ye see him not again." " Then be it so," she rejoined ; " we shall meet where false- hood and malignant hate can never harm us more," and with a gesture of dignity, more irritating to the earl than the fiercest demonstration of passion, she passed the threshold. A sign from Buchan surrounded her with guards, and by them she was conducted to a smaller apartment, which was first care- fully examined as to any concealed means of escape, and then ".he was left alone, a strong guard stationed at the door. THE DATS OF BECCE. 155 The first few minutes after the disappearance of ihe countess »f>re passed by her husband in rapidly striding up and down the room, by her son, in the same posture of mute and motion- less anguish in which she had left him. There is no need to define that suffering, his peculiar situation is all-sufficient to explain it. Hurriedly securing the door from all intruders, the earl at length approached his son. " Wouldst thou be free ?" he said, abruptly. " Methinks thou art young enough still to love liberty better than chains, and perchance death. Speak, I tell thee; wouldst thou be free ?" " Free 1" answered Alan, raising his head, with flashing eye and burning cheek ; " would I be free ? Ask of the chained lion, the caged bird, and they will tell thee the greenwood and forest glade are better, dearer, even though the chain were gemmed, the prison gilded. Would I be free ? Thou know- est that I would." " Swear, then, that thou wilt quit Scotland, and vow fealt) to Edward ; that never more will thy sword be raised save against the contemned and hated Bi'uce. Be faithful but to me and to King Edward, and thou shalt be free." " Never 1" answered Alan, proudly. " Earl of Buchan, I accept no conditions with my freedom ; I wiU not be free, if only on this base condition. Turn recreant and traitor to my country and my king ! resign the precious privilege of dying, if I may not live, for Scotland — I tell thee, never ! Urge me no more." " Nay, thou art but a boy, a foolish boy," continued the earl, struggling to speak persuadingly, " incapable of judging that which is right and best. I tell thee, I will give thee not freedom alone, but honor, station, wealth ; I will acknowledge thee as my well-beloved son and heir ; I will forget all that is pa.st ; nay, not e'en thy will or actions will I restrain ; I will bind thee by no vow ; thou shalt take no part with Edward ; I will interfere not with thy pecuUar politics ; e'en what thou wilt thou shalt do, aye, and have — and all this but on one con- dition, so slight and simple that thou art worse than fool an thou refusest." " Speak on," muttered Alan, without raising his head. " I hear." " Give me but information of the movements of him thou 156 THE DAYS OF BEtTCE. «allest king," replied Buchan, in a low yet emphatically distiiicl. voice ; " give me but a hint as to where we may meet him it oombat — 'in all honorable and knightly combat, thou knowest that I mean — give me but information such as this, and thou art free, unshackled, in condition as in limb." " In other words, letray him," replied Alan, starting up. " Purchase my freedom with the price of his ! mine, of nothing worth, aye, less than nothing, redeemed by his ! Oh, shame, shame on thee, my lord ! Well mayest thou offer me freedom of action as in will on such condition. Of little heed to Ed- ward were the resistance of all Scotland, were Robert in his power. Honor, station, wealth ! — oh, knowest thou the hu- man heart so little as to believe these can exist with black treachery and fell retnorse ? Once and forever, I tell ;hee thine offers are in vain. Were death in one scale, and free, unshackled liberty in the other, and thou badest me choose be- tween, I would not so stain my soul. Death, death itself were welcome, aye, worse than death — confinement, chains. I would hug them to my heart as precious boons, rather than live and walk the earth a traitor." " Beware !" muttered the earl ; " tempt me not too far; rash boy. I would not do thee ill ; I would have pity on thy er- ring youth, remembering the evil counsels, the base heart which hath guided thee." ' Do thou beware !" retorted Alan, fiercely. " Speak not such foul words to me. Father, as I know thou art in blood, there are ties far stronger which bind me to my mother — ties, neglect, fbrgetfulness, indifference as thine can never know. Pity, aye, mercy's self, I scorn them, for I need them not." " Ha ! sayest thou so ; then I swear thou shalt not have them !" exclaimed the earl, rage again obtaining the ascendant. " I would have saved thee ; I would have given thee freedom, though 1 needed not the condition that I offered. Thinkest thou I do not know that the traitor Bruce and his followers will return hither, and fall into the net prepared ? thinkest thou I know not he is with thee, aye, that he would not have left his patriot countess thus slightly guarded.an he hfiped not tc return himself ? He cannot escape me — the murder of Sif John Comyn will be avenged." " He shall, he will escape thee, proud earl," imdauntedly returned Alan. " The savior of his wretched country will TKK nA.YS OF BEUCE. 157 not be forced to bow before such as thee ; he will be saved out of the net prepared — harassed, chased, encompassed as he is. I tell thee. Earl of Buchan, he will escape thee yet." " Then, by heaven, thy head shall fall for his !" fiercely re- plied the earl. " If he return not, he has been forewarniHl, prepared, and I, fool as I was, have thought not of this danger. Look to it, proud boy, if the Bruce retui-n not forty- eight hours hence, and thou art still silent, thou diest." He held up his clenched hand in a threatening attitude, but Alan neither moved nor spoke, firmly returning the earl's infu- riated gaze till the door closed on his father's retreating form. He heard the bolts drawn, the heavy tramp of the guard, and then he threw himself on the couch, and buried his face in his hands. CHAPTER XV. While these fearful scenes were passing in the huntirg- lodge, Malcolm, the young page already mentioned, had con- trived to elude the vigilance of the earl's numerous followers, and reach the brow of the hollow in perfect safety. Endowed with a sense and spirit above his years, and inspired by his do- voted attachment to the countess and Sir Alan, the boy die not merely think of his own personal security, and of the simple act of warning the king against the treachery which awaitea his return, but, with an eye and mind well pracdsed in intelli gent observation, he scanned the numbers, "character, and pe- culiar situation of the foes which had so unexpectedly comt upon them. Being peculiarly small and light in figure, ana completely clothed in a dark green tunic and hose, which was scarcely discernible from the trees and shrubs around, he stole in and out every brake and hollow, clambering lightly and noiselessly over crags, hanging like a broken branch from stunt- ed trees, leaping with the elasticity of a youthful fawn over etream and shrub, and thus obtained a true and exact idea oi the matter he desired. The boy's heart did indeed sink as he felt rescue would be utterly impossible ; that in one direction the English force extended nearly a mile, guardmg every avc 158 THE DAYS or 3EU0E. iiue, every hollow in the forest, till it seemed next to impossi[)lc King Robert could escape, even if forewarned. Wherever he turned his steps the enemy appeared to lurk, but he wavered not in his purpose. Aware of the direction which the king would take in returning, Malcolm slackened not his speed until some three hours after he had quitted the hollow, and he stood before his sovereign well-nigh too exhausted for the ui- lerance of his tale. The first impulse of the king and his true-hearted followers WHS tc dare all danger, and rescue the countess and her brave son at the expense of their lives ; but Malcolm, flinging him- self at the feet of Robert, adjured him, in the name of the countess, to remember and act upon the vow he had so sol- emnly pledged at parting. He earnestly and emphatically re peated the last injunctions of his lady, her deep anguish thai the king, the savior of Scotland, should hazard all for her and her child — better they should die than Robert ; but these en- treaties were but anguish to the noble spirit who heard, aye, and felt their truth, though abide by them he could not. Again and again he questioned and cross-questioned as to their numbers and their strength, but Malcolm never wavered from his first account ; clearly and concisely he gave every required information, and with bleeding hearts that little band of pa- triots felt they dared not hope to rescue and to conquer. Yet tacitly to assent to necessity, to retreat without one blow, to leave their faithful companions to death, without one stroke for vengeance at least, if not for relief, this should not be. " We will see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears, at least, my friends," King Robert said. " Is there one among yewould retreat, "from the narrative of a child, true as it may be ? Remember the pass in Argyle ; if necessary, your sov- ereign can protect your retreat now as then , and we shall at least feel we have struggled to rescue, striven for the mastery, even if it be in vain. Were my death, aye, the death of Scot- land the forfeit, I could not so stain my knightly fame by such retreat. Let but the morning dawn, and we' will ourselves mark the strength of our foes." There was not one dissenting voice, rash as his determina- 'jon might appear. The extraordinary skill and courage of their sovereign, displayed in so many instances during their perilous wanderings, were too fresh in their memories to permit THE DAYS OF BETTCE. 159 jf one doubt, one fear, even had he led them on to certain death. To throw themselves from their tired chargers, to give them food, to lie down themselves for a brief repose on the turf, that they might be strengthened and cheered for the work of the morning, all this did not occupy much time.; and if their slumbers were biief and troubled, it did not prevent their rising with alacrity at the first peep of day to polish their inns, look to the sharpening of their swords and spears, share the rude huntsman's meal, and mount and ride with the first signal of their king. But bold and brave as were these true-hearted men, suc- cessful as, comparatively speaking, they were in the number- less skirmishes which took place that day, darkness overtook them, with increase of glory indeed, but no nearer the accom- plishment of their object than they had been in the morning. With bitter sorrow King Robert had perceived the full con- firmation of the page's words. The early close of the night attendant on the autumn season was also unfavorable to his views ; the events of the day had fully convinced him that many an ambush was set in his path, that his personal safety was wholly incompatible with a night attack, and therefore he was compelled to remain on the defensive in one spot, which was fortunately barricaded and concealed by Nature, during the many long and weary hours forming an October night. Yet still the following day beheld him struggling on, in the face alike of disappointment, defeat, and danger the most im- minent ; still seeking the same object, still hoping against hope, nnd retreating only because the welfare of his country, of her unfortunate children, depended upon him ; bands more and more numerous pressed upon him, coming from every side, that scarcely was one skilfully eluded ere he had to struggle against another. Nothing but the most consummate skill, the most patient courage, and coolest address could have extricated nim from the fearful dangers which encompassed him. Again did his followers behe\ e he bore a charmed life, for not only Jid he deal destruction, unhurt himself, but after three days' iilmost incessant fighting and fatigue, he had brought them to i place of safety, with but the loss of five-and- twenty men. But though painfully conscious that further efforts for the rescue of his friends were completely useless. King Robert could not rest satisfied without some more accurate knowledge 160 I'HE DA 78 OP BEUCK. of their fate, and after some hurried yet anxious consultation. Sir James Douglas, with that daring which so mariied his simplest action, declared that at all risks he would seek some, tidings that would end their anxiety. In the disguise of a peasant he would he secure from all discovery, he said ; and he had not the slightest fear as to the success of the adventure. Five others started, up as he spoke, entretiting permission to take the same disguise and accompany him. It was granted ; King Robert advising them, however, to adopt a diversity ol costume, and keep each one apart as they approached in- habited districts, as their numbers might excite suspicion, even though the actual disguise was complete. With arms con- cealed beneath their various disguises, they departed that same evening, engaging to meet the king at the base of Ben-Cruchan, some miles more south than their present trysting. It was an anxious parting, and yet more when they were actually gone ; for the high spirit and vein of humor which characterized the young Lord Douglas had power to cheer his friends even in the most painful moments. King Eobert, indeed, exerted him- self, but this last stroke had been a heavy one ; knowing so well the character of Edward, he trembled both for the count- ess and her noble son, perhaps less for the latter than the former, for he hoped and believed the Earl of Buchan, if in- deed he were their captor, would at least have some mercy on his son, -but for the countess he knew that there was no hope. The character, the sentiments of the earl had been noticed by the Bruce when both were at the court of Edward, and he felt and knew that any excuse to rid him of a wife whose virtues were obnoxious to him would be acted on with joy. And here, perhaps, it may be well to say a few words as to the real na- ture of King Robert's sentiments towards Isabella of Buchan, as from the anxiety her detention occasioned they may be so easily misuudeistuod. We have performed our task but ill if our readers have ioiagined aught but the most purely noble, most chivalric sen- timents actuated the heart of the king. Whatever might have been the nature of those sentiments .n earlier days, smce his marriage with the daughter of the Earl of Mar they had never entered his soul. He had always believed the Lady Isabella's union with Lord John Comyn was one of choice, not of necessity, nor THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 161 did his visit to her after the battle of Falku-k recall any formei feeling. His mind liad been under the heavy pressure of that self-reproach which the impressive words of Wallace had first awakened ; the wretched state of his country, the tyranny ol Edward, occupied the mind of the man in which the emoliona of the boy had merged. He was, too, a husband and a father ; and he was, as his fond wife so trustingly believed, too nobly honorable to entertain one thought to her dishonor. He looked on Isabella of Buchan as one indeed demanding his utmost esteem and gratitude, his most faithful friendship, and he secretly vowed that she should h^e it ; but these emotions took no' their coloring from the past, they were excited simply by her high-minded devotion to the cause of her country, her unshrink- ing patriotism, her noble qualities, alike as a mother, subject, friend. He felt but as one noble spirit ever feels for a kindred essence, heightened perhaps by the dissimilarity of sex, but aught of love, even in its faintest shadow, aught of dishonor- able feelings towards her or his own wife never entered his wildest dream. It was the recollection of her unwavering 'oyalty, of the supporting kindness she had ever shown his queen, which occasioned his bitter sorrow at her detention by the foe ; it was the dread that the cruel wrath of Edward would indeed condemn her to death for the active part she had taken in his coronation ; the conviction, so agonizing to a mind like his, that he had no power to rescue and avenge ; the fear- ful foreboding that thus would all his faithful friends fall from him — this, only this, would be the reward of all who served and loved him ; and even while still, with undaunted firmness, cheering the spirits of his adherents, speaking hope to them, his own inward soul was tortured with doubts as to the wisdom of his resistance, lingering regrets for the fate of those of his friends already lost to him, and painful fears for the final doom of those who yet remained. It was in such moments of despondency that remorse, too, ever gained dominion, and heightened his inward struggles. Robert's hand was not framed for blood ; his whole soul re- volted from the bitter remembrance of that fatal act of passion which had stained his first rising. He would have given worlds, if he had had them, to have recalled that deed. Busy fancy represented a hundred ways of punishing treachery other than that which his fury had adopted; and this remembrance e\ei 1C2 THE DATS OF BETJOE. increased the anguish with which he regarded the fate of li;e friends. His lot was indeed as yet one of unexampled suflcr- ing, borne by heroism as great as unequalled • but the lustre of the latter too frequently dazzles the mrnd, and prevents the full meed of glory beuig obtained. His heroism is known to all, his sufferings to but a few ; but perhaps it was the latter yet more than the former which gave to Scotland the glory and honor she acquired in his reign. Heroism is scarce separable from ambition, but to mere ambition the voice of suffering ia seldom heard. Heroism dazzles the crowd, suffering purifies the man. If Robert the Bruce were ambitious, the passion in him assumed a nobler and better form ; yet we can scarcely call that ambition which sought but the delivery of Scotland from chains, but the regaining an ancient heritage, and sought no more. It was patriotism hallowed by suffering, purified by adversity ; patriotism the noblest, purest which ever entered the heart of man. King Robert and his handful of followers not only reached their trysting-place themselves, but were joined by the queen, and many of her female companions and their attendant war- riors, ere Lord James of Douglas returned ; three of his com- panions had straggled in, one by one, with various accounts, but none so satisfactory as the king desired, and he believed with justice, that Douglas lingered to bring, if not satisfactoiy (for that, alas 1 could not be) yet accurate intelligence. If aught could have comforted Agnes in these moments of agonized suspense, it would have been not alone the redoubled affection of her Nigel, but the soothing kindness, the love and sympathy of a father, which was lavished on her by King Robert ; nay, each of those rude warriors softened in address and tone, as they looked on and spoke to that fair, fragile being, whom they feared now stood alone. She did not weep when other eyea than those of Nigel, or the Lady Campbell, or the gentle Isoline were on her, but that deadly pallor, that quivering lip, and heavy eye spoke all that she endured. A large cavern, divided by Nature into many compartments, was now the temporary shelter of the king and his friends. It was situated at the base of Ben-Cruchan, which, Jhough at the entrance of the territories of Lorn, was now comparatively secure, the foe imagining the Bruce still amidst the mountaina of Aberdeenshire. THE DATS OP EKTTCE. 163 Tlie evening meal was spread ; a huge fire blazing in the stony cavity removed all appearance of damp or discomtortj and shed a warm, ruddy light on the groups within. It- was a rude home for the King of Ssotland and his court, yet neither murmuring nor despondency was marked on the bold brows of the warriors, or the gentler and paler features of their faithful companions; their fi-ames, indeed, showed the efi'ect of wan- dering and anxiety ; many an eye which had been bright was sunken, many a blooming cheek was paled ; but the lip yet smiled, the voice had yet its gleesome tones to soothe and cheer their warrior friends ; the eager wish to prepare the couch and dress the simple meal, to perform those many Uttle offices of love and kindness so peculiarly a woman's, and engaged in with a zest, a skill which was intuitive, for there had been a time, and one not far distant, when those highborn females little dreamed such household deeds would be their occupation. Brightly and beautifully shone forth conjugal and filial love in those wandering hours ; the wife, the child, the sister bound themselves yet closer to the wanior husband, father, brother, which claimed them his. Yet sweet, most sweet as were those acts of love, there were anxious and loving hearts which felt that soon, too soon, they must part from tliem, they must per- suade those gentle ones to accede to a temporary separation — they could not, they would not expose them to the snows and killing frosts of a Scottish winter. Anxiety, deep anxiety was on the heart of King Robert, be- coming more painful with each glance he fixed on Agnes, who was sitting apart with Nigel, her aching head resting on his shoulder, but he strove to return the caresses of his daughter, to repay with fond smiles the exertions of his wife. Sir Niel Campbell (who, after many painful trials, had rejoined the king) and others strove to disperse the silently gathering gloom by jest and song, till the cavern walls re-echoed with their soldier mirth. Harshly and mournfully it fell on the ear and heart of the maiden of Buchan, but she would not have it stilled. " No, no ; do thou speak to me, Nigel, and I shall only list to thee. Why should the noble efforts of these brave men — tv)r I know even to them mirth is now an effort — be chilled and checked, because my sick heart beats not in unison ? Oh, when will Lord James return ?" Nigel sought to soothe, to speak hope, but though his words 164 THE DATS OF BEUCE. fell like balm on the bleeding heart he held to his, it was the rich melody of their -voice, not the matter of their meaning. The hour of rest was fast approaching, when the well-known signal was heard without, and the young Lord Douglas, with his two companions, were hastily and eagerly admitted within the cave. Their looks denoted great fatigue, and the eager eyes which scanned their countenances read little to hope, yet much, much, alas ! to fear. " Thou hast so far succeeded as to obtain the intelligence we need," was the king's instant greeting, as he released his fa- vorite young follower from his embrace ; " that I can read, but further, I fear me, thou hast little to communicate which we shall love to hear." " My tidings are ill indeed, your highness ; aggravated and most undreamed-of ill. But, perchance," and the young man hesitated, for his eye caught the pallid face of Agnes, who had uresistibly drawn closer to the circle about the king, and fixed her eyes on him with an expression almost wild in its agony, ■■' perchance they had better first meet your grace's private ear." " No, no !" reiterated Agnes, springing forward, and cling- ing convulsively to his arm. " It is only me thou fearest, I know ; I know thou wouldst spare me, but do not, do not. I can bear all, every thing, save this horrible suspense ; speak out, let me but know all, and then I can teach my soul to bear it. Oh, do not hesitate, do not pause ; in mercy, tell me — ^oh, tell me all !" Thus adjured, but feeling most painfully the suffering his tale would produce, Douglas struggled with his own emotion, and repeated all the information he had obtained. Guardedly as he spoke, evidently as he endeavored to prepare the mind of Agnes, and thus soften its woe, his tale was yet such as to harrow up the hearts of all his hearers, how much more the frail and gentle being to whom it more immediately related ; yet she stood calm, pale, indeed, and quivering, but with a desperate effort conquering the weakness of her nature, and bearing that deep woe as the daughter of her mother, the betrothed of Nigel Bruce.'' The young lord's information was simply this. On nearing the hunting-lodge, which was his first object, he found it vorj' nearly deserted, but a few stragglers, amounting perhaps tci THE DATS OF BEUOK. 165 fifty in number of the followers of Buchan, remaininjr behind, with orders to follow their master to Dunkeld without delay. Mingling with these as a countryman of the more northern counties, eager to obtain every species of intelligence respecting the movements of the English and the hunted Bruce, whom he pretended to condemn and vilify after the fashion of the Anglo-Scots, and feeUng perfectly secure not only in the dis- guise he had assumed, but in the peculiar accent and intonation of the north-country peasant, which he could assume at pleas- ure, he made himself a welcome guest, and with scarcely any trouble received much of the information he desired. He was told of the first capture and rescue of the Countess cf Buchan ; that it was through one of the men left for dead on the scene of the skirmish the earl had received such exact information concerning the movements and intended destination of the Bruce ; that immediately on receiving this intelligence he had gathered all his force, amounting to five hundred men, and di- viding them into different bands, sent skilful guides with each, and was thus enabled to surround the lodge, and command five different avenues of the forest, without interruption or dis- covery. He learned, too, that a stormy interview had taken place between the earl, his wife, and son, the particulars of which, however, had not transpired ; that the earl's rage had been terrific when he found the night passed, and the Bruee had not fallen into the snare laid for him ; and he had sworn a fearful oath, that if the countess would not betray him into his power, her son should die ; that both mother and son had stood this awful trial without shrinking ; that no word either to betray their king or implore life and mercy had been wrung from them. Incensed beyond all measure, Buchan had sent on the countess with a numerous guard, his men believed, either to Dunkeld or Perth, in both of which towns there was a strong garrison of English, and lingered yet another day and night in the hope of dragging some intelligence from the lips of Alan, or persuading him into acting the spy upon the actions and movements of the Bruce. He succeeded in neither ; and the men continued to state, with shuddering horror, which even their rude natures could not suppress, that they believed the Mm had actually fallen a victim to his father's rage — that he liad actually been murdered. Numerous reports to that effect nad been circulated on all sides, and though they had watched 166 THE DATS OF BE0CE. narrowly, they had seen nothing to contradict it. The bodj of the unfortunate boy had been cast into a deep well, heaps of rubbish flung over it, and the well built up. This they knew as a positive certainty, for they had seen it. Douglas heard this tale with an intensity of horror, of loath- ing, which at first deprived him almost of every ether feeling ; but when he could withdraw himself from the horrible idea, a species of disbelief took possession of him. It was impossible such utter depravity, such fearful insensibility to the claims of nature could exist in the breast of any man ; it was a tale forged to inflict fresh agony on the mother's heart, and he de- termined on discovering, if possible, the truth. He pretended entirely to disbelieve it ; declared it was not possible ; that the earl had practised on their credulity, and would laugh at them afterwards ; and contrived so well, that three or four declared he should be convinced with his own eyes, and set about pull- ing down the slight brickwork which covered the well. This was what Douglas wanted, and he eagerly lent them a helping hand. A body there was indeed, in form and in clothing so exactly that of the unhappy Alan, that, even though the face was so marred it could not be recognized, the young earl could doubt no longer ; the young, the brave, the beautiful, and true, had fallen a victim to his own patriot loyalty, and by a father's hand. The deep suffering this certainly occasioned was re- garded by his companions as sulkiness for having been proved wrong in lus judgment ; they jeered and laughed at him ac- cordingly, and harshly as these sounds reverberated in his heart, they were welcome, as enabling him still more easily to con- tinue his disguise. He accompanied them to Dunkeld, and found the earl had proceeded with his wife as prisoner to the castle of Stirling, there to deliver her over to the Earl of Hereford, through whom to be sent on to Edward, Determined on seeing her, H possible, Douglas resolved on daring the danger, and venturing even to the very stronghold of his foes. The horror which (his unnatural act of the earl had excited in the minds of his men, he found had extended even over those in Dunkeld, and through them he learned that, directly on reaching the town, the earl had sought the countess, brutally communicated the death of her son, and placed in her hands the raven curls as THE DATS OF BEUCE. 167 all which remained of him, some of which were dahbled in blood ; that she had remained apparently unmoved while in his presence, but the moment he left her had sunk into a suc- cession of the most fearful fainting fits, in one of which she had been removed to Stirling. Withdrawing himself from his companions, under pretence of returning to his home in the north, having, he said, loitered too long, Douglas concealed himself for some days in the ab- bey of Scone, the holy inmates of which still retained their loyalty and patriotism, notwithstanding their revered abbot, unable to remain longer inactive, had donned the warrior's dress, and departed to join and fight with his king. Assum- ing the cowl and robes of one of the lay brothers, and removing the red wig and beard he had adopted with his former cos- tume, the young lord took the staff in his hand, and with diffi- culty bringing his hasty pace to a level with the sober step and grave demeanor of a reverend monk, reached Stirling just as the cavalcade, with the litter intended for the captive countess, had assembled before the castle gate. Agitated almost be- yond the power of control, Douglas made his way through the gathering crowds, and stood unquestioned close beside the litter. He did not wait long. Respectfully supported by the Earl of Hereford himself, the Countess of Buchan, with a firm, unfaltering step, approached the litter. The hood was thrown back, and Douglas could read the effects of withering agony on the marble stillness of those beautiful features, though to all else they spoke but firm and calm resolve ; there was not a vestige of color on cheek or lip or brow ; and though her figure was as commanding, as majestic as heretofore, there was a fearful attenuation about it, speaking volumes to Lord James's heart. Hereford placed her in the litter, and with a respectful fialutation turned away to give some necessary orders to his men. Bold in his disguise, Douglas bent over the countess, and spoke in a low, feigned voice those words of comfort and of peace suited to his assumed character ; but feigned as it was, the countess recognized him on that instant ; a convulsi\"c shudder passed through her every limb, contracting her features •yith very agony. " My child — my Alan !" she whispered, narrowing his very soul beneath that voice's thrilling woe. " Douglas, hast thou heard ' — yes, yes ; I can read it in thino awe-struck face 168 THE DATS OF BEUCE. This, this is all I have left of him," and she partly drew from her bosom the clustering ringlets he recognized at once ; " yet, wherefore should I mourn him : he is happy. Bid his mem- ory be honored among ye ; and oh, tell the sovereign for whom he fell, better a death like this than treachery and shame." She had paused as fearing observation, but perceiving thft attention of all more fixed on the glittering cavalcade than on herself, she placed one of those glossy curls in the young earl's hand, and continued^ — " Give this to my poor Agnes, with her mother's blessing, and bid her take comfort, bid her not weep and mourn for me A prison, even death is preferable now to life, for she is cared for. I trust her to Sir Nigel's love ; I know that he will tend her as a brother till a happier hour makes her all his own. Commend me to my sovereign, and tell him, might I choose, my path again, despite its anguish, 'twould be that which I have trod. And now farewell, young lord, I bless thee for this meeting." " Dominus vobiscum mea filia, et vale," responded the sup- posed monk, in a loud voice, for he had only time to assure the countess by a look of deep sympathy of his willingness to exe- cute her simplest wish, and hide the ringlet in his bosom, ere Hereford turned towards him, with a gaze of stern inquiry. Ably concealing alike his emotion and the expression of his countenance, Douglas evaded discovery, and even obtained per- mission to follow the litter to the environs of the town. He did so, but the countess addressed him not again ; and it was with a heart-sinking despondency he had turned to the moun- tains, when the cavalcade disappeared from his view. He re- tained his monkish garb till he entered the mountain district, where he fell in with his two companions, and they proceeded as we have seen, to the quarters of their king. A pause of horror followed his narrative, told more forcibly and briefly by the lips of Douglas than through -the cooler me- dium of the historian's pen. Stunned, overwhelmed, as if in- capable of movement or speech, though sense remained, Agnes etood insensible, even to the voice of Nigel, whose soothing accents strove to whisper peace ; but when Douglas placed in her cold hand the raven curls she knew so well, when tenderly yet earnestly he repeated her mother's words, the poor girl THE DATS OF BEIJOK. 169 repeatedly pressed the hair to her parched lips, and laid it iii her bosom ; and then perceiving the sad and anxious face of her beloved, she passed her hand hurriedly over her brow, and burying her . head on his breast, sense was preserved by an agony of tears. It was long, long ere this aggravated wretchedness was calmed, though the love of many, the devotion of one were iver round her to strengthen and console. Sympathy, the most heartfelt, reigned in every bosom. Of the many misfortunes ■which had befallen this patriot band, this seemed, if not really the severest, more fraught with horror than any which had come before ; the youth, the gallant bearing, the endearing qualities of the heir of Buchan stood forth with vivid clearness in the memories of all, and there were times when they felt it could not be, it was too fearful ; and then again, the too cer- tain evidence of the fact, witnessed as it had been by one of such tried truth as James of Douglas, brought conviction too clearly home, and the sternest warrior, who would have faced his own captivity and death unmoved, felt no shame in the dimness which gathered in his eye for the fearful fate of the murdered boy. In King Robert's breast these emotions obtained yet more powerful dominion ; again did remorse distract him, and there were moments of darkness, when his spirit questioned the jus- tice of the Creator. Why was not his crime visited on his own head ? Why did the guiltless and unstained fall thus around him, and he remain unharmed? and it needed all the elo- quence of Nigel, the pious reasonings of the Abbot of Scone, to convince him that, dark and inscrutable as the decrees of Omnipotence sometimes seemed, in his case they were as cleai as the wisdom from which they sprung. By chastisement he was purified ; he was not yet fit to receive the reward of the righteous waiting on death. Destined to be the savior of his unhappy country, the remorse which bowed down his naturally haughty spirit was more acceptable in the sight of his God, more beneficial to his own soul, than the one act of devoted- ness included in a brave man's death. Robert struggled with his despondency, with his soul's deep grief, known as it was but to himself, his confessor, and his young brother;' he felt its encouragement would unnerve him for his destined task. Othei imperative matters now pressed round him, and by presenting 8 J.70 THE D/VTS OF BEtTOE. fresh and increased danger, roused his energies onoe more to their wonted action. The winter had set in with unexampled severity, ovenirhelm- ing snow-storms filled iip the rude paths of the mountains, till egress and ingress appeared impossible. The Earl of Athol himself, who had been the inseparable companion of the Bruce in all his wanderings, now spoke of retiring, and passing the win- ter within stone walls, urging his sovereign with earnest elo- quence to take refuge in Ireland till the spring, when they would reassemble under arms, and perhaps take the tyrant Edward once more by surprise. Bruce knew the veteran nobleman too well to atti-ibute this advice to any motive save deep interest in his safety. He saw, too, that it was utterly impossible for them to remain as they then were, without serious evils alike to his female and male companions ; the common soldiers, steady and firm as they still continued in loyalty, yet were continually dispersing, promising to reassemble in the spring, but declaring that it was useless to think of struggling against the English, ,when the very elements were at war' against them. With a sad foreboding, Robert saw, and communicated to his devoted wife the necessity of their separation. He felt that it was right and best, and there- fore he resisted all her tearful entreaties still to linger by his side ; her child was suffering, for her tender years could not bear up against the cold and the want of proper nourishment, and yet even that claim seemed less to the mother's heart than the vision of her husband enduring increase of hardship alone. Her acquiescence was indeed at length obtained, but dimmed by many very bitter tears. A. hasty consultation with his few remaining friends speedily decided the Bruce's plans. The castle of Kildrummie, a strong fortress situated at the head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire, yet remained to him, and thitlier, under the escort of his brother Nigel and three hundred men, the king determined to send his wite and child, and the other ladies of his court. Himself, hia three brothers, Edward, Alexander, and Thomas, Douglas, Sir Kiel Campbell, and his remaining two hundred followers, re- solved on cautiously making their way southward across Loch Loaiond, and proceed thence to the coast of Ireland, there to await the spring. In pursuance of this plan. Sir Niel Camp- bell was dispatched without delay to conciliate Angus, Lord ol THE DATS or BEOOE. 171 tlie Isles, to whom Gantire then belonged. Knowing ho waa unfriendly to his near neighbors, the Lords of Lorn, the king trusted he sholild find in him a powerful ally. To appeal yef more strongly to the chivahic hospitality which characterized the chieftain, Sir Niel consented that his wife and daughter Isoline should accompany him. Lady Campbell had too latejv undergone the grief and anxiety attendant on the supposed loss of her husband to consent to another parting. Even the king, her brother, sought not to dissuade her ; but all persuasions to induce Agnes to accompany them were vain ; bitter as the pang of separation was to her already aching heart — for Lady Camp- bell and Isohne were both most dear to her — she steadily re- solved to remain with the queen and her attendants, and thus share the fate of her betrothed. " Did not my mother commend me to thy care ? Did she not bid thee tend me as a brother until happier hours, and shall I seek other guardianship than thine, my Nigel?" were her whispered words, and Nigel could not answer them. So pure, so unselfish was her love, that though he felt his happiness would have departed with her presence, could he have com- manded words he would have implored her to seek the hospi- tality of the Lord of the Isles as a securer home than Kildrum- mie. Those forebodings already alluded to had returned with darker weight from the hour his separation from his brother was resolved on. He evinced no sign of his inward thoughts, he uttered no word of dissent, for the trust reposed in him by his sovereign was indeed as precious as it was honorable ; but there was a mournful expression on his beautiful countenance — when unobserved, it would rest upon his brother — that Agnes could not define, although it filled her spirit with incomprehen- sible alarm, and urged her yet more to abide by his side. The dreaded day arrived at length, and agonized was indeed that parting. Cheerfully the king looked, and hopefully he spoke, but it had no power to calm the whelming tide of sor- row in which his wife clung to his embrace. Again and agaiii she returned to that faithful heart which bore so fondly, so for- bearingly, with all her faults and weaknesses; and Margoiy, although she could not comprehend the extent of sorrow ex- perienced by her mother, wept bitterly at her side. Nor wore they the only sufferers. Some indeed were fortunate enough to have relatives amid the band which accomnanied thtui tu 172 THE DAYS OF BEUOB, Kildrummie, but by far the greater number clung to the necks of brothers, fathers, husbands, vhose faithful and loving com- panions they had been so long — clung to them and wept, as if a long dim vista of sorrow and separation , stretched before them. Danger, indeed, was around them, and the very fact of their being thus compelled to divide, appeared to heighten the perils, and tacitly acknowledge them as too great to be endured. With pain and difficulty the iron-souled warriors at length tore themselves, from the embrace of those they held most dear. The knights and their, followers had closed round the litters, and commenced their march. No clarion sent its shrill blast on the mountain echoes, no inspiring drum reverberated through the glens — all was mournfully still ; as the rudest soldier revered the; grief he beheld, and shrunk from disturbing it by a sound. King Robert stood alone, on the spot where Sir Christopher Seaton had borne from him his wife and childi His eyes stiU watched their litter; ^is thoughts still lingered with them alone ; full of afifeotion, anxiety, sadness, they were engrossed, but not defined. He was aroused by the sudden appearance of his younger brother, who, bareheaded, threw himself at his feet, and, in a voice strangely husky, murmured — " My sovereign, my brother, bless me, oh, bless me, ere we part !" " My blessing — the blessing of one they deem accursed ; and to thee, good, noble, stainless as thou art ! Nigel, Nigel, do not mock me thus," answered the king, bitterness struggling with the deepest melancholy, as he laid his hand, which strangely trembled, on the young man's lowered head. " Alas ! bring I not evil and misery and death on all who love me ? What, what may my blessing bring to thee ?" " Joy, bright joy in the hour of mirth and comfort ; oh, untold-of comfort in the time of sorrow, imprisonment, death ! My brother, my brother, oh, refuse it not ; thou knowest not, thou canst not know how Nigel loves thee !" Robert gazed at him till every thought, every feeling was lost in the sudden sensation of dread lest ill should come to hinp ; it had overtaken one as fair in promisp, as beloved, and jret younger , and oh, if death selected the best, the loveliest, the dearest, would it next fall on him ? The thought was such THE DAITB OP BEUCE. 173 absolute agony, that the previous suffering of that hour ivua lost before it. " Bless thee — oh, may God in heaven bless thee, my brave, my noble Nigd f" he exclaimed, with a burst of emotion, per- fectly appalling in one generally so controlled, and raising him, he strained him convulsively to his heart. " Yet why should we part ?" he added, after a long pause ; " why did I fix on thee for this office — are there not others ? Nigel, Nigel, say but the word, and thou shalt rest with me : darger, j rivation, exile we have borne, and may still share together. Why should I send thee from me, dearest, most beloved of all who call me brother ?" - " Why ?" answered Nigel, raising his glistening eyes from his brother's shoulder, " why, dear Robert ? because thine eye could read my heart and trust it ; because thou knewest I would watiih over those who bear thy name, who are dear to thee, even as thy noble self. Oh, do not r^ent thee of thy choice ; 'tis hard to bear alone danger, so long encountered hand in hand, yet as thou hast decided let it be. Thy words have soothed my yearning heart, which craved to list thy voice onee more ; and now then, my noble liege and brother, fare- well. Think on thy Nigel's words ; even when misery is round thee thou shalt, thou shalt be blessed. Think on them, my Robert, and then when joy and liberty and conquest crowii thee, oh, forget not Nigel." He threw his arms around him, imprinted a fei-vent kiss on his cheek, and was out of sight ere the king by sign or word could arrest his progress. One hasty bound forward Robert indeed made, but a dimness stole over his sight, and for one brief minute he sunk down on the grass, and when he lifted his head again, there were burning tears upoi his check. CHAPTER XVI. The hardships and dangers attendant on King Robertas progress southward, mingled as they were with the very spirit of romance, are so well known to every reader of Scottish nistory that they must be excluded from oui pages,. although 174 THE DATS OF BECTCE. a tale of chivalry -vrould seem the very place for their in Bertion. The life of no hero, no sovereign, no general, presents us with a parallel to the lone and dreary passage of Loch Lomond, We hear of an ancient and a modern Hannibal crossing he snowy Alps, but it was at the head of triumphant armies ; it was carrying war and victory into an enemy's land, and there was glory in the danger — the glory and pride of successful ambition. 3ut there was greater and truer heroism in the spirit which struggled on when the broad, deep waters of Loch Lomond lay between them and comparative safety ; when 'mid falling snow and howling winds he cheered his drooping and exhausted followers by reading aloud a spirit-stirring romance, to which they li3tened enwrapt and charmed, little imagining their own situation was one of far greater peril, of more ex- citing romance than any which the volume so vividly de- scribed. A leaky boat, which scarcely allowed three men to cross in safety, was their only means of conveyance, and a day and night passed ere the two hundred followers of the Bruce assembled on the opposite side. The cheerful blast of his bugle, which sounded to form them in bands before him on the beach, was answered by one whose unexpected ap- pearance occasioned such joy to the heart of the king, that the exertions both of body and mind of the last few hours were 'forgottenj It was the Earl of Lennox, who since the fatal battle of Methven had been numbered amongst the dead- and lamented by his royal master with grief as deep as the joy was exceeding which greeted him again. Mutual was the tale of suffering each had to relate, few and faint the hopes and prospects to communicate, but so many were the friends the patriots had lost, that the reappearance of the venerable nobleman infused a new and brighter spirit amid the almost despairing men. That the Earl of Lennox Tiad found a kind and hospitable home in the dominions of the Lord of the Isles, and received welcome and favor from the chieftain himself, was justly a sub- ject of rejoicing to the fugitive king. Guided by him, the intricacies of their path were smoothed, and they reached their destination in a much shorter time than would otherwise have been the case. Sir Niel Campbell had performed his missiou wtsll, and kindness and truth so long unknown, now eagerly THE DATS OF BliUCE. 175 opened their hearths and hearts to the patriot king. Scorning alike the Scottish and English authority, Angus, Lord of the Isles, had formed an independent sovereignty, and now felt pride in receiving in his territories the only sovereign he had felt inclination to revere. The daring heroism, the unshaken spirit of the Bruce, were akin to his own wild and reckless oourage, and had there heen no actual claim and right in Robert's pretensions to the crown, Angus would still have declared that he, and he alone, was the sovereign worthy to assume it. All, then, of state and dignity which he could assemble round him were proffered to the king, and had there been less generosity, less chivalric honor in his character King Robert might have passed the winter months in comparative security and comfort. Angus indeed spoke daringly and slightly of the English force, and had his inmost soul been read, would have joyed had they ventured to attack him, that he might show his skill and bravery in resisting and defending against their united force the sovereign who had eonfided in his gallantry and honor ; but Robert knew better than the rude chieftain the devastating warfare which characterized Edward's effoi-ts at subjection, and his whole soul shrunk from exposing Angus and his tru'i-hearted followers to the utter ruin which, if he were once known to be amongst them, would inevitably ensue. At once to secure his personal concealment, and yet to with- draw from Cantire without in any way offending the high spirit of the island chieftain, Bruce resolved on making the little island of Rathlin the winter refuge of himself and his two hundred followers. Inhabited by the MacDonalds, who were of course subject to their general chief, though divided from him by the channel, Bruce was still under the generous protection of his friend, and therefore Angus could bring forward no objection to the proposal, save the miserable poverty, the many discomforts of the barren islet, and entreat with all his natural eloquence thai King Robert would still remain in the peninsula. The argu- ments of the king, however, prevailed. A small fleet, better manned than built, was instantly made ready for his service, and Angus himself conveyed the king in his own galley to his destined resideiice. The aspect of the island, the savage ap- pearance and manner of its inhabitants were indeed such as tc 176 THE DATS OF BEtTOE. Btrike despondingly and painfully on the hearts of any Iihib inured to suffering than King Robert and his devoted adherents, To them it was welcome,' for they justly felt the eye of Edward could scarcely reach them thei-e. It was a painful alternativu to warrior spirits such as theirs that the safety of their country depended on their inaction and concealment ; yet as their king, their patriot king, was still amongst them, there was much, much to- hope and cherish still. That their gentler friends and relatives were, they hoped and believed; in a place of safety, was a matter of rejoicing, though neifchei" entreaty nor com- mand could persuade the Lady Campbell and her daughtci Isoline to accept the profiered hospitality of the island chief- tain. It was nothing to them that they were the only females 'mid that warrior train, that many hardships were around them still. Neither Sir Niel nor the king could resist their pleadings, and ere the sun of spring had shed its influence on the heart of man as well as the hardened earth, there were many who mourned that a separation had taken place, who wished that fatigue and anxiety had still been met together. Many weeks before King Robert retreated to the island of Eathlin, Sir Nigel Bruce had conducted his precious charge in safety to the castle of Kildrummie, whose feeble garrison gladly flung open their gates to receive them. It was a strong fortress situated on a circular mount,' over- hanging the river Don, which at that point ever rushed darkly and stormily along ; the mount, though not steep, was full two miles in circumference, from base to brow occupied by the cas- tle, which was erected in that massive yet irregular form pecu- liar to the architecture of the middle ages. A deep, broad moat or fosse, constantly supplied by the river, defended the castle wall, which ran round the mound, irregularly indeed, for there were indentations and sharp angles, occasioned by the uneven ground, each of which was guarded by a strong turret or tow- er, rising from the wall. The wall itself was some four-and- twenty feet in height, and nine in thickness, consequently ths spaces between the turrets on the top of the wall formed broad level platforms, which in case of a siege were generally kept strongly guarded. Facing the east, and commanding a view of the river and adjacent country, stood the barbacan gate and drawbridge, which latter was further defended by strong oaken doors and an iron portcullis, forming the great gate of the ais- THE DATS OF BRUCE. 177 lie wall, and the principal entrance into the fortress. Two towers of immense strength, united by a narrow, dimly-lighted passage, guarded this gate, and on these depended the grate oi portcullis, which was lowered or raised by internal machinery Within the castle wall was the outer ballium or court, contain- ing some small, low-roofed dwellings, the residence of many feudal retainers of the baron. A rude church or chapel was also within this court, holding a communication with the keep or principal part of the castle by means of a passage in the third wall, which divided the ballium from the inner court. In very large castles there were in general a second fosse, wall, gate, and towers guarding the keep, and thus making a complete di- vision between it and the ballium ; but the original owners of Kildrummie, less rich and powerful suzerains than their equals in South Britain, were probably contented with merely a stout wall to divide their own sovereign residence from their more plebeian followers. The keep itself, constriieted like all other similar buildings of the age, was a massive tower, covering but a small square, and four or five stories high. There were at- tempts at luxury in the chambers within, but to modern taste the Norman luxury was little better than rudeness ; and cer- tainly though the cushions were soft and richly embroidered, the arras in some of the apartments splendid specimens of nee- dlework, and the beautifully carved and often inlaid oaken walls of others, gave evidence of both taste and talent, yet the dim light seemed to shed a gloom and heaviness over the whole range of rooms and passages, which no skill of workmanship oi richness of material could remove. The windows were invaria- bly small, and very long and nan-ow, and set in walls of such huge thickness, that the sun had barely power even in his sum mer splendor, to penetrate the dusky panes. In this keep was the great hall of audience, and for the banquet, at the uppei end of which the dais was invariably found, and dark and loath- some dungeons formed its basement. The roof of Kildrummie keep was flatter than the generality of Norman castles, its four angles being ' surmounted moi-e by the appearance than the reality of turrets ; but one rose from the centre, round, and pierced by loopholes, turreted at the top, mid commanding an eitensive view of the adjoining country: from this tower the banner of the baron always waved, and iw non-appearance excited some indignation in the breast of Nigel 178 THE BAYS OF BEUCB. Bruce, for his warrior spirit had no sympathy with that timor ous excuse, that did it wave at such a time it might excite th« attention of the English, whereas did it elevate no symbol o) defiance its garrison might pass unquestioned. " Up with the banner of Scotland and the Bruce!" were the first commands of Sir Nigel, as he stood within the ballium, surrounded by his charge and followers. " Shall we, pledged as we are to our country and king, even seem to stand neutral and conceal our colors, as ashamed of them? Shall this be?" He was answered by a simultaneous rush towards the keep, and at his word the folds of the broad banner waved e sultingly from the tower, its appearance hailed by a loud shout fiom those beneath, and by a bright and momentary gleam of sunshine flashing through the heavy clouds. " Ha ! see ye, my friends, even heaven smiles on us," exclaim- ed the young knight triumphantly, and smiling cheerily on his fair friends, as with gay words and graceful action he marshal- led them into the keep. It was while doing so, that Agnes marked the figure of an old yet majestic-looking man, whose eyes, still bright and flashing, though his white hair denoted ex- treme old age, were fixed immovably on the face and form of Nigel. It was a peculiar glance, strained, eager, and yet mourn- ful, holding her attention so fascinated that she paused in her onward way, and pointed him out to Nigel. "I know him not, love," he said, in answer to her inquiry. " I should deem him minstrel by his garb, or seer, or both per- chance, as IS sometimes the case, conjoined. I will speak with him when my present grateful task is done.'' But it was the next morning ere he had the opportunity oi doing so, for much devolved on the young seneschal. He had to visit the outworks, the stores, the offices, to give multitudi- nous orders, and receive various intelligences, to review the pres- ent garrison and his own followers, and assign to each his post ; and though ably aided by Sir Christopher SeatoQ and other ol his officers, all this occupied much time. The outworks he found in excellent condition ; the barbacan, of massive stone, seemed well enabled to resist attack, should it be made ; the machineiy of the drawbridge was in good order, and enabled to be drawn tip or let down at a moment's warning. The stores and grana- ries, which were contained in the towers on the castle wall, were very amply provided, tliough Nigel, taking advantage of the THE DAYS OF BEITCE. 179 present peaceful Lemper of the country, dispatched tnsty mes- sengers without delay for further supplies. That this fortress, almost the only one remaining to his brother, would remain un- molested, Nigel did not for one moment believe, but he did hope that, in case of a siege, if amply provided with stores, it might hold out till the intense cold of the season and climate would turn the besiegers from their purpose ; at all events, the advan- cing winter would be more favorable to the besieged than the besiegers, and though the garrison was comparatively small, the place itself was of such great strength as to guarantee tie in- dulgence of his hopes. That the original garrison were too tim- orous and wavering for him to place much dependence on them he readily perceived, but he trusted much to the beneficial in- fluence which his own steady, true-hearted followers might be enabled to infuse. Nigel was young, brave, and animated by every feeling which inspires courage and hope in the buoyant heart of youth. The gloom which had oppressed him in parting with his brother, and indeed had partially clouded his spirit during their rapid journey, vanished before the duties and responsibilities which thronged round him, now that he felt himself the guard and seneschal of the castle intrusted to his charge ; now that new duties devolved on him, duties particularly dear to a young and gallant spirit like his own ; duties, too, that bound him closer and closer with the gentle being in whose welfare and happi- ness his own were shrined. It was with a bright smile, then, and animated brow he joined his Agnes early the following morning, in a stroll through a small woody inclosure dignifier by the name of garden, which occupied part of the inner couri. The old minstrel who had so attracted the attention of Agnes was there before them. He stood against a projecting buttress, his arms folded, his eyes fixed, it seemed on vacancy, and evi- dently not aware he was approached till Nigel spoke. " Good morrow, father. I thought we had been the earliest to greet this fresh and frosty air, save those on guard, yet you are before us. Nay, wherefore doff thy cap, good father? The air is somewhat too frosty for thy silvered head." "I cannot doff it to a nobler, gentle youth," answered the old man, courteously, "save to my sovereign's self; and as hia representative, I pay wiUing homage to his brother." " Ha ! dost thou know me, father ? And was it becauau 1 180 THE DATS OF BHLCE. am King Robert's brother thine eyes so rested on me yester morn, mournfully, methought, as if the joy with which I hailed the gleam of sunshine smiling on our banner had little echo it % breast ?" " Not that, not that," answered the old man, tremulously j " I scarce remarked it, for my thoughts were in that future which is sometimes given me to read. I saw thet., noble youth, but 'twas not here. Dim visions come across my waking hours ; it is not well to note them," and he turned away as if he might not meet those eager eyes. " Not here ! yet I was at his side, good father," and Agnes laid her fair hand on the old man's arm. "Thou wert, thou wert, my Child. Beautiful, beautiful!" he half whispered, as he laid his hand dreamily on those golden curls, and looked on her face; "yet hath sorrow touched thee, maiden. Thy mom of life hath been o'erclouded ; its shadow lingers yet." " Too truly speakest thou, father," replied Nigel, drawing Agnes closer to his heart, for tears were starting in her eyes ; " yet will not love soon chase that sorrow ? Thou who canst penetrate the future, seer of the Bruce's line, tell me, shall she not be mine ?" The old man looked on them both, and then his eyes became fixed on vacancy ; long and painfully once or twice he passed his hand across his high, pale brow. " Vain, vain," he said, sadly ; " but one vision comes to minf aching sight, and there she seems thine own. She is thine own — but I know not how that will be. Ask me no more ; the dream is passing. 'Tis a sad and fearful gift. Others may triumph in the power, but for me 'tis sad, 'tis very sad/' " Sad ! nay, is it not joy, the anticipating joy," answered Nigel, with animation, " to look on a beloved one, and mark, amid the clouds of distance, glory, and honor, and love entwining on his path? to look through shades of present sorrow, and discern the sunbeam afar oflf — ^k there not joy in this?" " Aye, gentle youth ; but now, oh, now is there aught in Scotland to whisper these bright things ? There was rejoicing, and glory, and triumph around the patriot Wallace.. Scotland sprung from her sluggish sleep, and gave back her echo to his inspiring call. I looked upon the hero's beaming brow, I met the sparkle of his brilliant eye, I bowed before thenatire ma- IHE DATS OF BEtJCE. 181 jcsty of his god-like form, but there was no joy lor mo. Darl masses of clouds closed round the present sunshine ; the present fled like a mist before them, and they oped, and then — there was still Wallace ; but oh ! how did I see him ? the scaffold, the cord, the mocking crowds, the steel-clad guards — all, all, even as he fell. My children ! my children ! was there joy in this?" There was a thrilling pathos in the old man's voice that touched the very heart of his listeners. Agnes clung closer to the arm of her betrothed, and looked up tearftt_ly in his face ; his cheek was very pale, and his lip slightly quivered. There was evidently a desire to speak, to utter some inquiry, but he looked on that sweet face upturned to his, and the unspoken words died in an inarticulate murmur on his lips. " My brother," he said, at length, and with some difficulty, though it was evident from the expression of his countenance this was not the question he had meant to ask, " my noble brother, will thy glorious struggles, thy persevering valor, end in this? No, no, it cannot be. Prophet and seer, hast thou e'er gazed on him-i— him, the hope, the joy, the glory of the line of Bruce ? Hast thou gazed on him, and was there no joy there ?" " Yes !" answered the old man, starting from his posture oj despondency, and raising his hands with animated fervor, whilf- his cheek flushed, and his eyes, fixed on distance, sparkled witl> all the fire of youth. " Yes ! I have gazed upon that face, and in present and in future it is glorious still. Thick mists .have risen round him, well-nigh concealing him within their murky folds, but still, still as a star penetrating through cloud, and mist, and space, till it sees its own bright semblance in the ocean depths, so has that brow, circled by its diadem of free- dom, gleamed back upon mine aciiing sight, and I have seen and known there is joy for Bruce and Scotland yet !" " Then is there joy for all true Scottish men, good father, and so will we chase all sadness from our brows and hearts," replied Nigel, lightly. " Come, tell us of the past, and not th»! future, while we stroll ; thou hast traditions, hast thou net, to while away an hour ?" " Nay, my young lord," replied, the seer, " hast thou not enough in the present, embodied as it is in this fair maiden's dreaming eye and loving heart ? The minstrel's harp and ancient 1-82 THE DATS OF BE0CK. lore are for the evening hour, not for a time and companion such as this," and with an audible blessing he tunaed away, leaving them to their stroll together. It was not, however, without an effort Nigel could take ad- vantage of his absence, and make good use of moments, so blissful to hearts that love. There was something in the old man's mournful tone and glance when it rested upon him, that answered strangely and sadly to the spirit-voice breathing in his own bold breast. It seemed to touch that chord indefinably, yet felt by the vibration of every nerve which followed. He roused himself, however, and ere they joined the morning meal, there was a brighter smile on the lip and heart of Agnes than bad rested there for many a long day. For a few weeks there was peace both within and witho.ut the castle of Kildrummie. The relief, the shelter which its walls afforded to the wearied and exhausted wanderers was at first felt and enjoyed alone. Many of the frailer sex were far too exhausted and disabled by a variety of sufferings, to be sensible of any thing but that greater comforts than had been theirs for many painful months were now possessed ; but when their strength became partially restored, when these comfoits became sufficiently familiar to admit of other thoughts, the queen's fortitude began to waver. It was not the mere im- pulse of the moment which caused her to urge her accompany- ing her husband, on the plea of becoming more and more unworthy of his love if separated from him. Margaret of Mar was not born for a heroine ; more especially to act on such a stormy stage as Scotland. Full of kindly feeling, of affection, confidence, gentleness, one that would have droopedi.and died had her doom been to pass through life unloved, her yielding mind took its tone and coloring from those with whom she most intimately associated ; not indeed from the rude ana evil, fpr from those she intuitively shrunk. Beneath her husband's in- fluence, cradled in his love, her spirit received and cherished the reflection of his strength ; of itself, she too truly felt it had Qone ; and consequently when that beloved one was far away, (he reiieotion passed from her mind even as tie gleam of his armoi from the mirror on which it glanced, and Margaret was weak and timorous again. She had thought, and hoped, and prayed, her unfeigned admiration of Isabella of Buchan, hei meek and beautiful appreciation of those qualities and candiJ THE DAYB OF BECTCE. 183 acknowledgment that such was the character most adapted to her warrior husband, would bring more steadiness and courage to her own woman breast. Alas I the fearful fate which had overtaken the heroic countess came with sach a shock to the weaker soul of Margaret, that if she had obtained any increase of courage, it was at once annihilated, and the desponding fanc) entered her mind that if evil reached one so noble, so steadfast in thought and in action, how might she hope to escape ; and now, when weakened and depressed alike by bodily and mental suffering, such fancies obtained so much possession of her that she became more and more restless. The exertions of Sir Ni- gel and his companions, even of her own friends, failed in rous- ing or infusing strength. Sometimes it was vague conjectures as to the fate of her husband, the dread that he had fallen into the hands of his foes — a catastrophe which not only hei-self but many stronger minds imagined could scarcely be avoided. She would dwell on these fancies till suspense became intolerable ; and then, if these were partially calmed, came personal fears : the belief that if attacked the castle could not muster force enough for defence ; suspicions of treachery in the garrison, and other symptoms of the wavering nature of her mind, till Sii- Nigel felt too truly that if danger did come she would not stay to meet it. Her wishes ever turned to the sanctuary of St. Duthac in the domains of the Earl of Ross, believing the sanctity of the place would be more eflfectual protection than the strongest castle and bravest force. In vain Sir Nigel re- monstrated, nay, assured her that the fidelity of the Lord of Ross was impugned ; that he doubted his flattering overtures ; that he was known to be in correspondence with England. But he spoke in vain — the queen persisted in trusting him ; that he had ever been a friend of her father and brother the Earls of Mar, and he would be faithful to her interests now. Her opin- ion weighed with many of the ladies of her court, even amongst those who were not aflfected with her fears. At such times Agnes never spoke, but there was a calm, quiet determination in her expression that convinced the Lady Seaton, who alone had leisure to observe her, that her resolution was already taken and unalterable. All that could be done to calm the queen's perturbed spirits by way of amusement Sir Nigel did ; but his task was not an* easy one, and the rumor which about this time roached him, 184 THE DATS OF BEUCE. that the Earls of Hereford and Lancaster, with a viuy large force, were rapidly advancing towards Aberdeenshire, did not lessen its diflSculties. He soagh.t to keep the information as long as possible from all, his female charge, although the ap- pearance of many terrified villagere flying from their . homes to the protection of the castle hardly enabled him to do so, and confirmed without doubt the truth of what he had heard, Nigel felt the moment of peril was approaching, and he nerved both mind and frame to meet it. The weak terrors of the queen and some of her train increased with every rumor, and, despite every persuasion of Sir Nigel, Seaton, and other brave and well-tried warriors, she rested not till a negotiation was entered into withthe Earl of Ross to grant them a safe conduct through his lands, and permission to enter the sanctuary of St. Duthac. Perplexed with many sad thoughts, Nigel Bruce was one day slowly traversing a long gallery leading to some uninhabited chambers in the west wingi of the building ; it was of different architecture, and ruder, heavier aspect than the remainder of the castle. Tradition said that those rooms had Jbeen the ori- ginal building inhabited by an ancestor of the line of Bruce, and the remainder had been gradually added to them ; that some dark deed of blood had been there committed, and con- sequently they were generally kept locked, none pf the vassals in the castle choosing to nin the risk of meeting the spirits which they declared abode there. We have before said that Nigel was not superstitious, though ; his mind being of a cast which, adopting and embodying the ideal, he was likely to be supposed such. The particulars of the tradition he had never heard, and consequently it was always with a smile of disbelief he listenad to the oft-repeated injunction not to walk at dusk in the western turret. This warning came across him now, but his mind was far otherwise engrossed, too much so indeed foi him even to give more than a casual glance to the rude portraits which hung on either side' the gallery. He mistrusted the Earl of Ross, and there came a fear upon his noble spirit that, in permitting the departure of the queen and her attendants, he .might be liable to the censure of' his sovereign, that he was failjqg in his trust ; yet how was he to act, how put a restraint ijpon his charge ? Had he indeed be- lieved t'jat the defent e of* the castle would be successful, tlial THE DATS OF BEUCE. 185 he should be enabled to force the besiegers to raise the siegSi he might perhaps have felt justified in restraining the queen — ■ but he did not feel this. He had observed there were many discontented and seditious spirits in the castle, not indeed in the three hundred of his immediate followers ; but what were they compared to the immense force now pouring over the country, and whose goal he knew was Kildrummie ? The increase of inmstes also, from the number of small villages which had emptied their inhabitants into his walls till he was compelled to prevent further ingress, must inevitably diminish his stores, and when once blockaded, to replenish them would be impossible. No personal fears, no weakness of purpose entered the high soul of Nigel Bruce amid these painful cogitations. He well knew no shade of dishonor could fall on him ; he thought not one moment of his own fate, although if the castle were taken he knew death awaited him, either by the besieger's sword or the hangman's cord, for he would make no condition ; he thought only that this was well-nigh the last castle in his brother's keeping, which, if lost, would in the present depressed state of his aflfairs be indeed a fatal blow, and a still greater triumph to England. These thoughts naturally engrossed his mind to the exclusion of all imaginative whisperings, and therefore was it that he drew back the bolt of a door which closed the passage, without any of those peculiar feelings that at a less anxious time might have possessed him ; for souls less gifted than that of Nigel Bruce can seldom enter a spot hallowed by tradition without the electric thrill which so strangely unites the present with the past. It was a chamber of moderate dimensions to which the oaken door admitted him, hung with coarse and faded tapesti-y, which, disturbed by the wind, disclosed an opening into another pas- sage, through which he pursued his way. In the apartment on which the dark and narrow passage ended, however, his steps were irresistibly arrested. It was panelled with black- oak, of which the floor alo was composed, giving the whole an aspect calculated to infect the most thoughtless spirit with gloom. Two high and veiy narrow windows, the small panes of which were quite incrusted with dust, were the only conduct- ors of light, with the exception of a loophole — for it could scarcely be dignified by the name of casement — on the westeiT 18G THE DAYS OF BEUOK. bide. Through this loophole the red light of a dpcliniug winier 8un sent its rays, which were caught and stayed on what seem- ed at the distance an antique picture-frame. Wondering tc perceive a picture out of its place in the gallery, Nigel hastily advanced towards it, pausing, however, on his way to examine, with some surprise, one of the planks in the floor, which, in. stead of the beautiful black polish which age had rather heiglit- ened than marred in the rest, was rough and white, with all the appearance of having been hewn and scraped by some sharp instrument. It is curious to mark how trifling a thing will sometimes connect, arrange, and render clear as day to the mind all that has before been vague, imperfect, and indistinct. It is like the touch of lightning on an electric chain, link after link starts up till we see the illumined whole. We have said Nigel had never heard the particulars of the tradition ; but he looked on that misshapen plank, and in an instant a tale of blood and terror weaved itself in his mind; in that room the deed, whatever il was, had been done, and from that plank the sanguine evidence of murder had been with difficulty erased. A cold shudderij g passed over him, and he turned instinctively away, and strode hastily to examine the frame which had attracted him. It did contain a picture — we should rather say a portrait — for it com- prised but one figure, the half-length of a youthful warrior, clad in steel, save the beautifully-formed head, which was cov- ered only by his own luxuriant raven curls, In a better light it could not have been placed, particularly in the evening ; the rays, condensed and softened, seemed to gather up their power into one focus, and throw such an almost supernatural glow on the half face, give such an extraordinary appearance of life to the whole figure, that a casual visitant to that chamber might well fancy it was no picture but reality on which he gazed. But no such emotion was at work in the bosom of Nigel Bruce, though his first glance upon that fsice occasioned an almost convulsive start, and then a gaze of such intense, such almost fearful interest, that he stood as if fascinated by some overpowering spell. His features, worked with internal emotions, flushed laui paled alternately. It was no weak- minded terrofwhich bound him ihere, no mood in whicli a Btep or sound could chill and startle, for so wrapt was he in hss own strange dreams that he heard not a slow and measured THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 187 step approach him ; he did not even start when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the melodious voice of the seer cau&ed him to turn slowly around. "The warnings thou hast heard have no power on tlue, young lord," he said, slightly smiling, " or I should not see thee here at this hour alone. Yet thou wert strangely wrapt." "Knowest thou aught of him, good father?" answered Ni- gel, in a voice that to his own ears sounded hoarse and unnat- ural, and turning his glance once again to the portrait. " My thoughts are busy with that face and yon tale- telling plank ; there are wild, feverish, incongruous dreams within me, and I would have them solved. Thou of all others art best fitted to the task, for amid the records of the past, where -thou hast loved to linger, thou hast surely found the tradition of this tower. I shame not to confess there is in my heart a deep yearning to learn the truth. Wherefore, when thy harp and •song have so pleasantly whiled the evening hours, did not this tale find voice, good father ?" " Alas ! my son, 'tis too fraught with horror, too sad for gentle ears. A few stern, rugged words will best repeat it. I love not to linger on the theme ; hsten then now, and it shall be told thee." " In the reign of Malcolm the Second, the districts now called Aberdeen and Forfar were possessed, and had been so, so tra- dition saith, since Kenneth MacAlpine, by the Lords of Brus or Bris, a family originaUy from the North. They were largely and nobly connected, particularly with Norway and Gaul. It is generally supposed the first possessions in Scotland held in fief by the hne of Bruce can be traced back only to the time of David I., in the person of Robert de Bruce, an Anglo-Nor- man baron, whose father came over to England with the Con- queror. The cause of this supposition my tale will presently explain. " Haco Brus or Bris was the Lord of Aberdeen in the reign of Malcolm the Second. He spent many years abroad, indeed, was supposed to have married and settled there, when, to the surprise of his vassals, he suddenly returned unmanied, and Boon after uniting himself with a beautiful and accomplished girl, nearly related to the blood-royal of Scotland, settled quietly in this tower, which was the stronghold of his posses- sions. Years passed ; the only child of the baron, a son, bom 188 THE DATS OF BEUCK. in the first year of his marriage, grew up' in strength and b3auty, the idol not only of his mother, but of his father, a man stern and cold in seeming, even morose, but with passions fearful alike in their influence and extent. Your eye glances to that pictured face, he was not the baron's son of whom I speak. The affections, nay, the very passions of the baron were cen- tered in this boy. It is supposed pride and ambition were their origin, for he looked, through his near connection with the sovereign, for further aggrandizement for himself. There were some who declared ambition was not the master-passion, that a deeper, sterner, fiercer emotion dwelt within. Whether they spoke thus from the sequel, I know not, but that sequel proved their truth. " There was a gathering of all the knightly and noble in King Malcolm's court, not perchance. for trials- at arms resem- bling the tournays of the present day, but very similar in their motive and bearing, though ruder and more dangerous. The" wreath of glory and victory was ever given by the gentle hand of beauty. Bright eyes and lovely foims presided at the sports even as now, and the king and his highest nobles joined in the revels. ' " The wife of the Baron of Brus and his son, now a fine boy of thirteen, were of course amongst the royal guests. Though matron grace and dignified demeanor had taken the pkce of the blushing charms of early girlhood, 'the Lady Helen Brus was still very beautiful, and as the niece of the king and wife of such a distinguished baron, commanded and received univer sal homage. Among the combatants was a youthful knight, of an exterior and bearing so much more pohshed and graceful than the sons of the soil or their more northern visitors, that he was instantly recognized as coming from Gaul, then as now the most polished kingdom of the south. Delighted with his bravery, his modesty, and most chivalric bearing, the king treated him with most distinguished honor, invited him to his palace, spoke with him as friend with friend on the kingdoms of Normandy and France, to the former of which he was sub- ject. There was a mystery, too, about the young knight, which heightened the interest he excited ; he bore no device on hia shield, no cognizance whatever to mark his name an(^ birth • and his countenance, beautiful as it was, often when in repose uxpressed sadness and care unusual to his years, for he waf THE DATS OF BEUOE. 189 still very young, though in reply to the king's solicitations thai he would choose one of Scotland's fairest maidens (her dower should be princely), and make the Scottish court his home, he had snuJingly avowed that he was already a husband and father. " The notice of the king, of course, inspired the nobles with BJinilar feelings of hospitality. Attention and iindness were tavbhed on the stranger from all, and nothing was talked of but the nameless knight. The Lord of Brus, who had been absent on a mission to a distant court during the continuance of the martial games, was on his return presented by the king himself to the young warrior. It is said that both were so much moved by this meeting, that all present were mystified still more. The baron, with that deep subtlety for which he was remarkable, recovered himself the first, and accounted for his emotion to the satisfaction of his hearers, though not ap- parently to that of the stranger, who, though his cheek was blanched, still kept his bright searching eyes upon him, till the baron's quailed 'neath his gaze. The hundred tongues of rumor chose to speak of relationship, that there was a likeness between them, yet I know not how that could be. There is no impress of the fiendish passion at work in the baron's soul on those bright, beautiful features." " Ha 1 , Is it of him you speak ?" involuntarily escaped from Nigei, as the old man for a moment paused ; " of him ? Me- thought yon portrait was of an ancestor of Bruce, or where- fore is it here ?" " Be patient, good my son. My narrative wanders, for my lips shrink from its tale. That the baron and the knight met, not in warhke joust but in peaceful converse, and at the request of the latter, is known, but on what passed in that interview even tradition is silent, it can only be imagined by the sequel ; they appeared, however, less reserved than at first. The baron treated him with the same distinction as his fellow-nobles, and the stranger's manner towards him was even more respectful than the mere difference of age appeared to demand. Impor tant business with the Lord of Brus was alleged as the cause of his accepting that nobleman's invitation to the tower of Kil- drummie, in preference to others earlier given and more eagerly enforced. 'Sbpj departed together, the knight accompanied but by two of bis followers, and the baron leaving the greatej 190 THE DATS OF BEUOE. number of his m attendance on his wife and child, who, for some frivolous reason, he left with the court. It was a strange thing for him to do, men said, as he had never before been known to lose sight of his boy even for a day. For some days uU seemed peace and hospitality within the tower. The stranger was too noble himself, and too kindly disposed towards all his fellow-creatures, to suspect aught of treachery, or he might have remarked the retainers of the baron were changed ; that ruder forms and darker visages than at first were gathering uround him. How the baron might have intended to make use i)f them — almost all robbers and murderers by trade — cannot be known, though it may be suspected. In this room the last interview between them took place, and here, on this silent witness of the deed, the hand of the father was bathed in the blood of the son !" " God in heaven !" burst from Nigel's parched lips, as he sprung up. " The son — how could that be ? how known ?" " Fearfully, most fearfully !" shudderingly answered the old man ; " through the dying ravings of the maniac Lord of Brus himself. Had not heaven, in its all-seeing justice, thus revealed it, the crime would ever have remained concealed. His bandit hirelings were at hand to remove and bury, many fathoms deep in moat and earth, all traces of the deed. One of the unfor- tunate knight's followers was supposed to have shared the fate of his master, and to the other, who escaped almost miracu- lously, you owe the preservation of your royal line. " Bui there was one witness of the deed neither time nor the most cunning art could efface. The blood lay in a pool on the oaken floor, and the voice of tradition whispers that day after day it was supernaturaUy renewed ; that vain were tht- efforts to absorb it, it ever seemed moist and red ; and that to remove the plank and re-floor the apartment was attempted again and again in vain. However this may be, it is evident that erasing it was attended with extreme difficulty; that the blood had penetrated weU-nigh through the immense thickness of the wood." Nigel stooped down over the crumbling fragment ; years, aye, centuries had rolled away, yet there it still stood, arrested it seemed even in its decay, not permitted to crumble into dust, hut to remain an everlasting monument of crime and its retri- bution. After i brief pause Nigel resumed his seat, and push THE DATS OF BETJOE. 191 big the hair from his brow, which was damp with some untold emotion, signed to the old man to proceed. " That the stranger warrior returned not to Malcolm's court, and had failed in his promises to various friends, was a matter of disappointment, and for a time, of conjecture to the king and his court. That his followers, in obedience, it was said, to (heir master's signet, set off instantly to join him either in England or Normandy, for both of which places they had received directions, satisfied the greater number. If others suspected foul play, it was speedily hushed up ; for the baron was too powerful, too closely related to the throne, and justice then too weak in Scotland to permit accusation or hope for conviction. Time passed, and the only change observable in the baron was, that he became more gloomy, more abstracted, wrapt up, as it were, in one dark remembrance, one all-engrossing thought. Towards his wife he was changed — harsh, cold, bitterly sarcas- tic ; as if her caresses had turned to gall. Her gentle spirit sunk beneath the withering blight, and he was heard to laugh, the mocking laugh of a fiend, as he followed her to the grave ; her child, indeed, he still idolized, but it was a fearful affection, and a just heaven permitted not its continuance. The child, to whom many had looked as likely to ascend the Scottish throne, from the failure of all direct heirs, the beautiful and innocent child of a most guilty father, faded like a lovely flower before him, so softly, so gradually, that there came no suspi(iion ol death till the cold hand was on his heart, and he lay lifeless before him who had plunged his soul in deadliest crime through that child to aggrandize himself. Then was it that remorse, torturing before, took the form of partial madness, and therq was not one who had power to restrain, or guide, or soothe. " Then it was the fearful tale was told, freezing the blood, not so much with the wild madness of the tone, but that the words were too collected, too stamped with truth, to admit of aught like doubt. The couch of the baron was, at his own command, placed here, where we now stand, covering the spot where his first-bom fell, and that portrait, obtained from Nor- mandy, hung where it now is, ever in his sight. The dark tale which those wild ravings revealed was simply this : " He had married, as was suspected, during his wandenngs, but soon tired of the yoke, more particularly as his wife pos- ResEed a spirit proud and haughty as his own, and all efifcrts tfl 192 THE DATS OF BEOGE.- mould her to his will were useless, he plunged anew into his reckless career. He. had never loved his -wife, marrying her simply because it. suited 'his convenience, and: brought; .him in- crease of. wealth and station ; and her ill-disg'.HSed abhorrence of many of his actions, her beautiful adherence to virtue, how- ever tempted, occasioned all former feelings to concentrate in hatred the most deadly. More than one attempt to rid himself of her by poison she had discovered and frustrated, and at last removed herself and her child, under a feigned name, to Nor- mandy, and ably eluded all pursuit and inquiry, " The baron's search continued some time, in the hope of si- lencing her forever, as he feared she might prove a dangerous enemy, but failing in his wishes, he travelled some time over dififerent countries, returned at length, to Scotland, and acted as we have seen. The young knight, had been informed of his birthright by his mother, at her death, , which i took place two years before he made his appearance in Scotland ; that she had concealed from him the fearful character of his father, being unable so completely to divest herself of all feeling towards the father of her child, as to make him an object 0[f aversion to his son. She had long told him his real name, and urged him to demand from his father an acknowledgment of his being heir to the proud barony of the Bruce. His likeness to herself was 80 strong, that she knew it must carry conviction to his father ; but to make, his identity still more certain, she furnished him with certain jewels and papers, none but herself could produce. She had done this in the presence of two faithful witnesses, the father and brother of her son's betrothed bride, high lords of Normandy, the former of which made it a condition annexed to his consent to the marriage, that as soon as possible afterwards he should urge and claim his rights.; Sir Walter, qi course, wil- lingly complied ; they were married by the name of Brus, and their child so baptized. A war, which retained Sir Walter in arms with his sovereign, prevented his seeking Scotland till his boy was a year old, and then for his sake, far more than for his own, the young father determined on asserting his birthright, his child should not be nameless, as he had been ; but to spare Ids unknown parent all public mortification, he joined the mar- tial games without any cognizance or bearing on his shield. "Terrible were the ravings in which the baron alluded to the mterview he had had with his murdered child ; the angelic THE DAYS OF BEUOE, 193 mildness and generosity of the youthful ■warrior ; that, amid all Lis firmness never to depart from his claim — as it was not alone himself but his child he would irreparably injure — he never ■wavered in his respectful deference to his parent. He quitted the court in the beUef that the baron sought Kildrummie to collect the necessary papers for substantiating his claim ; but ere he died, it appeared his eyes ■were opened. The fierce pas- sions of the baron had been too long restrained in the last in- ternew ; they burst even his politic control, and he had flung the papers received from the hand of his too-confiding son on the blazing hearth, and with dreadful oaths swore tLat if ne ■would not instantly retract his claim, and bind himself by the most sacred promise never to breathe the foul tale again, death should be its silent keeper. He would not bring his own head low, and avow that he had dishonored a scion of the blood-royal. " Appalled far more at the dark, fiendish passions he beheld than the threat held out to himself. Sir Walter stood silent a while, and then mildly demanded to be heard ; that if so much public mortification to his parent would attend the pursuance of his claims at the present time, he would consent to forego them, on condition of his father's solemnly promising on his deathbed to reveal the truth, and do him tardy justice then, but forego them altogether he would not, were his life the forfeit. The calm firmness of his tone, it is supposed, lashed his fsither into greater madness, and thus the dark deed was done. " That the baron several times endeavored to possess himself of the infant child of Sir Walter, also came to light in his dying moments ; that he had determined to exterminate root and branch, fearful he should still possess some clue to his birth ; he had frantically avowed, but in his last hour, he would have given all his amassed treasure, his greatness, his power, but for one little moment of assurance that his grandson lived. He left him all his possessions, his lordship, his name, but as there were none came forth to claim, they of necessity passed to the crown." " But the child, the son of Sir Walter — ^if from him our line descends, he must have Uved to manhood — why did not hk de- mand his rights ?" " He lived, aye, and had a goodlv progeny ; but the fearful 9 194 THE DATS OF BE [TOE. tale of his father's fate related to him again and again by the faithful Edrio, who had fled from his master's miirdered corae to watch over the safety of that master's child, and warn all who had the charge of him of the fiend in human shape who would probably seek the boy's life as he had his father's, caused him to shun the idea of his Scottish possessions with a loathing horror which he could not conquer ; they were associated with the loss of both his parents, for his father's murder killed his devoted mother. He was contented to feel himself .Nonnan m possessions as well as in name. . He received lands and hon^ ors from the Dukes of Nprmaijdy, and at the advanced age of seventy and five, accompanied Duke William to England. The third generatipn from him obtained anew Scottish possessions, and gradually Kildrummie and its feudal tenures returned to its original lords ; but the tower had been altered and enlarged, and except the tradition of these chambers, the fearful fate of the second of the line has faded from the minds of his descend- ants, unless casually or supematurally recalled." " Ha ! supematurally, sayest thou ?" interrupted Nigel, in a tone so peculiar it almost startled his companion. " Are there those who assert they have seen his semblance — good, gifted, beautiful as thou hast described him ? why not at once. deem iiim the guardian spirit of our house ?" " And there are those who deem him so, young lord," an- swered the seer. " It is said that until the Lords of Bruce again obtained possession of these lands, in the visions of the night the form of the murdered warrior, clad as in yon portrait, save with the addition of a scarf across his breast bearing the crest and cognizance of the Bruce, appeared once in his lifetime to each lineal descendant. Such visitations are said to have ceased, and he is now only seen by those destined like himself to an early and bloody death, cut off in the prime of manhood, nobleness, and joy." " And where — sleeping or waking ?" demanded the young nobleman, in a Jow, deep tone, laying his hand on the minsti-el'i" arm, and looking fixedly on his now strangely agitated face. " Sleeping or waking ? it hath been both," he answered, and his voice faltered. " If it be in the front of the war, amid the press, the crush, the glory of the battle, he hath come, circled with bright forms and brighter dreams, to the sleeping warrioi Dn the eve of his last fight ; if" — and his voice grew lower and THE DATS OF BEUCE. 193 huskier yet — '' if by tlie red hand of the foe, by the captive's chain and headsman's axe, as the noble Wallace, there have been those who say — I vouch not for its truth — he hath been seen in the vigils of the night on the eve of knighthood, whon the young, aspiring warrior hath watched and prayed beside his arms. Boy ! boy ! why dost thou look upon me thus ?" " Because thine eye hath read my doom," he said,, in a firm, sweet tone ; " and if there be aught of truth in thy tale, thou knowest, feelest I have seen him. God of mercy, the captive's chain, the headsman's axe! Yet 'tis Thy will, and for my country — let it come." CHAPTER XVII. " Thou art idle, maiden ; wherefore not gather thy re bes and other gear together, as thy companions ? Knowest thou not in twenty-four hours we shall be, heaven willing, safely sheltered under the holy wing of St. Duthac ?" was Queen Margaret's address to Agnes, about a week after the conversa- tion we have recorded. There were many signs of confusion and tokens of removal in her scanty train, but the maiden of Buchan stood apart, offering assistance when needed, but mak- ing no arrangements for herself. " I seek not such holy keeping, may it please you, madam," she replied. " I do not quit tliis castle." " How !" exclaimed Margaret. " Art thou mad ?" "In what, royal madam?" " Or hath love blinded thee, girl ? Knowest thou not Here- ford and Lancaster are advancing as rapidly as their iron-clad force permits, and in less than seven days the castle must be besieged in form ?" " I know it, madam." And thou wilt brave it, maiden ? — dare a danger tnat may be avoided ? Is thy life of so little worth, or if not thy life, thy liberty ?" " When a life is wrapt up in one — when there is none on eaj'th save that one to whom that life is of any worth, where- fore should I seek safety save by his side ? Royal madam. I 196 THE DAYS OF BBtKJB, am not mad nor blind ; but desolate as I am, — ^nay, were I not 'twould be the same — I covet to share Sir Nigel's fate ; the blow that strikes him shall lay me at his side, be it in prison or in death. My safety is with him ; and were the danger ten times as great as that which threatens now, I'd share it with him still.' " Nay, thou art but a loving fool, Agnes. Be advised, seelf safety in the sanctuary ; peril cannot reach us there." " Save by the treachery of the dark-browed earl who grants that shelter. Nay, pardon me, madam ; thou lovest not to list that theme, believing him as honorable and faithful as thyself. God grant he prove so ! If," she added, with a faint smile, " if it be such mad folly to cling to a beloved one in danger as in joy, in adversity as in triumph, forgive me, royal lady, but thy maidens have learned that tale of thee." " And would to God I could teach them thus again !" ex- claimed the queen, tears coursing down her cheeks. " Oh, Agnes, Agnes, were Robert here, not death itself should part us. For my child's sake, for his, I go hence for safety. Could my resting, nay, my death benefit him, Agnes, I would meet it, weak as thou deemest me." "Nay, nay, I doubt it not, my queen,'' answered Agnes, soothingly. " It is best thou sliouldst find some place of re- pose till this struggle be past. If it end in victory, it will be joy to hail thee once again within its walls ; if otherwise, better thy safety should be cared for." " But for thee, my child, is it not unmaidenly for thee to linger here ?" " It would be, royal madam," and a bright vivid flush glowed on her pale cheeks, " but for the protection of the Lady Seaton, who will not leave her husband." " I may not blame her, after mine own words," said the queen, sorrowfully ; " yet she is one I could have wished be- iide me. Ha ! that tnimpet. Merciful heaven ! is it the foe ?" and trembling with alai-m, she dispatched attendant after at- tendant to know the cause. The English force was known to be so near that many a wanior-heart beat quicker at any unusual blast, and it was not marvel the queen's terrors should very often aSu;t her attend- ants Agnes alone, amid the maiden train, ever retained a jalm self-possession ; strange in one who, tUl the last eventful THE DATS OF BEUCB. 197 rear, had seemed such a very child. Her mother trembled lest the turmoils and confusion of her country should ever ap- proach her or those she loved ; how might she, timid, nayj often fearful, weak, and yielding, as the flower on the heath, how might she encounter storm, and grief, and care ? Had her mother's eye been on her now, and could have followed her in yet deeper trials, that mother scarce had known her child. She it was whose coolness enabled her easily to recognize and explain the trumpet's blast. It was an officer with an es- cort from the Lord of Ross, informing the queen that, from late intelligence respecting the movements of the English, he deemed it better they should not defer their departure from the castle another night. On the receipt of this message all was increased hurry and confusion in the apartments of the queen. The advice was to be followed on the instant, and ere sunset the litters and mules, and other accommodation for the travellers, waited their pleas- ure in the outer court. It was with a mien of princely dignity, a countenance grave and thoughtful, with which the youthful seneschal attended the travellers to the great gate of the castle. In after years the expression of his features flashed again and again upon those who looked upon him them. Calmly he bade his sister- in-law farewell, and bade her, should she be the first to see his brother, tell him that it was at her own free wiU and pleasure she thus departed ; that neither advice nor persuasion on his part had been used; she had of her own will released him from his sacred charge ; and if ill came of it, to free his mem- ory from blame. " Trust me, Nigel ; oh, surely you may trust me ! "You will not part from me in anger at my wilfulness?" entreated Marga- ret, as clinging to his arm, she retained him a few minutes ere he placed her in the litter. " In anger, my sweet sister, nay, thou wrongest me !" he said, a bright smile dispersing a moment the pensive cast ol his features. "In sorrow, perchance, for I love not him to whose care thou hast committed thyself ; yet if ill await this castle, and thou wert with me, 'twould enhance its bitterness. No, tis better thou shouldst go ; though I would it were not tc the Lord of Eoss." 198 THE DATS OF BEUCE. "And wherefore?" demanded the deep stem voice of iha officer beside Ijm. " Because I doubt him, Archibald Macfarlane," sternly re- plied the young nobleman, fixing his flashing eyes upon him ; " and thou mayst so inform him an thou wUt. An I do him wrong, let him deliver the Queen of Scotland' and her attend- ants in safety io King Robert, in the forthcoming spring, and Nigel Bruce will crave forgiveness for the wrong that he hath done him ; nay, let his conduct give my doubts the lie, and I will even thank him, sir." Turning on his heelj he conducted the queen to hei litter, and bade a graceful farewell to all her fair companions^ lidding good angels speed them on their- way. ; The heavy gates were thrown back, the portcullis raised and the draw-bridge lowered, and amid a parting cheer from the men-at-arms drawn up in the court in military homage to their queen, the cavalcade 'de- parted, attended ^ only by the men of Ross, for the number oi the'^garrison was too limited to admit of their attendance any* where, save within and on the walls. With folded arms and an anxious brow, Sir Nigel stood be- cide the gate, marking the progress of the train; a '^ntte voice aroused him. It playfully said, " Come to the highest turret, Nigel, there thou wilt trace their path as long as light remains."' He started, for Agnes was at his side. He drew her arm within his own, briefly gave the command to close the gate and make all secure, and turned with her in the du'ection of the keep. " Have I done right," he saidj as, when they had reached a more retired path, he folded his arm caressingly around her, and drew her closer to him, " to list thy pleadings, 'dearest, to grant thy boon ? oh, if thet/ go to safety, why did I listen to thee and permit thee to remain ?" "Nay, there is equal safety within these walls, Nigel. Be assured, thine Agnes hath neither regret nor doubt when thou art by her side," she answered, still playfully. " I love not the sanctuaries they go to seek ; the stout hearts and trunty blades of waniors like thee and thine, my Nigel, ai-e better aad truer safeguards." ■ ■ ' ', " AJas ! Agnes, I fear me not in cases such as these. I am not wont to be desponding, but from the small number of tru? men which garrison this castle, I care not to acknowledge 1 THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 199 had loved better to meet my foe on open ground. Here I can scarce know friend from foe ; traitors may be around me, nay, m my very confidence, and I know it not." " Art thou not infected with Queen Margaret's suspicions; Nigel ? Why ponder on such uneasy dreams ?" " Because, my best love, I am a better adept in the perusal of men's countenances and manners than many, and tbere are signs of lowering discontent and gloomy cowardice, arguing ill for unity of measures, on which our safety greatly rests. Yet my fancies may be wrong, and at all hazards my duty shall be done. The issue is in the hands of a higher power ; we cannot do wrong in committing ourselves to Him, for thou knowest He giveth not the battle to the strong, and right and justice we have on Scotland's side." Agnes looked on his face, and she saw, though he spoke cheerfully, his thoughts echoed not his words. She would not express her own anxiety, but led him gently to explain to her his plan of defence, and prepare her for all she might have to encounter. Five days passed, and all within and without the walls re- mained the same ; the sixth was the Sabbath, and the greater part of the officers and garrison were assembled in the chapel, where divine service was regularly read by the Abbot of Scone, \vhom we should perhaps before have mentioned as having, at the king's especial request, accompanied the queen and her at- tendants to Kildrummie. It was a solemn yet stirring sight, that Uttle edifice, filled as it was with steel-clad warriors and mde and dusky forms, now bending in one prayer before thfeir God. The proud, the lowly, the faithless, and the true, the honorable and the base, the warrior, whose whole soul burned and throbbed but for his country ani his king, the coward, whose only thought was' how he could obtain 'life for himself and save the dread of war by the surrender of the castle — one and all knel-. there, the~ workings of those diverse hearts known but to Him before whom they bent. Strangely and mournfully did that Uttle group of delicate females gleam forth amidst the darker and harsher forms around, ais a knot of fra^le flowers oloOming alone, and unsheltered amidst some rude old forest trees, safe in their own lowliness from the approaching tempest, but liable to be overwhelmed m the fall of their companions, wbom yet they would not leave. As calmly as in his own ab- 200 THE DATS OF BEUCE. bey the venerable abbot read the holy service, and administered the rites of religion to all who sought. It was in the deep si- lence of individual prayer which preceded the chanting of the conclusion of the service that a shrill, peculiar blast of a trumpet was heard. On the instant it was recognized as the bugle of the warder stationed on the centre turret of the keep, as the blast which told the foe was at length in sight. Once, twice, thrice it sounded, at irregular intervals, even as Nigel had com- manded ; the notes were caught up by the warders on the walls, and repeated again and again. A sudden cry of " The foe !" broke from the soldiers scattered round, and again all was silence. There had been a movement, almost a confusion in some parts^of the church, but the officers and those who had followed them from the mountains neither looked up nor stirred. The imperative gesture of the abbot commanded and retained order and silence, the service proceeded ; there might have been some faltering in the tones of the choir, but the swelling notes of the organ concealed the deficiency. The eye of Agnes voluntarily sought her betrothed. His head was still bent down in earnest prayer, but she had not looked long before she saw him raise it, and lift up his clasped bands in the evident passionate fervor of his prayer. So beau- tiful, so gloriously beautiful was that countenance thus breath- ing prayer, so little seemed that soul of earth, that tears started to the eyes of Agnes, and the paleness of strong emotion over- spread the cheek, aye, and the quivering lip, which the war and death-speaking trumpet had had no power to disturb. " Let me abide by him, merciful Father, in weal or in woe ; oh, part us not!" she prayed again and yet again, and the bright smile which now encircled his lips — for he had caught her glance — seemed an answer to her prayer. It was a beautiful, though perhaps to many of the inmates' of Kildrummie a terrible sight, which from the roof of the tur- ret now presented itself to their view. The English force lay before them, presenting many a solid phalanx of steel, many a glancing wood of spears. Nor were these all ; the various engines used in sieges at this time, battering-rams, and others, ■whose technical names are unfortunately lost to us, but used to fling stones of immense weight to an almost incredible distance ; arbalists, and the incomparable archer, who carried as many Uves as arroisrs in his belt; wagons, heavily laden with m1 THE DATS OF BECCK. 201 things necessary for a close and numerous encampment — all these could be plainly distinguished in rapid advance towards the castle, marking their path through the country by the smoke of the hamlets they had burned. Many and eager voices resounded in various parts of the castle ; numbers had thronged to the tower, with their own eyes to mark the ap- proach of the enemy, and to report all they had seen to their companions below, triumphantly or despondingly, according to the temper of their minds. Sir Nigel Bruce and Sir Christo- pher Seaton, with others of the superior .liBScers, stood a little apart, conversing eagerly and animatedly, and finally separating, with an eager grasp of the hand, to perform the duties intrust- ed to each. " Ha ! Christine, and thou, fair maiden," exclaimed Sir Chris- topher, gayly, as on turning he encountered his wife and Agnes arm-in-arm. " By mine honor, this is bravely done ; ye will not wait in your tiring-bower till your knights seek ye, but come for information yourselves. Well, 'tis a goodly company, is't not ? as gallant a show as ever mustered, by my troth. Those Enghsh warriors tacitly do us honor, and proclaim our worth by the numbers of gallant men they bring against us. We shall return the compliment some day, and pay them sim- ilar homHge." His wife smiled at his jest, and even felt reassured, for it was not the jest of a mind ill at ease, it was the same bluff, soldier spirit she had always loved. " And, Nigel, what thinkest thou ?" " Think, dearest ?" he said, answering far more the appeal- ing look of A.gnes than her words ; " think ? that we shall do well, aye, nobly well ; they muster not half the force they led me to expect. The very sight of them has braced me with new spirit, and put to ignominious flight the doubts and dreams I told thee Lad tormented me." Movement and bustle now pervaded every part of the castle, out all was conducted with an order and military skill that spoke W3ll for the officers to whom it was intrusted. The walls were manned ; pickaxes and levers, for the purposes of hurling down stones on the besiegers, collected and arranged on the walls ; arms polished, and so arranged that the hand might grasp them at a minute's warning, were brought from the armory to eveiy court and tower ; the granaries and storehouses were 202 THE DATS OF BEUCE. visited, and placed under trustworthy guards. . A band, ol ■picked men; under an experienced officer, threw themselves mto the barbacan, determined to defend it to the last. Sir Nigel and Sir Christopher visited every part of the outworks, displaying the most unceasing care, encouraged the doubting, roused the timid, and che«red and inspired the boldest with new confidence, new hope ; but one feeling appeared to pre- dominate — liberty and Scotland seemed the watchword of one and all. Onward, like a mighty river, rolled the English force ; near- er and nearer, till the middle of the second day saw them en- camped within a quarter of a mile from the palisades and out- works raised on either side of the barbacan. Obtaining easy possession of the river — for Sir Nigel, aware of the great dis- parity of numbers, had not even attempted its defence — they formed three distinct bodies round the -walls, the strongest and noblest setting down before the barbacan, as the principal point of attack. Numerous as they had appeared, in the distance, well provided with all that could forward their success, it was not till closer seen all their strength could be discovered ; but there was no change in the hopes and gallant feelings of the Scottish officers and their men-at-arms, though, could; hearts have been read, the timidity, the doubts, the anxious wishes to make favorable peace with the English had in some of the ori- ginal garrison alarmingly increased. Before, however, any recourse was made to arms, an English herald, properly supported, demanded and obtained admission within the gates, on a mission from the Earls of Hereford and Lancaster, to Sir Christopher Seaton, Sir Nigel Bruce, and others of command. They were summoned to deliver up the castle and themselves to their liege lord and sovereign, King Edward ; to submit to his mercy, and grace should be shown to them, and safe conduct granted to all those who, taking ref- uge within the walls and adopting a position of defence, pro- claimed themselves rebels and abettors of rebellion ; that tliev should have freedom to return to their homes uninjured, m>i only in their persons but in their belongings ; and this should De on the instant the gates were thrown open, and the bannei of England had taken the place of that of Scotland now float- ing from their keep. " Tell thy master, thou smooth-tongued knave," burst au THE DATS OF BBUOE. 203 grily from the lips of Sir Christopher Seaton, as he half rose from his seat and clenched his mailed hand at the speaker, and then hastily checking himself, added, in a lower tone, " Answef him, Nigel ; thou hast eloquence at thy command, I have none, save at my sword's point, and my temper is somewhat too hot to list such words, courteous though they may be." " Tell your master, sir herald," continued Nigel, rising as his OoUeague flung himself back on his seat, and though his voice was sternly calm, his manner was still courteous, " tell them they may spare themselves the trouble, and their followers the danger, of all further negotiation. We are Scottish mer. and Scottish subjects, and consequently, to all the offers of England we are as if we heard not. Neither rebels nor abettors of reb- els, we neither acknowledge the necessity of submitting our- selves to a tyrant's mercy, nor desire the advantage of his offered grace. Return, sir herald ; we scorn the conditions proposed. We are here for Scotland and for Scotland's king, and for them we know both how to live and how to die." His words were echoed by all around him, and there was a sharp clang of steel, as if each man half drew his eager swo'd, which spoke yet truer than mere words. Dark brows and fea- tures stern were bent upon the herald as he left their presence, and animated council followed his departure. No new movement followed the return of the herald. For some days no decisive Operation was observable in the English force ; and when they did attack the outworks, it was as if more to pass the time than with any serious intent. It was a period of fearful suspense to the besieged. Their storehouses were scarcely sufScieiitly provided to hold out for any great, length of time, and they almost imagined that to reduce them to ex- tremities by famine was the intention of the besiegers. The greatest danger, if encountered hand to hand in the miUe, was welcome, but the very idea of a slow, Mngering fate, with the enemy before them, mocking then- misery, was terrible to the bravest. A daring sally into the very thickest of the enemy's camp, headed by Nigel and his own immediate followers, car- tying all before them, and when by mmibers compelled to re- treat, bearing both booty and prisoners with them, roused the English from their confident supposition that the besieged would soon be obliged to capitulate, and urged them into action. The ire of the haughty English blazed up at what seemed such dar- 204 THE DATS OF BETTCB. ing insolence in their petty foe. Decisive measures were resort- ed to on the instant, and increased bustle appeared to pervad* both besiegers and besieged. " Pity thou art already a knight, Nigel !" bluflBy exclaimed Seaton, springing into his saddle by torchlight the following morning, as with a gallant band he was ibout dashing over the drawbridge, to second the, defenders of the barbacan and pali- sades. " How shall we reward thee, my boy ? Thou hast brought the foe to bay. Hark! they are there before me," and he spurred on to the very centre of the m&Me. Sir Nigel was not long after him. The enemy was driven back with fearful loss. Scaling-ladders were thrown down ; the archers on the walls, better accustomed to their ground, marking their foes by the torches they carried, but concealed themselves by the darkness, dealt destruction with as unerring hand as their more famous English brethren. Shouts and cries rose on either side ; the English bore back before the sweeping stroke of Nigel Bruce as before the scythe of death. For the brief space of an hour the strife lasted, and still victory was on the side of the Scots— glorious victory, purchased with scarce the loss of ten men. The English fled back to their camp, leav- ing many wounded and dead on the field, and some prisoners in the hands of the Scots. Ineflectual efforts were made to harass the Scots, as with a daring coolness seldom equalled, they repaired the outworks, and planted fresh paUsades to sup- ply those which had fallen in the stiife, in the very face of the English, many of them coolly detaching the arrows which, shot at too great distance, could not penetrate the thick lining of their buff coats, and scornfully flinging them back. Several sharp skirmishes took place that day, both under the walls and at a little distance from them ; but in all the Scots were victo- rious, and when night fell all was joy and triumph in the castle ; shame, confusion, am! fury in the English camp. For several days this continued. If at any time the English, by superiority of numbers, were victorious, they were sure to be taken by surprise by an impetuous sally from the besieged, and beaten back with loss, and so sudden and concealed wert- the movements of Nigel and Seaton, that though the besiegers lay closer and closer round the eastle, the moment of their set- ting forth on their daring expeditions could never be discovered " Said I not we should do well, right well, swept Agues,"' THE DATS OF BKtTCE. 205 exclaiined Nigel, one night, on his return from an unusually successful sally, "and are not my words true? Hast thou look- ed forth on the field to-day, and seen how gloriously it went 1 Oh, to resign this castle to my brother's hands unscathed, even ns he intrusted it ; to hold it for him, threatened as it is !" He smiled gayly as he spoke, for the consciousness of powev was upon him — power to will and do, to win and to retain — that most blessed consciousness, whether it bless a hero's breast or poet's soul, a maiden's heart or scholar's dream, this check- ered world can know. " I did look forth, my Nigel, for I could iiot rest ; yet ask me not to tell thee how the battle went," she added, with a faint flush, as she looked up in his noble face, beaming as it was with every feeling dear to the heart that loved, " for I traced but the course of one charger, saw but the waving oi one plume." " And thou didst not fear the besiegers' arrows, my beloved ? Didst stand in the shelter I contrived ? Thou must not risk danger, dearest ; better not list the urgings of thy nobk spirit than be aught exposed." " There was no danger, Nigel, at least there seeined none," she said. " I felt no fear, for I looked on thee." CHAPTER XVIIl. Had the gallant defenders of Kildrummie Castle been con Bcipus that the at first dilatory and then uncertain measures of their foes originated in the fact that the Earls of Herciord and Lancaster were not themselves yet on the field, and that they had with them a vast addition to their forces, they ivould not perhaps have rested so securely on the hopes whicii their un- expected success very naturally engendered. Attack on one side they knew they could resist ; their only dread had been that, from the numbers of the English, the angle lowers, each of which covered a postern, might be attacked at once, and thus discover the real weakness of their forces. The obstinate strug- gle for the tarbacan, the strongest point of the castle, had been welcomed with joy by the Scotch, for there they could oveilook 200 THH DATS OF BEUCE. every movement of the besiegers. Some wander it did cause that such renowned knights as the earls were known to be, should not endeavor to tnrow them off their guard by a division of attack ; but this wonder could not take from the triumph of success. It was from no want of observation the absence of the two earls remained undiscovered by the besieged. Engaged on a secret expedition, whose object will be seen in the sequel, they Lad coipmanded the message demanding surrender to be given in their names, their pavilions to be pitched in sight of the cas- tle as if they were abeady there, their banners to wave above them, esquires and pages to be in attendance, and their war-cries to be shouted, as was the custom when they led on in person. The numerous knights, clothed in bright armor from head to heel ever traversing the field, assisted the illusion, and thf Scotch never once suspected the truth. Imagining a very brief struggle would deliver the castle into their hands, even if its garrison were mad enough to refuse com- pliance with King Edward's terms, the earls had not hurried themselves on their expedition, and a fortnight after the sifege had begun, were reposing themselves very cavalierly in the stronghold of an Anglo-Scottish baron, some thirty miles south- ward of the scene of action. It was the hour of supper, a rude repast of venison, inter- spersed with horn and silver flagons filled with i;he strong liquors of the day, and served up in a rude hall, of which the low round arches in the roof, the massive walls without but- tresses, and windows running small outside, but spreading as to become mucb larger within, all denoted the Saxon architecture nnsoftened by any of the Norman improvements. The earls and their host, with some attendant knights, sat as usual round the dais or raised part of the hall, their table dis- tinguished it may be by some gold as well as silver vessels, ana a greatei variety of liquor, particularly hypocras and claret of the day, the one formed of wine and honey, the other of wine and spices ; by the sinnel and wastel cakes, but certainly not by the superior refinement of the more solid food. The. huge sil- ver saltcellar alone divided the table of the baron from that of his dependants, yet the distinction of sitting above and below th? salt was as great as the division between the master and servant of tho present day ; the jest, the loud laugh seasonal THE DATS OF BEUOE. 207 the viands placed before them, and the hearty draught from the we/oome flagon. Nor was the baron's own table much quieter ; remarks on the state of the country, speculations as to the hid- mg-place of King Robert, and when they should receive tidings of the surrender of Kildrummie, formed topics of conversation alternately with discussions on the excellence of the wines, the flavor of the venison, the difference between English and Scot- tish cookery, and such like matters, important in the days o( i)ur ancestors as in our own. " You have ridden long enough to-day, good my lords, to make a hearty charge on your suppers ; a long journey and a tough battle, conimend me to them for helps to the appetite," said the Scottish baron, joyously inviting them by his own ex- ample to eat on and spare not. " Commend me to {he latter, an ye will," answered Here- ford, on whose brow a cloud of something like distaste had spread ; " but by mine honor, I love not the business of the last week. I have brought It to a close, however, and praise the saints for it." " Bah ! thou art over-squeamish, Hereford, Edward would give us the second best jewel in his chaplet for the rich prize we have sent him," resumed Lancaster. " Eeserving the first, of course, for the traitor Bruce himself," interposed their host. "Ah! such a captive were in truth worth an earldom." " Then, by my troth, the traitor's wife is worth a barony," returned Lancaster, laughing ; " and her fair bevy of attend- ants, amongst whom are the wives, daughters, and sisters of many 'a rebel thinkest thou not we shall be high in Edward's favor for them, too ? I tell thee we might have fought many a good fight, and not have done him such good service." " It may be, it may be," answered Hereford, impatiently , " had it been at the sword's point, had they been prisoners by force of arms, I would have joyed too, and felt it was good ser- vice ; but such rank treachery, decoyed, entrapped by that foul prince of lies, the Loi-d of Ross — faugh ! I could have rammed his treachery back into his throat." "And done the king, perchance, good service too," rejoined Lancaster, still excessively amused, "for I have no faith in a traitor, however he may serve us a while ; yet thou art not over- wise, good friend, to let such trifles chafe thee thus. Tiusl 208 THE DATS OF BEUCE. me, Edward will think more of the captives than the cap ture." " There was a time he would not," answered the earl, mourn- fully ; " a time, when Edward would have held it foul scorn to war with women, and worse than scorn to obtain their persdns by treachery, as now." " Aye, but he has changed, and we must change too, would wc please him," said the baron ; " such notions might have done in former days, but they are too high-flown for the pres- ent time, my good lord. I marvel they should have lingered so long with thee." A frown gathered on Hereford's broad and roble brow, but remembering the forbearance due to his host, he checked an angry reply. " The king lias changed," he said, " darkly and painfully changed ; ambition has warped the noblest, knightli- est heart which ever beat for chivalry." " Hush, ere thou speakest treason. Sir Earl ; give me not the pain of draining another flagon of this sparkling hypocras to gain strength for thine arrest, good friend," exclaimed Lancas- ter, laying the flat of his sword on the earl's shoulder. Hereford half smiled. " Thou art too happy in thy light- hearted mirth for me to say aught that would so disturb it," he said ; " yet I say, and will say again, would to heaven, I had been before the gates of Kildruramie, and left to thee all the honor and glory, an thou wilt, of this capture." " Honor and glory, thou bitter piece of satire !" rejoined Lancaster, holding up a large golden flagon to hide his face . from the earl. " Unhappy me, were this all the glory I could win. I will wipe away the stain, if stain there be, at Kildrum- nie, an it be not surrendered ere we reach it." " The stain is with the base traitor Ross, not with thee or me," answered Hereford ; " 'tis that I abhor the nature of such expeditions, that I loathe, aye, loathe communication viith such 13 he, and that — if it can be — that worse traitor Buchan, that makes me rejoice I have naught before me now but as fair a field OS a siege may be. Would to God, this devastating and most cruel war were over, I do say ! on a fair field it may be borne, but not to war with women and children, as has been my fate." "Aye, by the way, this is not the first fair prize thou hast Bent to Edward ; the Countess of Buchan was a rare jewel foi our coveting monarch — somewhat more than possession, there THE DATS OF BHTTCE. 209 wob room for vengeance there. Bore she her captivity more juecnly than the sobbing and weeping Margaret ?' The question was reiterated by most of the knights around the dais, but Hereford evidently shrunk from the inquiry. " Speak not of it, I charge ye," he said. " There is no room for jesting on grief as hers ; majestic and glorious she was, but if the reported tale be true, her every thought, her every feel- ing was, as I even then imagined, swallowed up in one tearless and stem but all-engrossing anguish." " The reported tale ! meanest thou the fate of her son '" asked one of the knights. " If it be true !" resumed another ; " believest thou, my lord, there is aught of hope to prove it false ?" " More likely to be true than false," added Lancaster ; " I can believe any thing of that dark scowling villain Buchan — even the murder of his child." " I believe it not," answered Hereford ; " bad as that man is, hard in heart as in temper, he has too much policy to act thus, even if he had no feelings of nature rising to prevent it. No, no ; I would wager the ruby brooch in my helmet that boy hves, and his father will make use of him to forward his own interests yet." " But why then forge this tale ?" demanded their host ; " how may that serve his purpose ?" " Easily enough, with regard to the vengeance we all know he vowed to wreak on his unhappy wife. What deeper misery could he inflict upon her than the belief her boy was murdered ? and as for its efiect on Edward, trust a Comyn to make his own way clear." " But what do with the boy meanwhile ?" " Keep him under lock and key ; chained up, may b?, as a dog in a kennel, till he has broken his high spirit, and moulds him to the tool he wills," answered Hereford, " or at least til] his mother is out of his path." " Ha ! thinkest thou the king will demand such sweeping vengeance ? He surely will not sentence a woman to death." " Had I thought so, had I only dreamed so," rephed Here- ford, with almost startling sternness, " as there is a God above 38, I would have risked the charge of treason and refused to give her up ! But no, my lords, no ; changed as Edward is, ue would not, he dared not use his power Sius. I meant but 210 THE DATS OF BBDCE. tmprisonment, when I said out of the boy's path — more he will not do ; but even such I love not. Bold as it was to crown the rebel Bruce, the deed sprung from a noble heart, and noblr deeds should meet with noble judgment." A bugle sounded. twice or thrice sharply without, and occ well-arranged plans, that when his council was over, it still wanted two hours to dawn, and these Hereford commanded the men who had accompanied him to pass in repose. But he himself partook not of this repose, passing the re- mainder of the darkness in carefully reviewing the forces which were still fresh and prepared for the onset, in examining the nature of the engines, and finally, still aided hy the noise of the howling winds, marshalled them in formidable array in very front of the barbacan, the heavy mist thrown onward by the blasts effectually concealing their near approach. To Lancaster the command of this party was intrusted ; Hereford reserving to himself the desirable yet delicate task of surveying the ground, confident that the attack on the barbacan would de- mand the whole strength and attention of the besieged, and thus effectually cover his movements. His plan succeeded. A fearful shout, seconded by a tre- mendous discharge of huge stones, some of which rattled against the massive walls in vain, others flying across the moat and crushing some of the men on the inner wall, were the first terrific sounds which unexpectedly greeted the aroused atten- tion of the Scotch. The armor of their foes flashing through the mist, the furious charge of the knights up to the very gates of the barbacan, seemingly in sterner and more compact array than of late had been their wont, the immense body which fol- lowed them, appearing in that dim light more numerous than reality, struck a momentary chill on the Scottish garrison ; but the unwonted emotion was speedily dissipated by the instant and unhesitating sally of Sir Christopher Seaton and his brave companions. The impetuosity of their charge, the suddenness of their appearance, despite their great disparity of numbere, caused the English a moment to bear back, and kept them in full play until Nigel and his men-at-arms, rushing over the low- ered drawbridge, joined in the strife. A brief, very brief inter- val of fighting convinced both the Scottish leaders that a mas- ter-spirit now headed their foes ; that they were struggling at infinitely greater odds than before ; that unity of purpose, greater sagacity, and military skill were now at work against them, they scarce knew wherefore, for they recognized the snme war-cry, the same banners ; there were the same gallant show of knights, for in the desperate mH^e it was scarcely pos- THE DAYS OF EEtTCE. 217 sible to distinguiish the noble form of Lancaster from his fellows, although marking the azure plume, which even then waved high above all others, though round it the work of death ever waxed hottest ; the efforts of the English earl were all bent to m3et its gallant wearer hand to hand, but the press of war still held them apart, though both seemed in every part of the field. Tt was a desperate struggle man to man ; the clash of swords became one strange continuous mass of sound, instead of the fearful distinctness which had marked their work before. Shouts and cries mingled fearfully with the sharper clang, the heavy fall of man and horse, the creaking of the engines, the wild shrieks of the victims within, the walls mangled by tht stones, or from the survivors who witnessed their fall — ali formed a din as terrific to hear, as dreadful to behold. With even more than their wonted bravery the Scotch fought, but with less success. The charge of the English was no longer the impetuous fury of a few hotrheaded young men, more eager to despite their cooler advisers, than gain any permanent good for themselves. Now, as one man fell another stepped forward in his place, and though the slaughter might have been equal, nay, greater on the side of the besiegers than the besieged, by one it was scarcely felt, by the other the death of each man was even as the loss of a host. Still, still they struggled on, the English obtaining possession of the palisades, though th^ immense strength of the barbacan itself, defended as it was by the strenuous efforts of the Scotch, still resisted all attack ; bravely, nobly, the besieged retreated within their walls, pell- mell their foes dashed after them, and terrific was the combat on the drawbridge, which groaned and creaked beneath the heavy tramp of man and horse. Many, wrestling in the fierce- ness of mortal strife, fell together in the moat, and encumbered with heavy armor, sunk in each other's arms, in the -grim clasp of death. Then it was Lancaster met hand to hand the gallant foe he sought, covering the retreat of his men, who were bearing Sir Christopher Seaton, desperately wounded, to the castle. Sii Figel stood well-nigh alone on the bridge ; his bright armor, his foaming charger bore evident marks of the fray, but still he rode his steed firmly and unbent, his plume yet waved un- touched by the foeman's sword. Nearer and nearer pressei' forward the English earl, signing to his men to secure withoul 10 218 TIIE DATS OF BKUCE. wounding his gallant foe ; round him they closely gathei«d, but Nigel evinced no s.iga either of trepidation or anger, fear- lessly, gallantly, he returned the earl's impetuous charge, back- ing his steed slowly as he did so, and keeping his full front tc fcis foe, On, on pressed Lancaster, even to the postern ; a bound, a shout, and scarcely was he aware that his sword had ceased to cross with Nigel's, before he was startled by tho heavy fall of the portcullis, effectually dividing them, and ut- terly frustrating further pursuit. A cry of rage, of disappoint- ment broke from tne English, as they were compelled to turn and rejoin their friends. The strife still continued within and without the barbacan, and ended without much advantage on either side. The pali- sades and outward barriers had indeed fallen into the hands of the English, which was the first serious loss yet sustained by the besieged ; from the barbacan they had gallantly and suc- cessfully driven their foe, but that trifling success was so coun- terbalanced by the serious loss of life amid the garrison which it included, that both Nigel and Sir Christopher felt the next attack must deliver it into the hands of the besiegers. Their loss of men was in reality scarcely a third of the number which had fallen among the English, yet to them that loss was of in- finitely more consequence than to the foe. Bitter and painful emotions filled the noble spirit of Nigel, as he gazed on the diminished number of his men, and met the ill-suppressed groans and lamentations of those who had, at the first alarm of the English, sought shelter and protection in the castle ; their ill-suppressed entreaties that he would struggle no longer against such odds grated harshly and ominously on his ear ; but sternly 1 e turned from them to the men-at-arms, apd in their steadfast bravery and joyous acclamations found some degree of hope. Yet ere the day closed the besieged felt too truly theii droams of triumph, of final success, little short of a miracle would realize. Their fancy that some new ar\d mightier spirij of generalship was at work within the English camp was con- firmed. Two distinct bodies were observed at work on th€ eastern and southern sides of the mount, the one evidently em- ployed in turning aside the bed of the river, which on that side flowed instead of the moat beneath the wall, the other in endeavoring to fill up the moat by a causeway, so as to adinil THE DATS OF BEUCE. 219 of an easy access to the outer wall. The progress they had made in their work the first day, while the attention of the Scotch had heen confined to the attack on the barhacsfn, was all-sufficient evidence of their intent ; and with bitter sorrow Sir Nigel and his brother-in-law felt that their only means of any efficient defence lay in resigning the long-contested bai- baoan to the besiegers. An important point it certainly wag, but still to retain it the walls overlooking the more silent efiForts of the English must be left comparatively unguarded, and they might obtain an almost uninterrupted and scarce-contested passage within the walls, while the whole strength and atten- tion of the besieged were employed, as had already been the case, on a point that they had scarce a hope eventually to re- tain. With deep and bitter sorrow the alternative was proposed and carried in a hurried council of war, and so well acted upon, that, despite the extreme watchfulness of the English, men, treasure, arms, and artillery, all that the strong towers con- tained, were conveyed at dead of night over the drawbridge into the castle, and the following morning, Lancaster, in utter astonishment, took possession of the deserted fort. Perhaps to both parties this resolution was alike a disap- pointment and restraint. The English felt there was no glory in their prize, they had not obtained possession through their own prowess and skill ; and now that the siege had become so much closer, and this point of communication was entirely stopped, the hand-to-hand combat, the glorious miUe, the press of war, which to both parties had been an excitement, and little more than warlike recreation, had of course entirely ceased, but Hereford heeded not the disappointment of his men ; his plans were progressing as he had desired, even though his workmen were greatly harassed by the continued discharge of arrows and immense stones from the walls. The desertion of the barbacan was an ah -convincing proot of the very small number of the garrison; and though the immense thickness and solidity of the walls bespoke time, patience, and control, the English earl never wavered from his purpose, and by his firmness, his personal gallantry, his readily- bestowed approbation on all who demanded it, he contrived to keep his more impatient followers steadily to their task ; while Nigel, to prevent the spirits of his men from sinldng, would frequently lead them forth at night, and by a sudden attack 220 THE DATS OF BEtlOE. annoy and often cut off many of the men stationed within the barbacan. The drawbridge was the precarious ground of many a midnight strife, till the daring gallantry of Nigel Bruce be- came the theme of every tongue ; a gallantry equalled only by the consummate skill which he displayed, in retreating within his entrenchments frequently without the loss of a single man either as killed or wounded. Often would Sir Christopher Scaton, whose wounds still bound him a most unwilling prisoner to his couch, entreat him to avoid such rash exposures of his life, but Nigel only answered him with a smile and an assurance he bore a charmed life, which the sword of the foe could not touch. The siege had now lasted six weeks, and the position of both parties continued much as we have seen, save that the bed of the river had now begun to appear, promising a free passage to the English on the eastern side, and on the south a broad causeway had stretched itself over the moat, on which the towers for defending the ascent of the walls, mangonels and other engines, were already safely bestowed, and all promised fair to the besiegers, whose numerous forces scarcely appeared to have suffered any diminution, although in reality some hun- dreds had fallen ; while on the side of the besieged, although the walls were still most gallantly manned, and the first efforts of the English to scale the walls had been rendered ineffectual by huge stones hurled down upon them, still a look of gi'eater care was observable on the brows of both officers and men; and provisions had now begun to be doled out by weight and measure, for though the granaries still possessed stores sufficient for some weeks longer, the apparent determination of the English to permit no relaxation in their close attack, demanded increase of caution on the part of the besieged. About this time an event occurred, which, though compara- tively triffing in itself, when the lives of so many were con- cerned, was fraught in effect with fatal consequences to all the inmates of Kildrummie. The conversation of the next chap- ter, however, will better explain it, and to it we refer oiu teadnrs. THE DATS OF BEUCE. 221 CHAPTER XIX In a circular apartment of the lower floor in Kildrummia keep, its stone floor but ill covered with rushes, and the walls hung with the darkest and rudest arras, Sii- Christopher Seaton reclined on a rough couch, in earnest converse with his brother- in-law, Nigel. Lady Seaton was also within the chamber, at some little distance from the knights, engaged in preparing lint and healing ointments, with the aid of an attendant, for the wounded, and ready at the first call to rise and attend them, as she had done unremittingly during the continuance of the siege. The countenances of both warriors were slightly changed from the last time we beheld them. The severity of his wounds had. shed a cast almost of age on the noble features of Seaton, but care and deep regret had mingled with that pallor ; and perhaps on the face of Nigel, which three short weeks before had beamed forth such radiant hope, the change was more painful. He had escaped with but slight flesh wounds, but disappointment and anxiety were now vividly impressed on his features ; the smooth brow would unconsciously wrinkle in deep and unexpressed thought ; the lip, to which love, joy, and hope alone had once seemed natural, now often compressed, and his eye flashed, till his whole countenance seemed stern, not with the sternness of a tyrannical, changed and chafing mood — no, 'twas the sternness most fearful to behold in youth, of thought, deep, bitter, whelming thought ; and sterner even than it had been yet was the expression on his features as he spoke this day with Seaton. " He must die," were the words which broke a long and anxious pause, and fell in deep yet emphatic tones from the lips of Seaton; "yes, die! Psrchance the example may best arrest the spreading contagion of treachery around us." " I know not, I fear not ; yet as thou sayest he must die," replied Nigel, speaking as in deep thought ; " would that the noble enemy, who thus scorned to benefit by the oflered treason, had done on him the work of death himself. I love not khe necessity nor the deed." " Yet it must b(, Nigel. Is there aught else save death, the death of a traitor, •which can sufficiently chastise a crime like 5j22 TITE DATS OF BEUCE. this? Well was it the knave craved speech of Hereford him- self. I mai-vel whether the majesty of England had resisted a like temptation." " Seaton, he would not," answered the young man. " T knew him, aye, studied him in his own court, and though 1 doubt not there was a time when chivalry was strongest in tie breast of Edward, it was before ambition's fatal poison had corroded his hdart. Now he would deem all things honorable in the art of war, aye, even the delivery of a castle through the treachery of a knave." " And he hath more in yon host to think with him than with the noble Hereford," resumed Sir Christopher ; " yet this is-but idle parley, and concemeth but little our present task. In what temper do our men receive the tidings of this foul treason ?" " Our own brave fellows call aloud for vengeance on the traitor; nay, had I not rescued him from their hands, they would have torn him limb from Umb in their rage. But there are others, Seaton — ^alas 1 the more numerous body now — ^and they speak not, but with moody brows and gloomy mutterings prowl up and down the courts." " Aye, the coward heai-ts," answered Seaton, " their good wishes went with him, and but low- breathed curses follow our efforts for their freedom. Yes, it must be, if it be but as a warning unto others. See to it, Nigel ; an" hour before the set of sun he dies." A brief pause followed his words, whose low sternness of tone betrayed far more than the syllables themselves. , Both warriors remained a while plunged in moody thought, which Seaton was the first to break. " And how went the last attack and defence?" he asked; " they told me, bravely." " Aye, so bravely, that could we but reinforce our fighting men, aided as we are by impenetrable walls, we might dream still of conquest ; they have gained little as yet, despite their nearer approach. Hand to hand we have indeed struggled on the walls, and hurled back our foremost foes in their own ia- trejishments. Our huge fragments of rocks have dealt destruc- tion on one of their towers, crushing all who manned it beneath the ruins." " Andi I lie here when such brave work is going on besido THE DATS OF BETJCE. 223 me, even as a bedridden monk or coward layman, when my whole soul is m the fight," said the knight, bitterly, and hall springing from his couch. " When will these open wounds — to the foul fiend with thena and those who gave them! — when will they let me mount and ride again as best befits a warrior? Better slain at once than lie here a burden, not a help — taking from those whose gallant efforts need it more the food we may not have for long. I will not thus be chained ; I'll to the ao tion, be my life the forfeit 1" He sprung up, and for a moment stood upon his feet, but with a low groan of pain instantly fell back, the dew of weak- ness gathering on his brow. Lady Seaton was at his side on the instant to bathe his temples and his hands, yet without one reproachful word, for she knew the anguish it was to his brave heart to lie thus disabled, when every loyal hand was needed for his country. " Nigel, I would that I might join thee. Remember, 'tis no mean game we; play ; we hold not out as marauding chieftains against a lawful king ; we struggle not in defence of petty rights; of doubtful privileges. 'Tis for Scotland, for King Rob- ert still we strive. Did this castle hold put, aye, compel the foe to raise the siege, much, much would be done for Scotland. Others would do as we have done ; many, whose strongholds rest in English hands, would rise and expel the foe. Had. we but reinforcements of men and stores, all might still be well." "Aye," answered Nigel, bitterly, "but with all Scotland crushed 'neath English chains, her king and his bold patriots fugitives and exiles, ourselves the only Scottish force in arms, the only Scottish castle which resists the tyrant, how may this be, whence may come increase of force, of store ? Seaton Seaton, thine are bright dreams — would that they were real." " Wouldst thou then give up at once, and strive no more ? It cannot be." " Never !" answered his companion, passionately. " Ere Knglish feet shall cross these courts and English colors wave above these towers, the blood of the defenders must flow be- neath their steps. They gain not a yard of earbh save at the bright sword's point ; not a rood of grass unstained by Scottish blood. Give up ! not till my arm can wield no sword, my loice no more shout ' Forward for the Bruce !' " " Then we will hope on, dream on, Nigel, and despair not," 224 THE DAYS OF BEUCE. replied Seaton, in the same earnest tone. " We know not 3'et what may be, and, improbable as it seems now, succors miij yet arrive. How long doth last the truce ?" " For eighteen hours, two of which have passed." " Didst thou demand it ?" " No," replied Nigel. " It was proffered by the earl, as needed for a strict examination of the traitor Evan Roy, and accepted in the spirit with which it was oflfered." " Thou didst well ; and the foul traitor — wheie hast thou lodged him f " In the western turret, strongly guarded. I would not seek thy counsel until I had examined and knew the truth." " And thine own judgment ?" " Was as thine. It is an ill necessity, yet it must be." " Didst pronounce his sentence ?" Nigel answered in the affirmative. " And how was it received ?" " In the same sullen silence on the part of the criminal as ne had borne during his examination. Methought a low mur- mur of discontent escaped from some within the hall, but^t was drowned in the shout of approbation from the men-at-arms, and the execrations they lavished on the traitor as they bore Lim away, so I heeded it not." " But thou wilt heed it," said a sweet voice beside him, and Agnes, who had just entered the chamber, laid her hand on his arm and looked beseechingly in his face. " Dearest Nigel, I come a pleader." " And for whom, my beloved ?" he asked, his countenance changing into its own soft beautiful expression as he gazed on her. " What can mine Agnes ask that Nigel may not grant ?" " Nay, I am no pleader for myself," she said ; " I come oii the part of a wretched wife and aged mother, beseeching the gift of life." " And for a traitor, Agnes ?" " I think of him but as a husband and son, dearest Nigel," she said, more timidly, for his voice was stern. " They tell me he is condemned to death, and his wretched wife and mothei besought my influence with thee ; and indeed it needed little entreaty, for when death is so busy around us, when in this fearful war we see the best and bravest of our friends fall vio- tima every day, oh, I would beseech you to spare life when it THK DATS OP BEUCE. 22S may be. Dearest, dearest Nigel, have mercy oti this wretcned man ; traitor as he is, oh, do not take his Ufe — do not let thy lips sentence him to death. Wilt thou not be merciful ?" " If the death of one man will preserve the lives of many, how may that one be spared?" said Sir Nigel, folding the sweet pleader closer to him, though his features spolce no re- laxation of his purpose. " Sweet Agnes, do not ask this, give me not the bitter pain of refusing aught to thee. Thou know- est not all the mischief and misery which pardon to a traitor such as this will do; thou listenest only to thy kind heart and the sad pleadings of those who love this man. Now listen to me, beloved, and judge thyself. Did I believe a pardon would bring back the traitor to a sense of duty, to a consciousness of his great crime — did I believe giving life to him would deter others from the same guilt, I should scarce wait even for thy sweet pleading to give him both liberty and life ; but I know him better than thou, mine Agnes. He is one of those dark, discontented, rebellious spirits, that never rest in stirring up others to be like them ; who would employ even the life I gave him to my own destruction, and that of the brave and faithful soldiers with me." " But send him hence, dearest Nigel," still entreated Agnes. " Give him life, but send him from the castle ; will not this re- move the danger of his influence with others ?" " And give him field and scope to betray us yet again, sweet one. It were indeed scorning the honorable counsel of Here- ford to act thus ; for trust me, Agnes, there are not many amid our foes would resist temptation as he hath done." " Yet would not keeping him close prisoner serve thee as well as death, Nigel ? Bethink thee, would it not spare the ill of taking life ?" " Dearest, no " he answered. " There are many, alas ! too many within these walls who need an example of terror to keep them to their duty. They will see that treachery avails not with the noble Hereford, and that, discovered by me, it hath no escape from death. If this man be, as I imagine, in league with other contentious spirits — ^for he could scarce hope to betray the castle into the hands of the English without some aid within — his fate may strike such terror into other traitor hearts that their designs will be abandoned. Trust me, dearest, I do not do this deed of justice without leap regret ; I grieve 2£6 THE DATS OF BKTJCB. for the necessity even as the deed, and yet it must bo; and bitter as it is to refuse thee aught, indeed I cannot grant Ihj boon " " Yet hear me once more, Nigel. Simple and ignorant as I am, I cannot answer such arguments as thine; yet may it not be that this deed of justice, even while it stiikes terror, may also excite the desire for revenge, and situated as we are wen- It not better to avoid all such bitterness, such ht^rt-bumingr amongst the people ?" " We must brave it, dearest," answered Nigel, firmly. " The direct line of justice and of duty may not be turned aside for such fears as these." " Nor db I think they have foundation," continued Sir Chris- topher Seaton. " Thou hast pleaded well and kindly, gentle maiden, yet gladly as we would do aught to pleasure thee, this that thou hast asked, alas ! must not be. The crime itself de- mands punishment, and even could we pardon that, duty to our country, our king, ourselves, calls loudly for his death, lest his foul treachery should spread." The eyes of the maiden filled with tears. "Then my last hope is over," she said, sadly. "I looked to thy influence. Sir Christopher, to plead for me, even if mine own suppUcations should fail ; and thou judgest even as Nigel, not as my heart could wish." " We judge as men and soldiers, gentle maiden ; as men who, charged with a most solemn responsibility, dare listen to naught save the voice of justice, however loudly mercy pleads." " And didst thou think, mine Agnes, if thy pleading was of no avail, the entreaty of others could move me ?" whispered Nigel, in a voice which, though tender, was reproachful. " Dearest and best, oh, thou knowest not the pang it is to re- fuse thee even this, and to feel my words have filled those eyes with tears. Say thou wilt not deem me cruel, abiding by jus- tice when there is room for mercy ?" " I know thee better than to judge thee thus," answered Agnes, tearfully ; " the voice of duty must have spoken loudly to urge thee to this decision, and I may not dispute it ; yd would that death could be averted. There was madness iu that woman's eyes," and she shuddered as she spoke. " Of whom speakest thou, love ?" Nigel asked, and Seatoc looked the question THE DATS* OF BEUOE. 227 " Of his wife," she replied. " She came to me ditiracted, and used such dreadful words, menaces and threats they seem- ed ; but his mother, more composed, assured me they meant nothing, they were but the ravings of distress, and yet I fear to look on her again without his pardon." " And thou shalt not, my beloved ; these are not scenes and words for such as thee. Rest here with iJhristine and good Sir Christopher ; to tend and cheer a wounded knight is a fitter task for thee, sweet one, than thus to plead a traitor's cause." Pressing his lips upon her brow as he spoke, he placed her gently on a settle by Sir Christopher ; then crossing the apart- ment, he paused a moment to whisper to Lady Seaton. " Look to her, my dear sister ; she has been terrified, though she would conceal it. Let her not leave thee till this fatal duty is accomplished." Lady Seaton assured him of her compliance, and he left the apartment. .He had scarcely quitted the postern before he himself en- countered Jean Roy, a woman who, even in her mildest mo- ments, evinced very little appearance of sanity, and who now, from her furious and distracting gestures, seemed wrought up to no ordinary pitch of madness. She kept hovering round him, uttering menaces and entreaties in one and the same breath, declaring one moment that her husband was no traitor, and had only done what every true-hearted Scotsman ought to do, if he would save himself and those he loved from de- straction ; the next, piteously acknowledging his crime, and wildly beseeching mercy. For a while Nigel endeavored, calmly and soothingly, to reason with her, but it was of no avail :- louder and fiercer became her curses and imprecations ; beseeching heaven to hurl down all its maledictions upon him and the woman he loved, and refuse him mercy when he most needed it. Perceiving her violence befioming more and more outrageous, Nigel placed her in charge of two of his men-at- arms, desuing them to treat her kindly, but not to lose sight i)f her, and keep her as far as possible from the scene about te lie enacted. She was dragged away, struggling furiously, and Nigel felt his heart sink heavier within him. It was not that he wivered in his opinion, that he believed, situated as he was, it was better to spare the traitor's life than excite to a flame THE DATS OF EKDCE. iLe already aroused and angered populace. He thought in- deed terror might do much ; but whether it was the entreating words of Agnes, or the state of the unhappy Jean, there had come upon him a dim sense of impending ill ; an impression that the act of justice about to be performed would bring mat- ters to a crisis, and the ruin of the garrison be consummated, ere he was aware it had begun. The shadow of the future ap- peared to have enfolded him, but still he wavered not. The hours sped : his preparations were completed, and at the time appointed by Seaton, with as much of awful solemnity as cir- cumstances would admit, the soul of the ti-aitor was launched into eternity. Men, women, and children had gathered round the temporary scaffold ; every one within the castle, save the maimed and wounded, thronged to that centre court, and cheers and shouts, and groans and curses, mingled strangely on the air. Clad in complete steel, but bareheaded. Sir Nigel Bruce had witnessed the act of justice his voice had pronounced, and, after a brief pause, he stood forward on the scaffold, and in a deep, rich voice addressed the multitude ere they separated Eloquently, forcibly, he spoke of the guilt, the foul guilt o) treachery, now when Scotland demanded all men to join to- gether band and heart as one — ^now when the foe was at their gates ; whei>, if united, they might yet bid defiance to the ty- rant, who, if they. were defeated, would hold them slaves, He addressed thF y conviction with it. Many a stern face and darkened brow relaxed, and there was hope in many a patriot breast as that group dispersed, and all was once more martial bustle on thu walls. "■ Well and wisely hast thou spoken, my son," said the agwJ Abbot of Scone, who had attended the criminal's last moments, and now, with Nigel, sought the keep. " Thy words have moved those rebellious spirits, have calmed the rising tempest even as oil flung on the troubled waves ; thine eloquence was even as an angel voice 'mid muttering fiends. Yet thou art still sad, still anxious. My son, this should not be." " It must be, father," answered the young man. " I have looked beyond that oily surface and see naught sa^ e darker storms and fiercer tempests ; those spirits need somewhat more than a mere voice. Father, reproach me not as mistrusting the gracious heaven in whose keeping lie our earthly fates. I know the battle is not to the strong, 'tis with the united, the faithful, and those men are neither. My words have stirred them for the moment, as a pebble flung 'mid the troubled waters — a few brief instants and all trace is passed, we sue naught but the blackened wave. But speak not of these things ; my trust is higher than earth, and let man work his will." Another week passed, and the fierce struggle continued, al- ternating success, one day with the besiegers, the next with the besieged. The scene of action was now principally on the walls — a fearful field, for there was no retreat — and often the combatants, entwined in a deadly struggle, fell together into the moat. Still there were no signs of wavering on either side, still did the massive walls give no sign of yielding to the tremendous and continued discharge of heavy stones, that against battlements less strongly constructed must long ere this have dealt destruction and inevitable mischief to the be- sieged. One tower, commanding the causeway across the raoat and its adjoining platform on the wall, had indeed been taken by the EngUsh, and was to them a decided advantage, but still their further progress even to the next tower was lin- gering and dubious, and it appeared evident to both parties that, from the utter impossibility of the Scotch obtaining sup- plies of provision and men, success must finally attend the Eng- 230 THB DAYS OF BEUCE. lish ; they would succeed more by tht effects of famine tlian by their swords. It was, as we have said, seven days after the execution of the traitor Roy. A truce for twelve hours had been concluded witli the English, at the request of Sir Nigel Bruce, and safe conduct granted by the Earl of Hereford to those men, wo- men, and children of the adjoining villages who chose even at this hour to leave the castle, but few, a very.f>