Then Kenric took the sword in his hard grip, and holding it out at arm’s length he saw that its point was but a span’s distance from Aasta’s breast.

He bade the girl stand still.  Aasta stood like a pillar of stone before him, with the sunlight upon her red-gold hair; nor did she stir a finger or blink an eyelash as young Kenric, firm on his feet, flung back his arms and swung the terrible weapon once, twice, thrice, to right and left in front of her.

Seeing the maiden’s fearless courage, “Now do I in sooth believe,” said he, “that you are in very deed a witch, Aasta.  But what you have said of this sword is, methinks, nothing less than true; and, if you will it so, then will I take it, so that I may now confront this villain Earl Roderic, and slay him for my revenge.”

“God be your guard! my lord the king,” said Aasta, “and may you never use that sword without just cause.”

And so saying she went her ways.

Now, when Kenric, armed with the Thirsty Sword, and with his heart full of bitter vengeance, came upon the rocky heights of Dunagoil, and held discourse with one of his friends, a friar of St. Blane’s, he learned that his enemy had already quitted the island, and was now aboard the English ship on the first stage of his pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  Not till then did Kenric remember his sick mother, or think of how he had set out to summon Elspeth Blackfell to the castle.  He blamed himself beyond measure in that he had allowed his vengeful thoughts to so lead him away from his higher duty.

But as it happened, Lulach had served him well.  When Kenric got back to Rothesay he found Elspeth already busy in her work of nursing his mother hack to health.  So skilful was the old woman in this, that in the space of two days the Lady Adela was fully restored, and able to hear the sad news of how her favourite son had fallen under Roderic’s sword.

Of the burial of Hamish and Alpin, and of the solemn rites attending that ceremony, there is no need to tell.  Noble and true were they both, and well-beloved for their worthiness.  But they are dead, and so, as the old scalds would say, have passed out of the story.

CHAPTER XII.  HOW KENRIC WAS MADE KING.

On a day in June, Ailsa Redmain, well arrayed, went forth from Kilmory riding behind her father, Sir Oscar, on his sturdy horse.  Beside them walked her brother Allan, with a long staff in his hand, a plaid over his broad shoulder, and a tall feather in his bonnet.

It was one of the calmest of summer days.  The warm sweet smell of the whin bloom was in the air.  The lark sang merrily in the clear sky, and across the smooth, glassy surface of Ascog loch the herons flew with heavy, indolent wings.

Seeing a pair of these birds flying near, Sir Oscar turned to his son.

“Were we not otherwise employed,” said he, “this were a glorious day, Allan, on which to fly our young hawks at these herons.  The birds will lose their cunning if they be not better exercised.  Know you if poor Alpin had set aside a pair of gerfalcons for his Majesty’s tribute?”