The gathering mist had occasioned a halt, and a consultation as 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 continue 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 he 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 countess:  less than two hours would take them there.

This tale was told in less time than we have taken to transcribe it, and not twenty minutes after Malcolm’s first appearance, the king and Sir Alan, with fifteen tried followers, departed on their expedition.  There had been some attempt to dissuade the king from venturing his own person where further treachery might yet lurk, but the attempt was vain.

“She has perilled her life for me,” was his sole answer, “and were there any real peril, mine would be hazarded for 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 distinguishing 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 full 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 inquiring 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 themselves around their prisoner, seemed determined that her liberty should not be attained with her life, more