“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 concerneth 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 limb in their rage.  But there are others, Seaton—­alas! 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 hearts,” 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 intrenchments.  Our huge fragments of rocks have dealt destruction on one of their towers, crushing all who manned it beneath the ruins.”

“And I lie here when such brave work is going on beside me, even as a bedridden monk or coward layman, when my whole soul is in the fight,” said the knight, bitterly, and half springing from his couch.  “When will these open wounds—­to the foul fiend with them 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 action, be my life the forfeit!”

He sprung up, and for a moment stood upon his feet, but with a low groan of pain instantly fell back, the dew of weakness 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 Robert still we strive.  Did this castle hold out, 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.”