“Tell your master, sir herald,” continued Nigel, rising as his colleague 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 men and Scottish subjects, and consequently to all the offers of England we are as if we heard not.  Neither rebels nor abettors of rebels, we neither acknowledge the necessity of submitting ourselves 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 sword, which spoke yet truer than mere words.  Dark brows and features 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 sufficiently provided to hold out for any great length of time, and they almost imagined that to reduce them to extremities by famine was the intention of the besiegers.  The greatest danger, if encountered hand to hand in the melee, was welcome, but the very idea of a slow, lingering fate, with the enemy before them, mocking their 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, carrying all before them, and when by numbers compelled to retreat, 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 daring insolence in their petty foe.  Decisive measures were resorted to on the instant, and increased bustle appeared to pervade both besiegers and besieged.

“Pity thou art already a knight, Nigel!” bluffly exclaimed Seaton, springing into his saddle by torchlight the following morning, as with a gallant band he was about dashing over the drawbridge, to second the defenders of the barbacan and palisades.  “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 melee.