“We demand speech of Sir Nigel Bruce and Sir Christopher Seaton, governors of this castle,” was the brief reply.

“Speak on, then, we are before ye, ready to list your say.  What would your lords?”

“Give ye not admittance within the wall?” inquired the herald; “’tis somewhat strange parleying without.”

“No!” answered Nigel, briefly and sternly; “speak on, and quickly.  We doubt not the honor of the noble Earl of Hereford—­it hath been too gloriously proved; but we are here to list your mission.  What would ye?”

“That ye surrender this fortress by to-morrow’s dawn, and strive no longer with the destiny against you.  Ye have neither men nor stores, and in all good and chivalric feeling, the noble Earls of Hereford and Lancaster call on ye to surrender without further loss of blood.”

“And if we do this?” demanded Nigel.

“They promise all honorable treatment and lenient captivity to the leaders of the rebels, until the pleasure of his grace the king be known; protection to all females; liberty to those whose rank demands not their detention; and for the common soldiers, on the delivery of their arms and upper garments, and their taking a solemn oath that within seven days they will leave Scotland never to return, liberty and life shall be mercifully extended unto one and all.”

“And if we do not this?”

“Your blood be upon your own rebellious heads!  Sacking and pillage must take their course.”

“Ye have heard,” were the sole words that passed the lips of Nigel, turning to his men, who, roused by the first sound of the trumpet, had started from their slumbers, and falling in a semicircle round him and Sir Christopher, listened with intense eagerness to the herald’s words.  “Ye have heard.  Speak, then—­your answer; yours shall be ours.”

“Death! death! death!” was the universally reiterated shout.  “We will struggle to the death.  Our king and country shall not say we deserted them because we feared to die; or surrendered on terms of shame as these!  No; let the foe come on! we will die, if we may not live, still patriots of Scotland!  King Robert will avenge us!  God save the Bruce!”

Again, and yet again they bade God bless him; and startlingly and thrillingly was the united voice of that desperate, devoted band borne on the wings of night to the very furthest tents of their foes.  Calmly Sir Nigel turned again to the herald.

“Thou hast Scotland’s answer,” he said; “’tis in such men as these her glorious spirit lives! they will fall not unavenged.  Commend us to your masters; we await them with the dawn,” and, turning on his heel, he reassumed the posture of thought as if he had never been aroused.