“I would not, an ye besought such a boon, old man,” answered the earl; “yet I would advise thee to tempt not thy fate, for even thy minstrel garb, an thou braggest of thy service to the Bruce, I cannot promise to be thy safeguard in Edward’s court, whither I give ye notice I wend my way to-morrow’s dawn.  For this child, what wouldst thou—­hath he no voice, no power of his own to speak?”

The aged minstrel looked at his charge, whose eyes were still bent on the floor; the heaving of his doublet denoted some internal emotion, but ere the old man could answer for him, he had made a few hasty steps forward, and bent his knee before Hereford.

“’Tis a simple boon I crave, my lord,” he said, in a voice so peculiarly sweet, that it seemed to impart new beauty to his features; “a very simple boon, yet my lips tremble to ask it, for thou mayest deem it more weighty than it seemeth to me, and thou alone canst grant it.”

“Speak it, fair child, whate’er it be,” replied the earl, reassuringly, and laying his hand caressingly on the boy’s head.  “Thou art, methinks, over young to crave a boon we may not grant; too young, although a Scotsman, for Hereford to treat thee aught but kindly.  What wouldst thou?”

“Permission to tend on my young lord, Sir Nigel Bruce,” answered the boy, more firmly, and for the first time fixing the full gaze of his beautiful eyes on the earl’s face.  “Oh, my lord, what is there in that simple boon to bid thee knit thy brow as if it must not be?” he added, more agitated.  “The noble Hereford cannot fear a child; or, if he doubted me, he cannot doubt the honor of his prisoner, an honor pure, unsullied as his own.”

“Thou speakest not as the child thou seemest,” replied Hereford, musingly; “and yet I know not, misery makes sager of us long ere the rose of youth hath faded.  For this, thy boon, I know not how it may be granted; it is not usual to permit other than English attendants on our Scottish prisoners.  Since Sir Niel Campbell’s escape through the agency of his Scottish attendant, it hath been most strictly prohibited.”

“Oh, do not, do not say me nay!” entreated the boy; “I ask but to share his imprisonment, to be with him, serve him, tend him.  I ask no more liberty than is granted unto him; the rudest, coarsest fare, a little straw, or the bare ground beside his couch.  I can do naught to give him freedom, and if I could, were there an open path before him—­did I beseech him on my knees to fly—­if he hath surrendered, as I have heard, to thee, rescue or no rescue, he would scorn my counsel, and abide thy prisoner still.  Oh, no, no!  I swear to thee I will do naught that can make thee regret thou hast granted an orphan’s prayer.”

“And who art thou that pleadeth thus?” inquired the earl, moved alike by the thrilling sweetness of his voice and the earnestness of his manner.  “Thou must have some wondrous interest in him to prefer imprisonment with him to all the joys which liberty can give.”