Joan shuddered.  “God in mercy forefend such ill!” she said, fervently; “I would I could have seen her once again, for she has strangely twined herself about my heart; but thou hast judged wisely, my Gilbert, her safety is too precious to be thus idly risked; and this old man, canst thou so trust him—­will he guide her tenderly and well?”

“Aye, I would stake my life upon his truth; he is the seer and minstrel of the house of Bruce, and that would be all-sufficient to guarantee his unwavering fidelity and skill.  He has wandered on foot from Scotland, to look on his beloved master once again; to watch over, as a guardian spirit, the fate of that master’s devoted wife, and he will do this, I doubt not, and discover Carrick’s place of retreat, were it at the utmost boundaries of the earth.  I only dread pursuit.”

“Pursuit! and by whom?”

“By her father.  Men said he was close beside me during that horrible hour, though I saw him not; if he observed her, traced to her lips that maddening shriek, it would excite his curiosity quite sufficiently for him to trace my steps, and discovery were then inevitable.”

“But did he do this—­hast seen him since?”

“No, he has avoided me; but still, for her sake, I fear him.  I know not how or when, but there are boding whispers within me that all will not be well.  Now I would have news from thee.  Is Hereford released?”

“Yes; coupled with the condition that he enters not my father’s presence until Easter.  He is deeply and justly hurt; but more grieved at the change in his sovereign than angered at the treatment of himself.”

“No marvel; for if ever there were a perfect son of chivalry, one most feelingly alive to its smallest point of honor, it is Humphrey Bohun.”

So spoke Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, unconscious that he himself had equal right to a character so exalted; that both Scottish and English historians would emulate each other in handing his name down to posterity, surrounded by that lucid halo of real worth, on which the eye turns again and again to rest for relief from the darker minds and ruder hearts which formed the multitude of the age in which he lived.  The duties of friendship were performed in his preservation of the person, and constant and bold defence of the character of the Bruce; the duties of a subject, in dying on the battle-field in service for his king.

The boding prognostics of the Earl of Gloucester were verified ere that day closed.  While still in earnest converse with his countess, a messenger came from the king, demanding their instant presence in his closet.  The summons was so unusual, that in itself it was alarming, nor did the sight of the Earl of Buchan in close conference with the monarch decrease their fears.  As soon as a cessation of his pains permitted the exertion, Buchan had been sent for by the king; the issue of his inquiries after his daughter demanded, and all narrated; his interview with Sir Nigel dwelt upon with all the rancor of hate.  Edward had listened without making any observation; a twinkle of his still bright eye, an expression about the lips alone betraying that he not only heard but was forming his own conclusions from the tale.