“He counselled right,” echoed many voices, the eagerness with which they had listened, and now spoke, effectually turning their attention from their mysterious leader, who at old Murdoch’s last words had with difficulty prevented the utterance of a deep groan, and then, as if startled at his own emotion, sprung up from his reclining posture, and joined his voice to those of his men.  “He counselled, and did rightly,” they repeated; “it would have been an ill deed to spare a traitor’s den for such softening thoughts.  Could we but free the Countess Isabella, she would not want a home in Buchan—­nay, the further from her cruel husband’s territories the better and for her children—­the one, poor innocent, is cared for, and the other—­”

“Aye, my masters, and trust me, that other was in our sovereign’s heart as forcibly as the memories he spoke.  That which we know now concerning him was then undreamed of; it was only faintly rumored that Lord Douglas had been deceived, and Alan of Buchan had not fallen by a father’s hand, or at least by his orders; that he was in life, in close confinement; my old ears did catch something of this import from the king, as he spoke with his brother.”

“What import?” asked Sir Amiot, hoarsely.

“Only, your worship, that, for the sake of the young heir of Buchan, he wished that such total devastation could have been spared; if he were really in life, as rumor said, it was hard to act as if he were forgotten by his friends.”

“And what was Sir Edward’s reply?”

“First, that he doubted the rumor altogether; secondly, that if he did return to the king, his loss might be more than made up; and thirdly, that it was more than probable that, young as he was, if he really did live, the arts of his father would prevail, and he would purchase his freedom by homage and fidelity to England.”

“Ha! said he so—­and the king?”

“Did not then think with him, nay, declared he would stake his right hand that the boy, young as he was, had too much of his mother’s noble spirit for such a deed.  It was well the stake was not accepted, for, by St. Andrew, as the tale now goes, King Robert would have lost.”

“As the tale now goes, thou unbelieving skeptic,” replied one of his comrades, laughing; “has not the gallant been seen, recognized—­is he not known as one of King Edward’s minions, and lords it bravely?  But hark! there are chargers pricking over the plain.  Hurrah!  Sir Edward and Lord James,” and on came a large body of troopers and infantry even as he spoke.

Up started Sir Amiot’s men in eager readiness to greet and join; their armor and weapons they had laid aside were resumed, and ere their comrades reached them all were in readiness.  Sir Amiot, attended by his esquires and a page, galloped forward, and the two knights, perceiving his advance, spurred on before their men, and hasty and cordial greetings were exchanged.  We should perhaps note that Sir