She paused, in strong, and for the moment overpowering, emotion.  The clear, rich tones had never faltered till she spoke of him beloved even in death—­faltered not, even when she spoke of death as the portion of her child; it was but the quivering of lip and eye by which the anguish of that thought could have been ascertained.  Lady Campbell clasped her hand.

“Thou hast in very truth silenced me, my Isabella,” she said; “there is no combating with thoughts as these.  Thine is still the same noble soul, exalted mind that I knew in youth:  sorrow and time have had no power on these.”

“Save to chasten and to purify, I trust,” rejoined the countess, in her own calm tone.  “Thrown back upon my own strength, it must have gathered force, dear Mary, or have perished altogether.  But thou speakest, methinks, but too despondingly of our sovereign’s prospects—­are they indeed so desperate?”

“Desperate, indeed, Isabella.  Even his own family, with the sole exception of that rash madman, Edward, must look upon it thus.  How thinkest thou Edward of England will brook this daring act of defiance, of what he will deem rank apostasy and traitorous rebellion?  Aged, infirm as he is now, he will not permit this bold attempt to pass unpunished.  The whole strength of England will be gathered together, and pour its devastating fury on this devoted land.  And what to this has Robert to oppose?  Were he undisputed sovereign of Scotland, we might, without cowardice, be permitted to tremble, threatened as he is; but confined, surrounded by English, with scarce a town or fort to call his own, his enterprise is madness, Isabella, patriotic as it may be.”

“Oh, do not say so, Mary.  Has he not some noble barons already by his side? will not, nay, is not Scotland rising to support him? hath he not the hearts, the prayers, the swords of all whose mountain homes and freeborn rights are dearer than the yoke of Edward? and hath he not, if rumor speaks aright, within himself a host—­not mere valor alone, but prudence, foresight, military skill—­all, all that marks a general?”

“As rumor speaks.  Thou dost not know him then?” inquired Lady Campbell.

“How could I, dearest?  Hast thou forgotten thy anxiety that we should meet, when we were last together, holding at naught, in thy merry mood, my betrothment to Lord John—­that I should turn him from his wandering ways, and make him patriotic as myself?  Thou seest, Mary, thy brother needed not such influence.”

“Of a truth, no,” answered her friend; “for his present partner is a very contrast to thyself, and would rather, by her weak and trembling fears, dissuade him from his purpose than inspire and encourage it.  Well do I remember that fancy of my happy childhood, and still I wish it had been so, all idle as it seems—­strange that ye never met.”

“Nay, save thyself, Mary, thy family resided more in England than in Scotland, and for the last seventeen years the territory of Buchan has been my only home, with little interruption to my solitude; yet I have heard much of late of the Earl of Carrick, and from whom thinkest thou?—­thou canst not guess—­even from thy noble brother Nigel.”