They had been seasons of peculiar interest since the dismemberment of Scotland, for Edward’s power was such, that seldom had the peers and other great officers of that land refused the tacit acknowledgment of England’s supremacy by their non-appearance.  Even in that which was deemed the rebellion of Wallace, the highest families, even the competitors for the crown, and all the knights and vassals in their interest, had swelled the train of the conqueror; but this Easter ten or twelve great barons and their followers were missing.  The nobles had eagerly and anxiously scanned the countenances of each, and whispered suspicions and rumors, which one glance on their monarch’s ruffled brow confirmed.

“So ho! my faithful lords and gallant knights,” he exclaimed, after the preliminaries of courtesy between each noble and his sovereign had been more hastily than usual performed, speaking in a tone so unusually harsh and sarcastic, that the terms “faithful and gallant” seemed used but in mockery; “so ho! these are strange news we hear.  Where be my lords of Carrick, Athol, Lennox, Hay?  Where be the knights of Seaton, Somerville, Keith, and very many others we could name?  Where be these proud lords, I say?  Are none of ye well informed on these things?  I ask ye where be they?  Why are they not here?”

There was a pause, for none dared risk reply.  Edward’s voice had waxed louder and louder, his sallow cheek flushed with wrath, and he raised himself from his couch, as if irritability of thought had imparted strength to his frame.

“I ask ye, where be these truant lords?  There be some of ye who can reply; aye, and by good St. Edward, reply ye shall.  Gloucester, my lord of Gloucester, stand forth, I say,” he continued, the thunderstorm drawing to that climax which made many tremble, lest its bolt should fall on the daring baron who rumor said was implicated in the flight of the Bruce, and who now stood, his perfect self-possession and calmness of mien and feature contrasting well with the fury of his sovereign.

“And darest thou front me with that bold, shameless brow, false traitor as thou art?” continued the king, as, with head erect and arms proudly folded in his mantle, Gloucester obeyed the king’s impatient summons.  “Traitor!  I call thee traitor! aye, in the presence of thy country’s noblest peers, I charge thee with a traitor’s deed; deny it, if thou darest.”

“Tis my sovereign speaks the word, else had it not been spoken with impunity,” returned the noble, proudly and composedly, though his cheek burned and his eye flashed.  “Yes, monarch of England, I dare deny the charge!  Gloucester is no traitor!”

“How! dost thou brave me, minion?  Darest thou deny the fact, that from thee, from thy traitorous hand, thy base connivance, Robert of Carrick, warned that we knew his treachery, fled from our power—­that ’tis to thee, we owe the pleasant news we have but now received?  Hast thou not given that rebel Scotland a head, a chief, in this fell traitor, and art thou not part and parcel of his guilt?  Darest thou deny that from thee he received intelligence and means of flight?  Baron of Gloucester, thou darest not add the stigma of falsity to thy already dishonored name!”