The day had been extremely sultry, and trusting in full confidence to the honor of his opponent, and willing to give his men all needful rest, the king dismissed them from their ranks to refreshment and repose, leaving but very few to guard, himself retiring with his older officers to a tent prepared for his reception.

Arm in arm, and deep in converse, Nigel Bruce and Alan of Buchan wandered a little apart from their companions, preferring a hasty meal and the calm beauty of a lovely summer evening, accompanied by a refreshing breeze, to remaining beside the rude but welcome meal, and sharing the festivity which enlivened it.

“Thinkest thou not, Nigel, his grace trusts but too fully to the honor of these Englishmen?” asked Alan, somewhat abruptly, turning the conversation from the dearer topics of Agnes and her mother, which had before engrossed them.

“On my faith, if he judge of them by his own true, noble spirit, he judges them too well.”

“Nay, thou art over-suspicious, friend Alan,” answered Nigel, smiling.  “What fearest thou?”

“I like not the absence of all guards, not so much for the safety of our own camp, but to keep sharp watch on the movements of our friends yonder.  Nigel, there is some movement; they look not as they did an hour ago.”

“Impossible, quite impossible, Alan; the English knights are too chivalric, too honorable, to advance on us to-night.  If they have made a movement, ’tis but to repose.”

“Nigel, if Pembroke feel inclined to take advantage of our unguarded situation, he will swear, as many have done before him, that a new day began with the twelve-chime bell of this morning, and be upon us ere we are aware; and I say again, there is movement, and warlike movement, too, in yonder army.  Are tents deserted, and horses and men collected, for the simple purpose of retiring to rest?  Come with me to yon mound, and see if I be not correct in my surmise.”

Startled by Alan’s earnest manner, despite his firm reliance on Pembroke’s honor, Nigel made no further objection, but hastened with him to the eminence he named.  It was only too true.  Silently and guardedly the whole English army, extending much further towards Perth than was visible to the Scotch, had been formed in battle array, line after line stretching forth its glittering files, in too compact and animated array to admit of a doubt as to their intentions.  The sun had completely sunk, and dim mists were spreading up higher and higher from the horizon, greatly aiding the treacherous movements of the English.

“By heavens, ’tis but too true!” burst impetuously from Nigel’s lips, indignation expressed in every feature.  “Base, treacherous cowards!  Hie thee to the king—­fly for thy life—­give him warning, while I endeavor to form the lines.  In vain, utterly in vain!” he muttered, as Alan with the speed of lightning darted down the slope.  “They are formed—­fresh, both man and horse—­double, aye, more than treble our numbers; they will be upon us ere the order of battle can be formed, and defeat now—­”