news, great, glorious news, which will not brook delay. A royal
messenger I come, charged by his grace my king--my country's king--with
missives to his friends, calling on all who spurn a tyrant's yoke--who
love their land, their homes, their freedom--on all who wish for
Wallace--to awake, arise, and join their patriot king!"

"Of whom speakest thou, Sir Robert Keith? I charge thee, speak!"
exclaimed Nigel, starting from the posture of dignified reserve with
which he had welcomed the knight, and springing towards him.

"The patriot and the king!--of whom canst thou speak?" said Alan, at the
same instant. "Thine are, in very truth, marvellous tidings, Sir Knight;
an' thou canst call up one to unite such names, and worthy of them, he
shall not call on me in vain."

"Is he not worthy, Alan of Buchan, who thus flings down the gauntlet,
who thus dares the fury of a mighty sovereign, and with a handful of
brave men prepares to follow in the steps of Wallace, to the throne or
to the scaffold?"

"Heed not my reckless boy, Sir Robert," said the countess, earnestly, as
the eyes of her son fell beneath the knight's glance of fiery reproach;
"no heart is truer to his country, no arm more eager to rise in her
defence."

"The king! the king!" gasped Nigel, some strange over-mastering emotion
checking his utterance. "Who is it that has thus dared, thus--"

"And canst thou too ask, young sir?" returned the knight, with a smile
of peculiar meaning. "Is thy sovereign's name unknown to thee? Is Robert