Entering the building, the brother and sister hastily crossed a sort of
outer hall to a chamber where Sir David lay on his bed, attended by the
Prior Akecliff and the Infirmarer. The glad tidings had already reached
him, and he held out his hands, kissed and blessed his restored charges,
and gave thanks with all his heart; but there was a strange wanness upon
his face, and a spasm of severe pain crossed him more than once, though,
as Lilias eagerly asked after his hurts, he called them nothing, since he
had her safe again, and then bade Malcolm summon the captive knight that
he might thank him.

Sir James Stewart had been left in the hall without, to the hospitality
of the monks; he had laid aside his helmet, washed his face, and arranged
his bright locks, and as he rose to follow Malcolm, his majestic stature
and bearing seemed to befit the home of the old Scottish King.

As he entered the chamber, Sir David slightly raised himself on the
pillow, and, with his eyes dilating into a bewildered gaze, exclaimed,
'My liege, my dear master!'

'He raves,' sighed Lilias, clasping Malcolm's hand in dire distress.

'No,' muttered the sick man, sinking back. 'Good King Robert has been in
his grave many a day; his sons, woe is me!--Sir,' recovering himself,
'pardon the error of an old dying man, who owes you more than he can
express.'

'Then, Sir,' said James Stewart, 'grant me the favour of a few moments'
private speech with you. I will not keep you long from him,' he added to
Malcolm and Lilias.