injury. The rage of both parties had sunk, through exhaustion, into
sullen desperation. They walked staggering, as if in their sleep,
through the carcasses of the slain, and gazed on them, as if again to
animate their hatred towards their surviving enemies by viewing the
friends they had lost.

The multitude soon after beheld the survivors of the desperate conflict
drawing together to renew the exterminating feud on the banks of the
river, as the spot least slippery with blood, and less encumbered with
the bodies of the slain.

"For God's sake--for the sake of the mercy which we daily pray for,"
said the kind hearted old King to the Duke of Albany, "let this be
ended! Wherefore should these wretched rags and remnants of humanity be
suffered to complete their butchery? Surely they will now be ruled, and
accept of peace on moderate terms?"

"Compose yourself, my liege," said his brother. "These men are the pest
of the Lowlands. Both chiefs are still living; if they go back unharmed,
the whole day's work is cast away. Remember your promise to the council,
that you would not cry 'hold.'"

"You compel me to a great crime, Albany, both as a king, who should
protect his subjects, and as a Christian man, who respects the brother
of his faith."

"You judge wrong, my lord," said the Duke: "these are not loving
subjects, but disobedient rebels, as my Lord of Crawford can bear
witness; and they are still less Christian men, for the prior of the
Dominicans will vouch for me that they are more than half heathen."

The King sighed deeply. "You must work your pleasure, and are too wise
for me to contend with. I can but turn away and shut my eyes from the
sights and sounds of a carnage which makes me sicken. But well I know
that God will punish me even for witnessing this waste of human life."

"Sound, trumpets," said Albany; "their wounds will stiffen if they dally
longer."

While this was passing, Torquil was embracing and encouraging his young
chief.

"Resist the witchcraft but a few minutes longer! Be of good cheer, you
will come off without either scar or scratch, wem or wound. Be of good
cheer!"

"How can I be of good cheer," said Eachin, "while my brave kinsmen have
one by one died at my feet--died all for me, who could never deserve the
least of their kindness?"

"And for what were they born, save to die for their chief?" said
Torquil, composedly. "Why lament that the arrow returns not to the
quiver, providing it