aw."

"I crave your pardon, cousin," said the gentle old man. "I own you have
had some wrong; but my Rothsay will be murdered--I must go myself."

But, as he arose precipitately from his chair, the poor king missed a
footstep, stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground, in such a manner
that, his head striking the corner of the seat from which he had risen,
he became for a minute insensible. The sight of the accident at once
overcame March's resentment and melted his heart. He ran to the fallen
monarch, and replaced him in his seat, using, in the tenderest and most
respectful manner, such means as seemed most fit to recall animation.

Robert opened his eyes, and gazed around with uncertainty. "What has
happened?--are we alone?--who is with us?"

"Your dutiful subject, March," replied the Earl.

"Alone with the Earl of March!" repeated the King, his still disturbed
intellect receiving some alarm from the name of a powerful chief whom he
had reason to believe he had mortally offended.

"Yes, my gracious liege, with poor George of Dunbar, of whom many have
wished your Majesty to think ill, though he will be found truer to your
royal person at the last than they will."

"Indeed, cousin, you have had too much wrong; and believe me, we shall
strive to redress--"

"If your Grace thinks so, it may yet be righted," interrupted the Earl,
catching at the hopes which his ambition suggested: "the Prince and
Marjory Douglas are nearly related--the dispensation from Rome was
informally granted--their marriage cannot be lawful--the Pope, who will
do much for so godly a prince, can set aside this unchristian union, in
respect of the pre-contract. Bethink you well, my liege," continued
the Earl, kindling with a new train of ambitious thoughts, to which
the unexpected opportunity of pleading his cause personally had given
rise--"bethink you how you choose betwixt the Douglas and me. He is
powerful and mighty, I grant. But George of Dunbar wears the keys of
Scotland at his belt, and could bring an English army to the gates of
Edinburgh ere Douglas could leave the skirts of Carintable to oppose
them. Your royal son loves my poor deserted girl, and hates the haughty
Marjory of Douglas. Your Grace may judge the small account in which he
holds her by his toying with a common glee maiden even in the presence
of her father."

The King had hitherto listened to the Earl's argument with the
bewildered feelings of a timid horseman, borne awa