the
fight. The king gave a signal (perhaps because his young queen was
horrified with the game of butchery), and at the command of the marshals
the combatants on both sides laid down their arms. Reiterated shouts
again rang from the spectators. Some clapped their hands and
cried--"Eyemouth yet!"--"Wha's like Andrew!"--"We'll carry him hame
shouther high!" cried some of his townsmen.

During the combat, poor Janet had been blind with anxiety, and was
supported in the arms of the spectators who saw him rush from her side.
But as the shouts of his name burst on her ear, consciousness returned;
and she beheld him, with the sword in his hand, hastening towards her.
Yet ere he had reached where she stood, he was summoned, by the
men-at-arms, who had kept the multitude from pressing into the
amphitheatre, to appear before the king, to receive from his hands the
promised reward.

Anxious as he had been to obtain the prize, poor Andrew, notwithstanding
his heroism, trembled at the thought of appearing in the presence of a
monarch. His idea of the king was composed of imaginings of power, and
greatness, and wisdom, and splendour--he knew him to be a man, but he
did not think of him as such. And he said to those who summoned him to
the royal presence--

"Oh, save us a', sirs! what shall I say to him? or what will he say to
me? How shall I behave? I would rather want the siller than gang wi'
ye!"

In this state of tremor and anxiety, Andrew was conducted towards the
canopied dais before the Majesty of Scotland. He was led to the foot of
the steps which ascended to the seat where the monarch and his bride
sat. His eyes were riveted to the ground, and he needed not to doff his
bonnet, for he had lost it in the conflict.

"Look up, brave cock o' the Borders," said the monarch; "certes, man, ye
would hae an ill-faured face if ye needed to hide it, after exhibiting
sic a heart and arm."

Andrew raised his head in confusion; but scarce had his eyes fallen on
the countenance of the king, when he started back, as though he beheld
the face of a spirit.

"Ha! traitor!" exclaimed the monarch, and a frown gathered on his brow.

In a moment, Andrew perceived that his victor-wrestler--his crony in
Lucky Hewitt's--the tempter of his Janet--the man whom he had felled
with a blow, and whose blood he had drawn--and the King of Scotland, was
one and the same person.

"Guid gracious!" exclaimed Andrew, "I'm a done man!"

"Seize him!" sa