, and did she not claim kinship with
Bruce himself? So fear to her was a thing unknown.

I, who was a woman of fifty then, and am well-nigh ninety now, can truly
say that in all the course of a long life, I never saw courage like to
hers.

I remember, as though it were yesterday, that cold January morning when
my lord set off to the Burgh Muir, where he was to meet with the Regent.
When all was ready, and his men were mounted and drawn up, waiting for
their master, my lady stepped forth joyously, in the sight of them all,
and buckled on her husband's armour.

"Ride forth and do battle for thy country and thine infant King, poor
babe," she said, "and vex not thy heart for us who are left behind. We
deserve not the name we bear, if we cannot hold the Castle till thy
return, even though it were against King Edward himself. Thinkest thou
not so, Marian?" and she turned round to where I was standing, a few
paces back, with little Mistress Marjory clinging to my skirts, and
little Mistress Jean in my arms.

For though I was but her bower-woman, I was of the same clan as my lady,
and had served in her family all my life. I had carried her in my arms
as I now carried her little daughter, and, at her marriage, I had come
with her to her husband's home.

"Indeed, Madam, I trow we can, God and the Saints helping us," I
answered, and at her brave words the soldiers raised a great cheer, and
my lord, who was usually a stern man, and slow to show his feelings, put
his arm round her and kissed her on the lips.

"Spoken like my own true wife," he said. "But in good troth, Sweetheart,
methinks there is nothing to fear. For very shame neither King Edward
nor his Captains will war against a woman, and, e'en if they do, if thou
but keep the gates locked, and the portcullis down, I defy any one of
them to gain admittance. And, look ye, the well in the courtyard will
never run dry--'tis sunk in the solid rock--and besides the beeves that
were salted down at Martinmas, and the meal that was laid in at the end
of harvest, there are bags of grain hidden down in the dungeons, enough
to feed a score of men for three months at least."

So saying, he leaped into his saddle, and rode out of the gateway, a
gallant figure at the head of his troop of armed men, while we climbed
to the top of the tower, and stood beside old Andrew, the watchman, and
gazed after them until the last glint of their armour disappeared behind
a rising hill.

After