ll thou sayest!" exclaimed Edward, his wrath once again
gaining dominion. "Wouldst thou defend this base deed on plea, forsooth,
that Comyn was a traitor? Traitor--and to whom?"

"To the man that trusted him, my liege; to him he falsely swore to
second and to aid. To every law of knighthood and of honor I say he was
a traitor, and deserved his fate."

"And this to thy sovereign, madman? To us, whose dignity and person
have been insulted, lowered, trampled on! By all the saints, thou hast
tempted us too far! What ho, there, guards! Am I indeed so old and
witless," he muttered, sinking back again upon the couch from which he
had started in the moment of excitement, "as so soon to forget a
knightly nobleness, which in former days would have knitted my very soul
to his? Bah! 'tis this fell disease that spoke, not Edward. Away with
ye, sir guards, we want ye not," he added, imperatively, as they
approached at his summons. "And thou, sir earl, take up thy sword, and
hence from my sight a while;--answer not, but obey. I fear more for mine
own honor than thou dost for thy head. We neither disarm nor restrain
thee, for we trust thee still; but away with thee, for on our kingly
faith, thou hast tried us sorely."

Gloucester flung himself on his knee beside his sovereign, his lips upon
the royal hand, which, though scarcely yielded to him, was not withheld,
and hastily resuming his sword and coronet, with a deep reverence,
silently withdrew.

The king looked after him, admiration and fierce anger struggling for
dominion alike on his countenance as in his heart, and then sternly and
piercingly he scanned the noble crowd, who, hushed into a silence of
terror as well as of extreme interest during the scene they had beheld,
now seemed absolutely to shrink from the dark, flashing orbs of the
king, as they rested on each successively, as if the accusation of _lip_
would follow that of eye, and the charge of treason fall
indiscriminately on all; but, exhausted from the passion to which he had
given vent, Edward once more stretched himself on his cushions, and
merely muttered--

"Deserved his fate--a traitor. Is Gloucester mad--or worse, disloyal?
No; that open brow and fearless eye are truth and faithfulness alone. I
will _not_ doubt him; 'tis but his lingering love for that foul traitor,
Bruce, which I were no true knight to hold in blame. But that murder,
that base murder--insult alike to our authority, our realm--by every
saint