captive, and he stood by, fighting indeed like a
lion, dealing death wherever his sword fell, but utterly unable to
rescue or defend him. Again his men thronged round him, their rallying
point, their inspiring hope, their guardian spirit; again he was on
horseback, and still, still that fearful strife continued. Aided by the
darkness, the Bruce in his secret soul yet encouraged one gleam of hope,
yet dreamed of partial success, at least of avoiding that almost worse
than death, a total and irremediable defeat. Alas, had the daylight
suddenly illumined that scene, he would have felt, have seen that hope
was void.

Gallantly, meanwhile, gallantly even as a warrior of a hundred fields,
had the young heir of Buchan redeemed his pledge to his sovereign, and
devoted sword and exposed life in his cause. The standard of Scotland
had never touched the ground. Planting it firmly in the earth, he had
for a while defended it nobly where he stood, curbing alike the high
spirit of his prancing horse and his own intense longing to dash forward
in the thickest of the fight. He saw his companions fall one by one,
till he was well-nigh left alone. He heard confused cries, as of
triumph; he beheld above twenty Englishmen dashing towards him, and he
felt a few brief minutes and his precious charge might be waved in scorn
as a trophy by the victors; the tide of battle had left him for an
instant comparatively alone, and in that instant his plan was formed.

"Strike hard, and fear not!" he cried to an old retainer, who stirred
not from his side; "divide this heavy staff, and I will yet protect my
charge, and thou and I, Donald, will to King Robert's side; he needs all
true men about him now."

Even as he spoke his command was understood and obeyed. One sweep of the
stout Highlander's battle-axe severed full four feet of the heavy lance
to which the standard was attached and enabled Alan without any
inconvenience to grasp in his left hand the remainder, from which the
folds still waved: grasping his sword firmly in his right, and giving
his horse the rein, shouting, "Comyn, to the rescue!" he darted towards
the side where the strife waxed hottest.

It was a cry which alike startled friends and foes, for that name was
known to one party as so connected with devotee adherence to Edward, to
the other so synonymous with treachery, that united as it was with "to
the rescue," some there were who paused to see whence and from whom it
came. The b