spirit sprang up with the sound. He waved
his sword above his head, and threw himself into a posture of defence;
but ere they reached him, there was a sudden and rapid tramp of horse,
and the voice of Nigel Bruce shouted--

"Mount, mount! God in heaven be thanked, I am here in time!"

Alan sprung into the saddle; he thought not to inquire how that charger
had been found, nor knew he till some weeks after that Nigel had exposed
his own person to imminent danger, to secure one of the many steeds
flying masterless over the plain. On, on they went, and frequently the
head of Alan drooped from very faintness to his saddle-bow, and Nigel
feared to see him fall exhausted to the earth, but still they pursued
their headlong way. Death was behind them, and the lives of all true and
loyal Scotsmen were too precious to admit a pause.

The sun had risen when King Robert gazed round him on the remnant of his
troops. It was a wild brake, amid surrounding rocks and mountains where
they stood; a torrent threw itself headlong from a craggy steep, and
made its way to the glen, tumbling and roaring and dashing over the
black stones that opposed its way. The dark pine, the stunted fir, the
weeping birch, and many another mountain tree, marked the natural
fertility of the soil, although its aspect seemed wild and rude. It was
to this spot the king had desired the fugitives to direct their several
ways, and now he gazed upon all, all that were spared to him and
Scotland from that disastrous night. In scattered groups they stood or
sate; their swords fallen from their hands, their heads drooping on
their breasts, with the mien of men whose last hope had been cast on a
single die, and wrecked forever. And when King Robert thought of the
faithful men who, when the sun had set the previous evening, had
gathered round him in such devoted patriotism, such faithful love, and
now beheld the few there were to meet his glance, to give him the
sympathy, the hope he needed, scarcely could he summon energy sufficient
to speak against hope, to rally the failing spirits of his remaining
followers. Mar, Athol, Hay, Fraser, he knew were prisoners, and he knew,
too, that in their cases that word was but synonymous with death.
Lennox, his chosen friend, individually the dearest of all his
followers, he too was not there, though none remembered his being taken;
Randolph, his nephew, and about half of those gallant youths who not ten
days previous had received