he officers rushed
amidst the infuriated men, bidding them keep their weapons and their
lives for the foe, who in such a moment would assuredly be upon them; in
vain they commanded, exhorted, implored; but on a sudden, the voice of
Sir Nigel Bruce was heard above the tumult, loud, stern, commanding. His
form was seen hurrying from group to group, turning back with his own
sword the weapons of his men, giving life even to those who had wrought
this woe; and there was a sudden hush, a sudden pause.

"Peace, peace!" he cried. "Would ye all share the madness of these men?
They have hurled down destruction, let them reap it; let them live to
thrive and fatten in their chains; let them feel the yoke they pine for.
For us, my friends and fellow-soldiers, let us not meet our glorious
fate with the blood of Scotsmen on our swords. We have striven for our
country; we have striven gloriously, faithfully, and now we have but to
die for her. Ha! do I speak in vain? Again--back, coward! wouldst thou
slay a woman?" and, with a sudden bound, he stood beside one of the
soldiers, who was in the act of plunging his dagger in the breast of a
kneeling and struggling female. One moment sufficed to wrench the dagger
from his grasp, and release the woman from his hold.

"It is ill done, your lordship; it is the fiend, the arch-fiend that has
planned it all," loudly exclaimed the man. "She has been heard to mutter
threats of vengeance, and blood and fire against thee, and all belonging
to thee. Let her not go free, my lord; thou mayest repent it still."

"Repent giving a woman life?--bah! Thou art a fool, though a faithful
one," answered Sir Nigel; but even he started as he recognized the
features of Jean Roy. She gave him no time to restrain her, however;
for, sliding from his hold, she bounded several paces from him, singing,
as she did so, "Repent, ye shall repent! Where is thy buxom bride? Jean
Roy will see to her safety. A bonny courtship ye shall have!" Tossing up
her arms wildly, she vanished as she spoke; seeming in that light in
very truth more like a fiend than woman. A chill sunk on the heart of
Nigel, but, "No, no," he said, internally, as again he sought the spot
where confusion and horror waxed thickest; "Dermid will care for Agnes,
and guard her. I will not think of that mad woman's words." Yet even as
he rushed onwards, giving directions, commands, lending his aid to every
effort made for extinguishing the fire, a prayer for hi