h. I only dread pursuit."

"Pursuit! and by whom?"

"By her father. Men said he was close beside me during that horrible
hour, though I saw him not; if he observed her, traced to her lips that
maddening shriek, it would excite his curiosity quite sufficiently for
him to trace my steps, and discovery were then inevitable."

"But did he do this--hast seen him since?"

"No, he has avoided me; but still, for her sake, I fear him. I know not
how or when, but there are boding whispers within me that all will not
be well. Now I would have news from thee. Is Hereford released?"

"Yes; coupled with the condition that he enters not my father's presence
until Easter. He is deeply and justly hurt; but more grieved at the
change in his sovereign than angered at the treatment of himself."

"No marvel; for if ever there were a perfect son of chivalry, one most
feelingly alive to its smallest point of honor, it is Humphrey Bohun."

So spoke Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, unconscious that he
himself had equal right to a character so exalted; that both Scottish
and English historians would emulate each other in handing his name down
to posterity, surrounded by that lucid halo of real worth, on which the
eye turns again and again to rest for relief from the darker minds and
ruder hearts which formed the multitude of the age in which he lived.
The duties of friendship were performed in his preservation of the
person, and constant and bold defence of the character of the Bruce; the
duties of a subject, in dying on the battle-field in service for his
king.

The boding prognostics of the Earl of Gloucester were verified ere that
day closed. While still in earnest converse with his countess, a
messenger came from the king, demanding their instant presence in his
closet. The summons was so unusual, that in itself it was alarming, nor
did the sight of the Earl of Buchan in close conference with the monarch
decrease their fears. As soon as a cessation of his pains permitted the
exertion, Buchan had been sent for by the king; the issue of his
inquiries after his daughter demanded, and all narrated; his interview
with Sir Nigel dwelt upon with all the rancor of hate. Edward had
listened without making any observation; a twinkle of his still bright
eye, an expression about the lips alone betraying that he not only heard
but was forming his own conclusions from the tale.

"And you have no clue, no thought of her retreat?" he asked, at