ole inhabitants.
The tales of the minstrel were called for and received with a glee which
seemed to make all his listeners feel young again. Agnes alone sate
apart; her delicate frame and evident exhaustion concealing deeper
sufferings from her hosts, who vied with each other in seeking to
alleviate her fatigue and give bodily comfort, if they could offer no
other consolation. Leaning back in a large settle in the chimney corner,
she had seemed unconscious of the cheerful sociability around her, when
suddenly she arose, and advancing to Dermid, laid a trembling hand on
his arm. He looked up surprised.

"Hist!" she murmured, throwing back the hair from her damp brow. "Hear
ye no sound?"

All listened for a time in vain.

"Again," she said; "'tis nearer, more distinct. Who comes with a troop
of soldiers here?"

It was indeed the heavy trampling of many horse, at first so distant as
scarcely to be distinguished, save by ears anxious and startled as old
Dermid's; but nearer and nearer they came, till even the inmates of the
house all huddled, together in alarm. Agnes remained standing, her hand
on Dermid's arm, her head thrown back, her features bearing an
expression scarce to be defined. The horses' hoofs, mingled with the
clang of armor, rung sharp and clear on the stones of the courtyard.
They halted: the pommel of a sword was struck against the oaken door,
and a night's lodging courteously demanded. The terror of the owners of
the house subsided, for the voice they heard was Scotch.

The door was thrown open, the request granted, with the same hospitality
as had been extended to the minstrel and the page. On the instant there
was a confused sound of warriors dismounting, of horses eager for
stabling and forage; and one tall and stately figure, clad from head to
foot in mail, entered the house, and removing his helmet, addressed some
words of courteous greeting and acknowledgment to its inmates. A loud
exclamation burst from the minstrel's lips; but Agnes uttered no sound,
she made one bound forward, and dropped senseless at the warrior's feet.

CHAPTER XXVII.

It was on a cool evening, near the end of September, 1311, that a troop,
consisting of about thirty horse, and as many on foot, were leisurely
traversing the mountain passes between the counties of Dumfries and
Lanark. Their arms were well burnished; their buff coats and half-armor
in good trim; their banner waved proudly from its staff, as bright