ashed above the Bruce.
With one bound, one shout, I sprang on the murderous wretch, wrenched
the dagger from his grasp, and dashed him to the earth. He struggled,
but in vain; the king started from that deep slumber, one moment gazed
around him bewildered, the next was on his feet, and by my side. The
soldiers rushed into the tent, and confusion for the moment waxed loud
and warm; but the king quelled it with a word. The villain was raised,
pinioned, brought before the Bruce, who sternly demanded what was his
intent, and who was his employer. Awhile the miscreant paused, but then,
as if spell-bound by the flashing orb upon him, confessed the whole,
aye, and more; that his master, the Earl of Buchan, had sworn a deep and
deadly oath to relax not in his hot pursuit till the life-blood of the
Bruce had avenged the death of the Red Comyn, and that, though he had
escaped now, he must fall at length, for the whole race of Comyn had
joined hands upon their chieftain's oath. The brow of the king grew
dark, terrible wrath beamed from his eyes, and it seemed for the moment
as if he would deliver up the murderous villain into the hands that
yearned to tear him piecemeal. There was a struggle, brief yet terrible,
then he spoke, and calmly, yet with a bitter stinging scorn.

"'And this is Buchan's oath,' he said. 'Ha! doth he not bravely, my
friends, to fly the battle-field, to shun us there, that hireling hands
may do a deed he dares not? For this poor fool, what shall we do with
him?'

"'Death, death--torture and death! what else befits the sacrilegious
traitor?' burst from many voices, pressing forward to seize and bear him
from the tent; but the king signed them to forbear, and oh, what a smile
took the place of his previous scorn!

"'And I say neither torture nor death, my friends,' he tried. 'What, are
we sunk so low, as to revenge this insult on a mere tool, the
instrument of a villainous master? No, no! let him go free, and tell his
lord how little the Bruce heeds him; that guarded as he is by a free
people's love, were the race of Comyn as powerful and numerous as
England's self, their oath would avail them nothing. Let the poor fool
go free!'

"A deep wild murmur ran through the now crowded tent, and so mingled
were the tones of applause and execration, we knew not which the most
prevailed.

"'And shall there be no vengeance for this dastard deed?' at length the
deep, full voice of Lord Edward Bruce arose, distinct a