chools, the poet's haunts in
Provence, and I welcomed the delusion; but it was to Scotland that I
came, unknown, and silently, to mark if with her Wallace all life and
soul had fled. I saw enough to know that were there but a fitting head,
her hardy sons would struggle yet for freedom--but not yet; that chief
art thou, and at the close of the last year I took passage to Denmark,
intending to rest there till Scotland called me."

"And 'tis thence thou comest, Nigel? Can it be, intelligence of my
movements hath reached so far north already?" inquired the king,
somewhat surprised at the abruptness of his brother's pause.

"Not so, my liege. The vessel which bore me was wrecked off the breakers
of Buchan, and cast me back again to the arms of Scotland. I found
hospitality, shelter, kindness; nay more, were this a time and place to
speak of happy, trusting love--" he added, turning away from the Bruce's
penetrating eye, "and week after week passed, and found me still an
inmate of the Tower of Buchan."

"Buchan!" interrupted the king, hastily; "the castle of a Comyn, and
thou speakest of love!"

"Of as true, as firm-hearted a Scottish patriot, my liege, as ever lived
in the heart of woman--one that has naught of Comyn about her or her
fair children but the name, as speedily thou wilt have proof. But in
good time is my tale come to a close, for hither comes good Sir Robert,
and other noble knights, who, by their eager brows, methinks, have
matters of graver import for thy grace's ear."

They entered as he spoke. The patriot nobles who, at the first call of
their rightful king, had gathered round his person, few in number, yet
firm in heart, ready to lay down fame, fortune, life, beside his
standard, rather than acknowledge the foreign foe, who, setting aside
all principles of knightly honor, knightly faith, sought to claim their
country as his own, their persons as his slaves. Eager was the greeting
of each and all to the youthful Nigel, mingled with some surprise. Their
conference with the king was but brief, and as it comprised matters more
of speculation than of decided import, we will pass on to a later period
of the same evening.

CHAPTER IV.

"Buchan! the Countess of Buchan, sayest thou, Athelbert? nay, 'tis
scarce possible," said a fair and noble-looking woman, still in the
bloom of life, though early youth had passed, pausing on her way to the
queen's apartment, to answer some information given by the s