's friend and sovereign's sister, noble boy, and yet I grieve
to see thee here. The Bruce is but in name a king, uncrowned as yet and
unanointed. His kingdom bounded by the confines of this one fair county,
struggling for every acre at the bright sword's point."

"The greater glory for his subjects, lady," answered the youth. "The
very act of proclaiming himself king removes the chains of Scotland, and
flings down her gage. Fear not, he shall be king ere long in something
more than name."

"And is it thus a Comyn speaks?" said the Lady Campbell. "Ah, were the
idle feuds of petty minds thus laid at rest, bold boy, thy dreams might
e'en be truth; but knowest thou, young man--knowest thou, Isabella, the
breach between the Comyn and the Bruce is widened, and, alas! by blood?"

"Aye, lady; but what boots it? A traitor should have no name, no kin, or
those who bear that name should wash away their race's stain by nobler
deeds of loyalty and valor."

"It would be well did others think with thee," replied Lady Campbell;
"yet I fear me in such sentiments the grandson of the loyal Fife will
stand alone. Isabella, dearest Isabella," she added, laying her hand on
the arm of the countess, and drawing her away from her children, "hast
thou done well in this decision? hast thou listened to the calmer voice
of prudence as was thy wont? hast thou thought on all the evils thou
mayest draw upon thy head, and upon these, so lovely and so dear?"

"Mary, I have thought, weighed, pondered, and yet I am here," answered
the countess, firmly, yet in an accent that still bespoke some inward
struggle. "I know, I feel all, all that thou wouldst urge; that I am
exposing my brave boy to death, perchance, by a father's hand, bringing
him hither to swear fealty, to raise his sword for the Bruce, in direct
opposition to my husband's politics, still more to his will; yet, Mary,
there are mutual duties between a parent and a child. My poor boy has
ever from his birth been fatherless. No kindly word, no glowing smile
has ever met his infancy, his boyhood. He scarce can know his
father--the love, the reverence of a son it would have been such joy to
teach. Left to my sole care, could I instil sentiments other than those
a father's lips bestowed on me? Could I instruct him in aught save
love, devotion to his country, to her rights, her king? I have done this
so gradually, my friend, that for the burst of loyalty, of impetuous
gallantry, which answered Si