n the morning
air and then died away.

"'Tis done!" said Kenric, and Dovenald brought the burning arrow and
extinguished it in the kid's blood. With the innocent blood he smeared
the arrow's shaft.

"Fly now as speedily as your feet can carry you to the castle of
Kilmory," said the old man to Alpin, giving him the arrow, "and you will
give this burnt arrow into the hands of Sir Oscar Redmain. No need have
you to tell him the meaning thereof. It is a summons ordained by ancient
custom, and well known to all the wise men of Bute. Sir Oscar will
despatch it to our good father the abbot of St. Blane's. The abbot will
in like manner send it to Ronald Gray of Scoulag. So, in turn, will it
pass round to each of the twelve wise ruthmen, calling them one and all
to hasten to the Seat of Law on the great plain beside Ascog mere, that
they may there in solemn assize pronounce judgment upon the traitor who
hath slain our king.

"Haste! haste! my son. Why do you tarry?"

"Have I not sworn an oath on my mother's blessing that I will have this
man Roderic's life? Why, then, should this assize be assembled?"

"Go, do my bidding, rash boy," said Dovenald sternly. "Seek not to
oppose the customs of your ancestors, and let not your thirst for
vengeance now blind you to the folly of violence. Go, I command you; and
believe me the earl of Gigha shall not escape just retribution."

Alpin, then, taking the arrow in his right hand, ran off at a brisk pace
down the hill. Kenric took up the dead kid and walked at Dovenald's side
towards Rothesay.

"Rash, rash that he is," murmured the old man. "Much do I fear that he
will make but a sorry king. He is over hasty, and his judgment is
ofttimes wrong. He will not rule as did his father. The Lady Adela hath
spoiled him with her caresses."

"You are over hard upon my brother," said Kenric. "There lives not a man
in the Western Isles better fitted than Alpin for the great office of
kingship. He is just, and noble, and trusty. No man in all Bute can say
that he ever broke a promise or told an untruth. Think you that because
he is hasty with his dirk he is therefore a thoughtless loon, who knows
not when a gentle word can do more service than a blow? When did he ever
draw dirk or sword without just cause? You do not know him as I do,
Dovenald, or you would not breathe a word in his dispraise. And if my
gentle mother loves him above all else next to my father, whom she has
now lost, who shall sa