ays to renounce the rebel opinions you have so frowardly
held, and to accept the husband whom your uncle and guardian has
chosen for you, your cousin John of Lorne, his son. During that
time none will speak to you. If at the end of three days you are
still contumacious you will be confined to your cell on bread and
water until better thoughts come to you."

While the conversation had been going on, the little group had
halted near the bushes, and they now turned away, leaving Marjory
standing by herself. The girl sat down on a bench close to where
she had been standing, exclaiming to herself as she did so, "They
may shut me up as a prisoner for life, but I will never consent to
take sides against the cause of Scotland or to marry John of Lorne.
Oh! who is there?" she exclaimed, starting suddenly to her feet as
a man's voice behind her said:

"Quite right, Mistress Marjory, well and bravely resolved; but pray
sit down again, and assume an attitude of indifference."

"Who is it that speaks?" the girl asked in a tremulous voice,
resuming her seat.

"It is your true knight, lady, Archibald Forbes, who has come to
rescue you from this captivity."

"But how can you rescue me?" the girl asked after a long pause. "Do
you know the consequences if you are found here within the bounds
of the convent?"

"I care nothing for the consequences," Archie said. "I have in the
woods twenty stout followers. I propose tomorrow to be with three
of them on the lake afishing. If you, when the bell rings for your
return in the evening, will enter that little copse by the side of
the lake, and will show yourself at the water's edge, we will row
straight in and take you off long ere the guards can come hither
to hinder us. The lake is narrow, and we can reach the other side
before any boat can overtake us. There my followers will be awaiting
us, and we can escort you to a place of safety. It is fortunate
that you are ordered to be apart from the rest; none therefore will
mark you as you linger behind when the bell rings for vespers."

Marjory was silent for some time.

"But, Sir Knight," she said, "whither am I to go? for of all my
friends not one, save the good priest, but is leagued against me."

"I can take you either to the Bishop of Glasgow, who is a friend of
the Bruce and whom I know well--he will, I am sure, take charge
of you--or, if you will, lady, I can place you with my mother,
who will receive you as a daughter."

"Bu