s called Kildrummie. The king also left
his youngest brother, Nigel Bruce, to defend the castle against the
English; and he himself, with his second brother Edward, who was a very
brave man, but still more rash and passionate than Robert himself, went
over to an island on the coast of Ireland, where Bruce and the few men
who followed his fortunes passed the winter of 1306. In the meantime,
ill luck seemed to pursue all his friends in Scotland. The castle of
Kildrummie was taken by the English, and Nigel Bruce, a beautiful and
brave youth, was cruelly put to death by the victors. The ladies who had
attended on Robert's queen, as well as the queen herself, and the
Countess of Buchan, were thrown into strict confinement, and treated
with the utmost severity.

It was about this time that an incident took place, which, although it
rests only on tradition in families of the name of Bruce, is rendered
probable by the manners of the times. After receiving the last
unpleasing intelligence from Scotland, Bruce was lying one morning on
his wretched bed, and deliberating with himself whether he had not
better resign all thoughts of again attempting to make good his right to
the Scottish crown, and, dismissing his followers, transport himself and
his brothers to the Holy Land, and spend the rest of his life in
fighting against the Saracens; by which he thought, perhaps, he might
deserve the forgiveness of Heaven for the great sin of stabbing Comyn in
the church at Dumfries. But then, on the other hand, he thought it would
be both criminal and cowardly to give up his attempts to restore freedom
to Scotland while there yet remained the least chance of his being
successful in an undertaking, which, rightly considered, was much more
his duty than to drive the infidels out of Palestine, though the
superstition of his age might think otherwise.

While he was divided between these reflections, and doubtful of what he
should do, Bruce was looking upward to the roof of the cabin in which he
lay; and his eye was attracted by a spider, which, hanging at the end of
a long thread of its own spinning, was endeavoring, as is the fashion of
that creature, to swing itself from one beam in the roof to another, for
the purpose of fixing the line on which it meant to stretch its web. The
insect made the attempt again and again without success; at length Bruce
counted that it had tried to carry its point six times, and been as
often unable to do so. It