-stained
hands!"

"Thou talkest wildly, Nigel," answered the lad, sorrowfully, his
features assuming an expression of judgment and feeling beyond his
years. "Who is there in Scotland will do this thing? who will dare again
the tyrant's rage? Is not this unhappy country divided within itself,
and how may it resist the foreign foe?"

"Wallace! think of Wallace! Did he not well-nigh wrest our country from
the tyrant's hands? And is there not one to follow in the path he
trod--no noble heart to do what he hath done?"

"Nigel, yes. Let but the rightful king stand forth, and were there none
other, I--even I, stripling as I am, with my good sword and single arm,
even with the dark blood of Comyn in my veins, Alan of Buchan, would
join him, aye, and die for him!"

"There spoke the blood of Duff, and not of Comyn!" burst impetuously
from the lips of Nigel, as he grasped the stripling's ready hand; "and
doubt not, noble boy, there are other hearts in Scotland bold and true
as thine; and even as Wallace, one will yet arise to wake them from
their stagnant sleep, and give them freedom."

"Wallace," said the maiden, fearfully; "ye talk of Wallace, of his bold
deeds and bolder heart, but bethink ye of his _fate_. Oh, were it not
better to be still than follow in his steps unto the scaffold?"

"Dearest, no; better the scaffold and the axe, aye, even the iron
chains and hangman's cord, than the gilded fetters of a tyrant's yoke.
Shame on thee, sweet Agnes, to counsel thoughts as these, and thou a
Scottish maiden." Yet even as he spoke chidingly, the voice of Nigel
became soft and thrilling, even as it had before been bold and daring.

"I fear me, Nigel, I have but little of my mother's blood within my
veins. I cannot bid them throb and bound as hers with patriotic love and
warrior fire. A lowly cot with him I loved were happiness for me."

"But that cot must rest upon a soil unchained, sweet Agnes, or joy could
have no resting there. Wherefore did Scotland rise against her
tyrant--why struggle as she hath to fling aside her chains? Was it her
noble sons? Alas, alas! degenerate and base, they sought chivalric fame;
forgetful of their country, they asked for knighthood from proud
Edward's hand, regardless that that hand had crowded fetters on their
fatherland, and would enslave their sons. Not to them did Scotland owe
the transient gleam of glorious light which, though extinguished in the
patriot's blood, hath left its trace beh