mates of that room have sought and received intelligence,
had he not been followed by Lord Douglas, Fitz-Alan, and others, their
armor and rank concealed as was Nigel's, who gave the required
information as eagerly as it was desired.

"Robert--my king, my husband--where is he--why is he not here?"
reiterated Margaret, vainly seeking to distinguish his figure amid the
others, obscured as they were by the rapidly-increasing darkness. "Why
is he not with ye--why is he not here?"

"And he is here, Meg; here to chide thy love as less penetrating, less
able to read disguise or concealment than our gentle Agnes there. Nay,
weep not, dearest; my hopes are as strong, my purpose as unchanged, my
trust in heaven as fervent as it was when I went forth to battle. Trial
and suffering must be mine a while, I have called it on my own head; but
still, oh, still thy Robert shall deliver Scotland--shall cast aside her
chains."

The deep, manly voice of the king acted like magic on the depressed
spirits of those around him; and though there was grief, bitter, bitter
grief to tell, though many a heart's last lingering hopes were crushed
'neath that fell certainty, which they thought to have pictured during
the hours of suspense, and deemed themselves strengthened to endure, yet
still 'twas a grief that found vent in tears--grief that admitted of
soothing, of sympathy--grief time might heal, not the harrowing agony of
grief half told--hopes rising to be crushed.

Still did the Countess of Buchan cling to the massive arm of the chair
which Margaret had left, utterly powerless, wholly incapacitated from
asking the question on which her very life seemed to depend. Not even
the insensibility of her Agnes had had the power to rouse her from the
stupor of anxiety which had spread over her, sharpening every faculty
and feeling indeed, but rooting her to the spot. Her boy, her Alan, he
was not amongst those warriors; she heard not the beloved accents of his
voice; she saw not his boyish form--darkness could not deceive her.
Disguise would not prevent him, were he amongst his companions, from
seeking her embrace. One word would end that anguish, would speak the
worst, end it--had he fallen!

The king looked round the group anxiously and inquiringly.

"The Countess of Buchan?" he said; "where is our noble friend? she
surely hath a voice to welcome her king, even though he return to her
defeated."

"Sire, I am here," she said, but with difficul