tudes at her feet, most of them fast asleep. It was evident
that they had no idea of surprise, and that their only fear was
associated with the escape of their prisoner.

"They are little more than man to man," said the Bruce; "therefore is
there no need for further surprise than will attend the blast of your
bugle, Sir Alan. Sound the reveille, and on to the rescue."

He was obeyed, and the slumberers, with suppressed oaths, started to
their feet, glancing around them a brief minute in inquiring
astonishment as to whence the sound came. It was speedily explained: man
after man sprang through the thicket, and rushed upon the foes, several
of whom, gathering themselves around their prisoner, seemed determined
that her liberty should not be attained with her life, more than once
causing the swords of the Bruce's followers to turn aside in their rapid
descent, less they should injure her they sought to save. Like a young
lion Alan fought, ably seconded by the king, whose gigantic efforts
clearing his path, at length enabled himself and Alan to stand uninjured
beside the countess, and thus obtain possession of her person, and guard
her from the injury to which her captors voluntarily exposed her. There
was at first no attempt at flight, although the Bruce's men carried all
before them; the men fell where they stood, till only five remained,
and these, after a moment's hesitation, turned and fled. A shrill cry
from Malcolm had turned the king's and Alan's attention in another
direction, and it was well they did so. Determined on foiling the
efforts of his foes, Donald MacAlpine, who was supposed to be among the
fallen, had stealthily approached the spot where the countess, overcome
with excessive faintness, still reclined, then noiselessly rising, his
sword was descending on her unguarded head, when Alan, aroused by
Malcolm's voice, turned upon him and dashed his weapon from his grasp,
at the same minute that the Bruce's sword pierced the traitor's heart:
he sprung in the air with a loud yell of agony, and fell, nearly
crushing the countess with his weight.

It was the voice of Alan which aroused that fainting heart. It was in
the bosom of her son those tearful eyes were hid, after one startled and
bewildered gaze on the countenance of her sovereign, who had been
leaning over her in unfeigned anxiety. A thicket of thorn, mingled with
crags, divided her from the unseemly signs of the late affray; but
though there was naught