in the other, and thou
badest me choose between, I would not so stain my soul. Death, death
itself were welcome, aye, worse than death--confinement, chains. I would
hug them to my heart as precious boons, rather than live and walk the
earth a traitor."

"Beware!" muttered the earl; "tempt me not too far, rash boy. I would
not do thee ill; I would have pity on thy erring youth, remembering the
evil counsels, the base heart which hath guided thee."

"Do thou beware!" retorted Alan, fiercely. "Speak not such foul words to
me. Father, as I know thou art in blood, there are ties far stronger
which bind me to my mother--ties, neglect, forgetfulness, indifference
as thine can never know. Pity, aye, mercy's self, I scorn them, for I
need them not."

"Ha! sayest thou so; then I swear thou shalt not have them!" exclaimed
the earl, rage again obtaining the ascendant. "I would have saved thee;
I would have given thee freedom, though I needed not the condition that
I offered. Thinkest thou I do not know that the traitor Bruce and his
followers will return hither, and fall into the net prepared? thinkest
thou I know not he is with thee, aye, that he would not have left his
patriot countess thus slightly guarded, an he hoped not to return
himself? He cannot escape me--the murder of Sir John Comyn will be
avenged."

"He shall, he will escape thee, proud earl," undauntedly returned Alan.
"The savior of his wretched country will not be forced to bow before
such as thee; he will be saved out of the net prepared--harassed,
chased, encompassed as he is. I tell thee, Earl of Buchan, he will
escape thee yet."

"Then, by heaven, thy head shall fall for his!" fiercely replied the
earl. "If he return not, he has been forewarned, prepared, and I, fool
as I was, have thought not of this danger. Look to it, proud boy, if the
Bruce return not forty-eight hours hence, and thou art still silent,
thou diest."

He held up his clenched hand in a threatening attitude, but Alan neither
moved nor spoke, firmly returning the earl's infuriated gaze till the
door closed on his father's retreating form. He heard the bolts drawn,
the heavy tramp of the guard, and then he threw himself on the couch,
and buried his face in his hands.

CHAPTER XV.

While these fearful scenes were passing in the hunting-lodge, Malcolm,
the young page already mentioned, had contrived to elude the vigilance
of the earl's numerous followers, and reach the brow of th