A soft breeze from over the moorland played with the silvery locks of the old man’s bare head.  He turned his face to the east and looked across the gray waters of the Clyde, where above the hills of Cunningham, the dawn was breaking into day.  Southward then he gazed and watched the giant mountains of Arran that were half shrouded in rosy mists.  Very soon the golden light of the rising sun kissed here and there the jagged peaks of Goatfell, and Dovenald bent his head and murmured a prayer, calling upon God to shed His light into the hearts of men and to guide them in the solemn work they were called upon to fulfil that day.  Then he turned to Alpin.

“Now kindle me the fire,” he said.  “Here are flint and steel.

“And, Kenric, give me the arrow.”

He took the arrow in his hand and waited till the fire was well alight.  With the arrow’s point he stirred the flaming twigs, and the two youths looked on.

“And now take your dirk, Alpin,” said he, “and slay me the kid.  Give as little pain as may be, for it is not well that the innocent thing should suffer.”

Kenric held the animal while his brother drove his sharp dirk into its white and throbbing throat.  The kid turned its soft blue eyes upon him and gave a plaintive bleat.  Its warm breath rose visible in the morning air and then died away.

“’Tis done!” said Kenric, and Dovenald brought the burning arrow and extinguished it in the kid’s blood.  With the innocent blood he smeared the arrow’s shaft.

“Fly now as speedily as your feet can carry you to the castle of Kilmory,” said the old man to Alpin, giving him the arrow, “and you will give this burnt arrow into the hands of Sir Oscar Redmain.  No need have you to tell him the meaning thereof.  It is a summons ordained by ancient custom, and well known to all the wise men of Bute.  Sir Oscar will despatch it to our good father the abbot of St. Blane’s.  The abbot will in like manner send it to Ronald Gray of Scoulag.  So, in turn, will it pass round to each of the twelve wise ruthmen, calling them one and all to hasten to the Seat of Law on the great plain beside Ascog mere, that they may there in solemn assize pronounce judgment upon the traitor who hath slain our king.

“Haste! haste! my son.  Why do you tarry?”

“Have I not sworn an oath on my mother’s blessing that I will have this man Roderic’s life?  Why, then, should this assize be assembled?”

“Go, do my bidding, rash boy,” said Dovenald sternly.  “Seek not to oppose the customs of your ancestors, and let not your thirst for vengeance now blind you to the folly of violence.  Go, I command you; and believe me the earl of Gigha shall not escape just retribution.”

Alpin, then, taking the arrow in his right hand, ran off at a brisk pace down the hill.  Kenric took up the dead kid and walked at Dovenald’s side towards Rothesay.

“Rash, rash that he is,” murmured the old man.  “Much do I fear that he will make but a sorry king.  He is over hasty, and his judgment is ofttimes wrong.  He will not rule as did his father.  The Lady Adela hath spoiled him with her caresses.”