“A prisoner?” echoed Allan.

“Breacacha?” said Sir Piers.  “Where is that castle?  In what isle?”

“Over in Coll,” said Duncan, pointing westward across the sea.

Then from the ships of the Earl of Ross came the loud call of a clarion horn.  Sir Piers de Currie moved to go on deck.

“Stay, stay, Sir Piers,” said Allan Redmain.  “Ere You go, give me, I implore you, the liberty to take two of our ships across to Coll, that I may save my friend and master and rescue him from out his dungeon.”

“Little need have you to ask that, Allan,” said the knight.  “Would that I might accompany you!  But I am in the hands of my lord of Ross, whose orders, by the King’s instructions, I am now subject to.  But ere I resign my command, let my last directions be to you, Allan.  Take two of our galleys, with what men you will.  Rescue our dear young friend even if need be at the cost of your own life, and God be with you.  Farewell!”

Allan Redmain had Duncan carried upon the Kraken galley, and, taking also the Seahorse of Arran, with a full company of men upon each, he set out to cross the twenty miles of sea that divide Iona from the island of Coll; while Sir Piers de Currie repaired on board the flagship of the Earl of Ross.

“And now, Duncan,” said Allan, when his two vessels were well under way, “take, I beg you, a little more food —­”

“No, no,” said Duncan, bracing himself up.  “I have already taken what will serve me till I tell you all that has befallen my young master.  Not another bite passes my lips until I have seen him again in life.  But, lest by chance my own life’s breath ebb out too soon, let me direct you to this stronghold wherein the Earl Kenric lies lingering to his death in bitter hunger.  Know, then, that the castle of Breacacha lies at the southeast of Coll.  Could I have got within its strong walls, as you and your men-at-arms may now do, haply I might have saved him.  But I alone am left of those who followed him ashore, and I could not reach him without help.  The great God be thanked that I have at last found it.”

Then Duncan, groaning, threw back his head and closed his eyes.

“Men of Bute,” said Allan, returning to his shipmates, “yonder, in that isle that you see across the waters, our lord Kenric lies perishing of hunger in a castle dungeon.  No more need I say to you, my brave comrades, for well do I know that there is no man of you who will think of rest until we have saved him.  Speed you, my lads, work well your oars, and God grant that we be yet in time.”

“Kenric!  Kenric!” they cried with one voice as they fell to their oars, and so the ship sped on over the chopping waves, leaving the companion galley of Arran to follow in the wake.

“Now, Duncan, if so be you have the strength,” said Allan, going back to his cabin, “I would hear what you have yet to tell.”

Duncan raised himself on his elbow and began.  His tale was told with feeble, faltering voice, and not until afterwards did Allan hear it in all its particulars.