“Simply, your grace, that by encouraging a little while the report of his death, his friends in Scotland will forget that he ever existed, and make no effort for his rescue; which belief, wild and unfounded as it is, I imagine supports him in his strenuous determination to live and die a traitor to your highness.  I have no hatred to the boy; nay, an he would let me, could love and be proud of him, now his mother cannot cross my path, and would gladly see him devoted, as myself, to the interests of your grace.  Nor do I despair of this; he is very young, and his character cannot be entirely formed.  He will tire in time of dark and solitary confinement, and gladly accept any conditions I may offer.”

“Gives he any proof as yet of this yielding mood?”

“By mine honor, no, your highness; he is firm and steadfast as the ocean rock.”

“Then wherefore thinkest thou he will change in time?”

“Because as yet, my gracious liege, the foul, treacherous principles of his mother have not ceased to work.  An entire cessation of intercourse between them will show him his mistake at last, and this could never be, did she know he lived.  Imprisoned, guarded as she is, she would yet find some means of communication with him, and all my efforts would be of no avail.  Let a year roll by, and I will stake my right hand that Alan of Buchan becomes as firm a supporter and follower of King Edward as ever his father was.  Is the boy more than mortal, and does your grace think life, liberty, riches, honors, will not weigh against perpetual imprisonment and daily thoughts of death?”

So spoke the Earl of Buchan, judging, as most men, others by himself, utterly unable to comprehend the high, glorious, self-devoted, patriotic spirit of his noble son.  He persevered in his course of fiend-like cruelty, excusing it to his own conscience, if he had any, by the belief it would end but in his son’s good—­an end, indeed, he seldom thought of attaining; but there was something in the idea of a son, an heir, and one so prepossessing in appearance as Alan of Buchan, that touched his pride, the only point on which his flinty heart was vulnerable.

“So thou thinkest, sir earl?” resumed the king, who perhaps in his own secret soul did not entirely think with him.  “Meanwhile the stripling may laugh thy parental care to scorn, by escaping from iron chains and stone walls, and seeking out the arch rebel Bruce, make up at the sword’s point for lost time.  Beware, sir earl, an he be taken again thus in arms against us, even thy loyal services will not save his head!”

“I should not even ask your grace’s clemency,” replied the earl, his features assuming a fearful expression as he spoke.  “An he thus turned traitor again to his father’s house, spurning mine and your grace’s favor, to join the base murderer of his kinsman, he shall be no more to me than others, whose treason hath cost their heads; but I have no fear of this.  He cannot escape, guarded