It was a brief yet determined struggle.  Their swords crossed and recrossed with such force and rapidity, that sparks of fire flashed from the blades; the aim of both appeared rather to unhorse and disarm than slay:  Seymour, perhaps, from admiration of the boy’s extraordinary bravery and daring, and Alan from a feeling of respect for the true chivalry of the English knight.  The rush of battle for a minute unavoidably separated them.  About four feet of the banner-staff yet remained uninjured, both in its stout wood and sharp iron head; with unparalleled swiftness, Alan partly furled the banner round the pike, and transferred it to his right hand, then grasping it firmly, and aiming full at Sir Henry’s helm, backed his horse several paces to allow of a wider field, gave his steed the spur, and dashed forward quick as the wind.  The manoeuvre succeeded.  Completely unprepared for this change alike in weapon and attack, still dazzled and slightly confused by the rush which had divided them, Sir Henry scarcely saw the youthful knight, till he felt his helmet transfixed by the lance, and the blow guided so well and true, that irresistibly it bore him from his horse, and he lay stunned and helpless, but not otherwise hurt, at the mercy of his foe.  Recovering his weapon, Alan, aware that the great disparity of numbers rendered the securing English prisoners but a mere waste of time, contented himself by waving the standard high in air, and again shouting his war-cry, galloped impetuously on.  Wounded he was, but he knew it not; the excitement, the inspiration of the moment was all he felt.

“To the king—­to the king!” shouted Nigel Bruce, urging his horse to the side of Alan, and ably aiding him to strike down their rapidly increasing foes.  “Hemmed in on all sides, he will fall beneath their thirsting swords.  To the king—­to the king!  Yield he never will; and better he should not.  On, on, for the love of life, of liberty, of Scotland!—­on to the king!”

His impassioned words reached even hearts fainting ’neath exhaustion, failing in hope, for they knew they strove in vain; yet did that tone, those words rouse even them, and their flagging limbs grew strong for Robert’s sake, and some yet reached the spot to fight and die around him; others—­alas! the greater number—­fell ere the envied goal was gained.

The sight of the royal standard drew, as Alan had hoped, the attention of some from the king, and gave him a few moments to rally.  Again there was a moment of diversion in favor of the Scotch.  The brothers of the Bruce and some others of his bravest knights were yet around him, seemingly uninjured, and each and all appeared endowed with the strength of two.  The gigantic form of Edward Bruce, the whelming sweep of his enormous battle-axe, had cleared a partial space around the king, but still the foes hemmed in, reinforced even as they fell.  About this time the moon, riding high in the heavens, had banished the mists which had enveloped her rising,