of the wood were reached, to disperse, the better to elude their pursuers.  Douglas, Alexander Bruce, and Fitz-Alan had galloped on, unconscious of the accident, and Nigel and Alan were alone near him.  A minute sufficed for the latter to spring from his horse and aid the king to mount, and both entreated, conjured him to follow their companions, and leave them to cover his retreat.  A while he refused, declaring he would abide with them:  he would not so cowardly desert them.

“Leave you to death!” he cried; “my friends, my children; no, no!  Urge me no more.  If I may not save my country, I may die for her.”

“Thou shalt not, so help me heaven!” answered Nigel, impetuously.  “King, friend, brother, there is yet time.  Hence, I do beseech thee, hence.  Nay, an thou wilt not, I will e’en forget thou art my king, and force thee from this spot.”

He snatched the reins of his brother’s horse, and urging it with his own to their fullest speed, took the most unfrequented path, and dashing over every obstacle, through brake and briar, and over hedge and ditch, placed him in comparative safety.

And was Alan deserted?  Did his brother in arms, in his anxiety to save the precious person of his royal brother, forget the tie that bound them, and leave him to die alone?  A sickening sense of inability, of utter exhaustion, crept over the boy’s sinking frame, inability even to drag his limbs towards the wood and conceal himself from his foes.  Mechanically he at first stood grasping the now-tattered colors, as if his hand were nailed unto the staff, his foot rooted to the ground.  There were many mingled cries, sending their shrill echoes on the night breeze; there were chargers scouring the plain; bodies of men passing and repassing within twenty yards of the spot where he stood, yet half hidden by the deep shadow of a large tree, for some minutes he was unobserved.  An armed knight, with about twenty followers, were rushing by; they stopped, they recognized the banner; they saw the bowed and drooping figure who supported it, they dashed towards him.  With a strong effort Alan roused himself from that lethargy of faintness.  Nearer and nearer they came.

“Yield, or you die!” were the words borne to his ear, shrill, loud, fraught with death, and his spirit sprang up with the sound.  He waved his sword above his head, and threw himself into a posture of defence; but ere they reached him, there was a sudden and rapid tramp of horse, and the voice of Nigel Bruce shouted—­

“Mount, mount!  God in heaven be thanked, I am here in time!”

Alan sprung into the saddle; he thought not to inquire how that charger had been found, nor knew he till some weeks after that Nigel had exposed his own person to imminent danger, to secure one of the many steeds flying masterless over the plain.  On, on they went, and frequently the head of Alan drooped from very faintness to his saddle-bow, and Nigel feared to see him fall exhausted to the earth, but still they pursued their headlong way.  Death was behind them, and the lives of all true and loyal Scotsmen were too precious to admit a pause.