"To-day I draw sword for a king that dared not draw sword for himself--for a house that has ever used its mistresses well and its soldiers ill. Let us make no mistake. You and I, Wat, go out this day on a great venture, and on our heads it is. We have a true soldier to fight. For you and I have seen William of Orange, and in this the day of our distress we shall have no help from our friends, save these three hundred Irish kerns with their bent pikes and their bows and arrows, no better than bairns that shoot crows among the corn." He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his graceful body erect. "So be it! After all, it is not my business. Enough for me that I do the king's will and walk straightly among so many that go crookedly. To-night I will end it if I can, and drive the Dutchman to his own place. But if not--why, then, it shall end me. I know, I know," he went on, quickly, as if Walter had reminded him of something, "I have a wife and a bairn down there. I am a man as other men. I would fain see Jean Cochrane, clad in white, passing here and there among the walks of the garden, gathering flowers, and the youngling toddling about her feet--were it but for once, before this night I bid the war-pipes blow at the setting of the sun." He turned towards the lands of the south where he had earned much hatred and deadly fear. "It may be, as they say, that I have ridden overharshly on the king's service, and trodden on some whom I might have lifted with my hand. But, God wot, it was ever the king's service and not mine own! I ever judged it better that there should be a little timeous bloodletting than that a whole people should perish. But now I see that the king and I were not wise. For a war that stirs up folk's religion never comes to an end. And, for all the good I did, I might just as well never have set foot in Galloway or the south. But enough; 'tis over now, and there remains--three thousand claymores and an empty title! Well, we shall find out to-day whether kings are indeed anointed, as they say. Ah, Wat, the sun is high, the light broad and fair on Athol braes. But ere it fades, you and I may find out many things that priest and presbyter could not unriddle to us." He made as if to descend from the castle wall, but took a second thought. "Bid the bugle sound!" he ordered, quickly changing his tone. "Invite the chiefs to a council. Send Dunfermline to me--and go yourself and get some breakfast." * * * * * It was almost at the way-going of the day. The sons of the mist crouched low among the heather and watched the Saxon soldiers struggling up through the dark and narrow glen. King William's men were weary and sore driven, for they had been there under the sun's fierce assault since noon that day.