"My general, and your most noble highness," began Lochinvar, slowly, "but lately it would have been the greatest honor of my life to command a regiment in the service of the Prince of Orange. But I cannot command one in the service of William, King of England." "Think again," said the king, who understood him. "I have regiments over seas as well as in England." "But they might be needed here, and I could not desert my colors a second time for loyalty, as once I did for love." "What, then, do you desire?" said the king, shortly, looking manifestly disappointed. "Only your highness's most noble clemency," replied Wat, gravely; "the right to live quietly in mine own ancient tower, under the protection of your just and equal laws, giving my word of honor, if you will, never again to bear arms during your highness's life." "You have it, my Lord Lochinvar," said the king. "Gallantly you have won your bride. Wear her on your breast and keep her safe with the strength of your arm. I have lost me a good soldier and she has gotten her a good man." Kate ran forward with a charmingly girlish gratitude, and, kneeling, kissed the king's hand. She looked about her to where Lochinvar stood. There was entreaty and command in her eye. "It is the first thing I have ever asked of you as your wife!" she said, in a low voice. For a moment he resisted. Then Wat came forward, since his love had called him, and, bending his knee, he said, "I kiss your hand, most noble, most generous prince." "Rise, my Lord Lochinvar," replied the king; "keep your castle and your ancient loyalty, till your lands, and abide in peace within your borders. I shall see that neither council nor councillor stir you. And as for my Lord of Barra, I have bidden him to confine himself to his own islands. He is no more councillor of mine. I have at last found the truth concerning the matter of the inn at Brederode." So, with a wave of his hand, the king passed away. A great king he was, though even in that hour Wat had named him no more than prince. Then, as soon as he was gone, a swarm of courtiers surrounded Wat, and the ladies took Kate off to make much of her. For so great a marvel as the open carrying away of a bride on her marriage day, with her own free will and consent, had not been heard of in any land. But when all was over, my Lord of Barra rode in, anxious and jaded with hard spurring; but the king turned his back on him. "I know my friends at last," he said. "Let me not see your face again, my Lord Barra. Ye have my leave to abide in your isles, if ye will." But instead Barra betook himself forthwith to France, where he was received into great honor as a consistent favorer of the true king. He was killed at Steenkirk, as was fitting, leading a charge. For though a traitor, Murdo of Barra was a brave man. EPILOGUE OF SUPEREROGATION BEING CHAPTER FIFTY-FOURTH, AND LAST