“It is but now to descend by these corded steps,” whispered Bruce to the captive maiden, “and I’ll ferry you across this muddy water.” But the maiden was as brave as she was fair, and knowing that any delay would risk the taking of the fortress by the brave Bruce, she heroically answered:— “Please your Grace, no! Allow me the keeping of your dagger till you return with further scaling-gear and your valiant band. Thus armed, I’ll know how to defend myself, and I will watch these enemies till you return.” So King Robert, leaving the brave girl as a sentinel upon the parapet, quickly waded again through the murky waters of the moat, and having regained his band, reported his experience. Immediately fifty of his most daring men, selected for their great height, plunged into the dark waters of the moat, led by the valiant Bruce. “Saw ye ever the like of that?” exclaimed a French knight who had lately joined the Scottish patriots. “What shall we say to our lords, when so worthy a knight and noble a monarch exposeth himself to such great peril to win a wretched hamlet?” With this he gaily threw himself into the water, followed by the rest of the Scottish army. When Bruce again reached the maiden she said, “The late revellers are now in their slumbers; the watchword with them is ‘_The Lost Standard._’” The brave maiden then aided the king to adjust the rope ladders, by which the Scots scaled the wall, one by one, until a strong force stood at their side. “‘The Lost Standard’ is the word,” said the king; “and now for the citadel!” It was, indeed, a _Lost Standard_ to the drowsy guards and sleeping revellers. The fortress was soon taken, and the captives set free. King Robert afterwards besieged the fortress of Stirling, when the governor, Sir Philip Mowbray, contrived to make his appeals for succor reach the English king. Edward roused himself from his natural indolence, and raised a large army to march against Scotland. The forces of the English amounted to nearly one hundred thousand men. This brilliant army, with banners flying and lances glistening in the sunlight, presented a grand array. Meanwhile, King Robert was concealed in the forests with an army of only forty thousand men, nearly all on foot, awaiting the enemy, and preparing barriers to check the onslaught of the English. On the morning of the 23d of June, 1313, the two armies met near Bannockburn. The night had been passed in prayer in the Scottish camp, and in feasting and drunkenness by the English. At daybreak the young English king was astonished at the good order observed in the Scottish ranks. “Do you think they will fight?” he asked of Sir Ingletram d’Umfreville. Just then the abbot of Inchaffray appeared before the Scottish troops, holding a crucifix in his hand; all bent their knees with uncovered heads. “They are asking for mercy,” cried King Edward.