"Gentlemen," said the King, "bitter though my own misfortunes be, yours lie nearer my heart, which is grieved, beyond what language can express, to behold so many men of valour and worth, from being the officers of my Scottish army, reduced by their loyalty to the station of private soldiers. Nothing but this more than Spartan devotion on the part of the few, but gallant and leal, makes my life worth preserving. Deeply, deeply indeed is my heart impressed with the sense of all you have undergone for my sake; and if it should ever please the blessed God"--(removing his hat)--"to restore me to the throne of my fathers, your sufferings, your services, and your devotion shall not be forgotten--never, oh, never! The prince my son, he shares your northern blood. Oh, may he likewise inherit your spirit of bravery and truth! "At your own desire, gentlemen, you are now going on a long and perilous march, far distant from me, to encounter privation, danger, and death. To the utmost of my small means, I have provided you with money, shoes, and stockings. Heaven knoweth how great are my own necessities. I can no more..... "Fear God--love one another, and you will ever find me your parent, if I cannot be your King." The eyes of James VII. were full of tears, and a long pause ensued. "There is a gentleman here who arrived only yesterday," said Lord Dunbarton, who had also dismounted. "He is the bearer of two relics to your Majesty: the first is the despatch of the expiring Dundee; the second will bear witness of his own zeal and courage in your cause at the victory of Killycrankie." "Let him approach," said the king, covering his face to hide his emotion. "Mr. Fenton," said the Earl, "His Majesty would speak with you," and Walter, whose heart trembled from the depth of his emotions, grounded his musquet, and, kneeling before James, placed in his hands the long-treasured despatch of Dundee, and the Dutch standard of Mackay's regiment. "My brave Dundee!" exclaimed James, in a low voice, as he kissed and perused the brief letter which had been hurriedly penned amid the agonies of death; "'tis stained with his loyal and noble blood! Oh! never had a king a subject more devoted, more loyal, or more true! Accept my thanks, young gentleman, for the services you have performed, the valour you have displayed, and the fidelity you evince; accept my thanks, for misfortune has left me nothing else wherewith to reward the faithful and the brave, who have followed me to exile and obscurity. This standard I will retain; one day, perhaps, in Holyrood or Windsor, I may replace it in your hands with such rewards as a king alone can give." Walter strove to speak, but his voice failed him, on which Lord Dunbarton said,-- "Like his brothers in misfortune, my young friend seeks no other reward than the honour of serving your Majesty, and the satisfaction of doing that which is right." The King drew his sword. "What is your name, Sir!" he asked.