"Baliol has found the oblivion he incurred," returned Wallace; "his son, perhaps, may better deserve the scepter of such a country. Let us cut the way, and he who merits the crown will soon appear to claim it." "Then it will not be Edward Baliol!" rejoined Scrymgeour. "During the inconsistent reign of his father, I once carried a despatch to him from Scotland. He was then banqueting in all the luxuries of the English court; and such a voluptuary I never beheld! I left the scene of folly, only praying that so effeminate a prince might never disgrace the throne of our manly race of kings." "If such be the tuition of our lords in the court of Edward--and wise is the policy for his own views!" observed Ker, "what can we expect from even the Bruce? They were ever a nobler race than the Baliol; but bad education and luxury will debase the most princely minds." "I saw neither of the Bruce when I visited London," replied Scrymgeour; "the Earl of Carrick was at his house in Cleveland, and Robert Bruce, his eldest son, with the English army in Guienne. But they bore a manly character, particularly young Robert, to whom the troubadours of Aquitaine have given the flattering appellation of Prince of Chivalry." "It would be more to his honor," interrupted Murray, "if he compelled the English to acknowledge him as Prince of Scotland. With so much bravery, how can he allow such a civetcat as Edward Baliol to bear away the title, which is his by the double right of blood and virtue?" "Perhaps," said Wallace, "the young lion only sleeps! The time may come, when both he and his father will rise from their lethargy, and throw themselves at once into the arms of Scotland. To stimulate the dormant patriotism of these two princes, by showing them a subject leading their people to liberty, is one great end of the victories I seek. None other than a brave king can bind the various interests of this distracted country into one; and therefore, for fair Freedom's sake, my heart turns toward the Bruces with most anxious hopes." "For my part," cried Murray, "I have always thought the lady we will not woo we have no right to pretend to. If the Bruces will not be at the pains to snatch Scotland from drowning, I see no reason for making them a present of what will cost us many a wet jacket before we tug her from the waves. He that wins the day ought to wear the laurel; and so, once for all, I proclaim him King of good old Albin,** who will have the glory of driving her oppressors beyond her dikes." **Albin was the ancient name of Scotland. Wallace did not hear this last sentiment of Murray's, as it was spoken in a lowered voice in the ear of Kirkpatrick. "I perfectly agree with you," was the knight's reply; "and in the true Roman style, may the death of every Southron now in Scotland, and as many more as fate chooses to yield us, be the preliminary games of his coronation!"