At that Earl Roderic's eyes found their way to the shelf that was above the hearth, and his two friends, following his glance, saw the knife upon the shelf and smiled. From the halls below, where the guards and servitors were feasting, came the strains of the minstrel's harp and a henchman's joyous song of triumphant battle. "'Tis then no marvel," said Roderic, "that the young King of Scots, like his father before him, has made of you a willing cat's-paw. On what fool's errand went you to Norway?" "That," said the lord of Bute, "is quickly told;" and he looked round for a moment, observing that all the lamps save one had burned out their feeble lights. "I went to Norway, bearing letters to King Hakon from the King of Scots and his majesty of England, King Henry the Third." "His majesty of England!" exclaimed all three. "Henry of England is no more a friend to the Norseman than is Alexander," said Hamish, as he pressed down the burning logs with his foot. "And I do assure you, my lords, that both are well prepared to resist the incursions of King Hakon's vassals." "And what manner of princely reward got you for your trouble as letter bearer?" asked Roderic in a tone of injured envy. "Ten score head of Highland cattle, I would guess," muttered Erland the Old. "Nay, twenty score, rather," chimed in Sweyn the Silent. "Methinks, brother Hamish," said Roderic hoarsely, as he stepped nearer to him and looked with an evil scowl into his face -- "methinks it had been your part to have sent me word, that I might also have been of that journey. It had been but reason that I had the honour as well as you. Selfish man that you are, you are ever ready to win worship from me and put me to dishonour!" At this moment the last remaining cruse light flickered, burned blue, flickered again, and then went out. The hall was now in darkness, saving only for the feeble light of the fire, and the moonbeams that slanted in through the mullioned windows and shone here and there upon some burnished helmet or corselet upon the walls. As Roderic of Gigha ceased speaking, Erland the Old coughed thrice and stroked his silvery beard. Sweyn the Silent echoed the fatal sign, and Roderic drew back, resting his right hand upon the mantel. "Had I tarried till I had sent for you, Roderic," said Earl Hamish, "I must first have wasted much precious time in suing with King Alexander for his pardon for my brother who has betrayed him!" "You lie! base slanderer! you lie!" cried Roderic in jealous fury, snatching the knife from off the shelf. And then, springing forward and raising his right hand above his head, he plunged the blade deep, deep into his brother's heart. The good Earl Hamish staggered and fell. "Treachery!" he groaned. "Adela! Adela!" and with the name of his loved wife upon his lips, he died there upon the stone of his own hearth.