"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