every countenance, noble and follower, yeoman and peasant, burgher and
even monk, was invariably the same--a species of strong yet suppressed
excitement, sometimes shaded by anxiety, sometimes lighted by hope,
almost amounting to triumph; sometimes the dark frown of scorn and hate
would pass like a thunder-cloud over noble brows, and the mailed hand
unconsciously clutched the sword; and then the low thrilling laugh of
derisive contempt would disperse the shade, and the muttered oath of
vengeance drown the voice of execration. It would have been a strange
yet mighty study, the face of man in that old town; but men were all too
much excited to observe their fellows, to them it was enough--unspoken,
unimparted wisdom as it was--to know, to feel, one common feeling bound
that varied mass of men, one mighty interest made them brothers.

The ancient Palace of Scone, so long unused, was now evidently the
head-quarters of the noblemen hovering about the town, for whatever
purpose they were there assembled. The heavy flag of Scotland, in all
its massive quarterings, as the symbol of a free unfettered kingdom,
waved from the centre tower; archers and spearmen lined the courts,
sentinels were at their posts, giving and receiving the watchword from
all who passed and repassed the heavy gates, which from dawn till
nightfall were flung wide open, as if the inmates of that regal dwelling
were ever ready to receive their friends, and feared not the approach of
foes.

The sun, though sinking, was still bright, when the slow and dignified
approach of the venerable abbot of Scone occasioned some stir and bustle
amidst the joyous occupants of the palace yard; the wild joke was
hushed, the noisy brawl subsided, the games of quoit and hurling the bar
a while suspended, and the silence of unaffected reverence awaited the
good old man's approach and kindly-given benediction. Leaving his