Robert? oh, what has thus moved thee?"

Wrapped in his own earnest words and thoughts, Nigel had failed until
that moment to perceive the effect of his words upon his brother.
Robert's head had sunk upon his hand, and his whole frame shook beneath
some strong emotion; evidently striving to subdue it, some moments
elapsed ere he could reply, and then only in accents of bitter
self-reproach. "Why, why did not such thoughts come to me, instead of
thee?" he said. "My youth had not wasted then in idle folly--worse, oh,
worse--in slavish homage, coward indecision, flitting like the moth
around the destructive flame; and while I deemed thee buried in romantic
dreams, all a patriot's blood was rushing in thy veins, while mine was
dull and stagnant."

"But to flow forth the brighter, my own brother," interrupted Nigel,
earnestly. "Oh, I have watched thee, studied thee, even as I loved thee,
long; and I have hoped, felt, _known_ that this day would dawn; that
thou _wouldst_ rise for Scotland, and she would rise for thee. Ah, now
thou smilest as thyself, and I will to my tale. The patriot died--let me
not utter how; no Scottish tongue should speak those words, save with
the upraised arm and trumpet shout of vengeance! I could not rest in
England then; I could not face the tyrant who dared proclaim and execute
as traitor the noblest hero, purest patriot, that ever walked this
earth. But men said I sought the lyric schools, the poet's haunts in
Provence, and I welcomed the delusion; but it was to Scotland that I
came, unknown, and silently, to mark if with her Wallace all life and
soul had fled. I saw enough to know that were there but a fitting head,
her hardy sons would struggle yet for freedom--but not yet; that chief
art thou, and at the close of the last year I took passage to Denmark,
intending to rest there till Scotland called me."