She paused, in strong, and for the moment overpowering, emotion. The
clear, rich tones had never faltered till she spoke of him beloved even
in death--faltered not, even when she spoke of death as the portion of
her child; it was but the quivering of lip and eye by which the anguish
of that thought could have been ascertained. Lady Campbell clasped her
hand.

"Thou hast in very truth silenced me, my Isabella," she said; "there is
no combating with thoughts as these. Thine is still the same noble soul,
exalted mind that I knew in youth: sorrow and time have had no power on
these."

"Save to chasten and to purify, I trust," rejoined the countess, in her
own calm tone. "Thrown back upon my own strength, it must have gathered
force, dear Mary, or have perished altogether. But thou speakest,
methinks, but too despondingly of our sovereign's prospects--are they
indeed so desperate?"

"Desperate, indeed, Isabella. Even his own family, with the sole
exception of that rash madman, Edward, must look upon it thus. How
thinkest thou Edward of England will brook this daring act of defiance,
of what he will deem rank apostasy and traitorous rebellion? Aged,
infirm as he is now, he will not permit this bold attempt to pass
unpunished. The whole strength of England will be gathered together,
and pour its devastating fury on this devoted land. And what to this has
Robert to oppose? Were he undisputed sovereign of Scotland, we might,
without cowardice, be permitted to tremble, threatened as he is; but
confined, surrounded by English, with scarce a town or fort to call his
own, his enterprise is madness, Isabella, patriotic as it may be."