monarch's side. "Tell me more of this strange farce; a king, ha! ha!
Does the rebel think 'tis but to put a crown upon his head and a sceptre
in his hand that makes the monarch--a king, forsooth. And who officiated
at this right solemn mockery? 'Twas, doubtless, a goodly sight!"

"On my knightly faith, my liege, strangely, yet truly, 'twas a ceremony
regally performed, and, save for numbers, regally attended."

"Thou darest not tell me so!" exclaimed the king, striking his clenched
hand fiercely on the table. "I tell thee thou darest not; 'tis a false
tale, a lie thrust upon thee to rouse thy spirit but to laugh at. De
Valence, I tell thee 'tis a thing that cannot be! Scotland is laid too
low, her energies are crushed; her best and bravest lying in no
bloodless graves. Who is there to attend this puppet king, save the few
we miss? who dared provoke our wrath by the countenance of such a deed?
Who would dare tempt our fury by placing a crown on the rebel's head?
I tell thee they have played thee false--it cannot be!"

"Thy valor hath done much, my gracious liege," returned Pembroke, "far
more than ever king hath done before; but pardon me, your grace, the
_people_ of Scotland are not yet crushed, they lie apparently in peace,
till a chief capable of guiding, lordly in rank and knightly in war,
ariseth, and then they too stand forth. Yet what are they? they do but
nominally swell the rebel's court: they do but _seem_ a multitude, which
needs but thy presence to disperse. He cannot, if he dare, resist thee."

"And wherefore should these tidings so disturb you grace?" interposed
the Earl of Hereford, a brave, blunt soldier, like his own charger,
snuffing the scent of war far off. "We have but to bridle on our
harness, and we shall hear no more of solemn farces like to this. Give