"Prisoner -- not slain! You have not slain him? Oh, my sons, where is your spirit? Why have you let him live thus long? And you, Alpin, wherefore did you suffer your father to be left alone with these men?"
"Alas, my mother, was it possible I could foresee this crime?" said Alpin. "Even my poor father could not have seen treachery through the mask of his brother's friendship."
"There has been some quarrel," said Dovenald the bard. "Heard you aught of a dispute between them, young man?"
"Methinks there is little need to seek for a cause of quarrel," said Kenric. "Roderic of Gigha is even now meditating how he can make himself the lord over Bute. No farther shall he go, for he cannot now escape the penalty that is his due."
"And what penalty is that?" asked the Lady Adela.
Kenric turned to Dovenald for reply, knowing well that Dovenald was better learned than any other man in the breast laws of that land.
"My lady," said Dovenald, "he must be judged and punished for his crime as the wise men of Bute shall direct. Justice will be done. Fear not for that."
"Justice?" cried she. "I know well what justice means with your wise men. It is not the worthless fine of a few score of cattle that would repay me for the loss of my dear husband. No, no. A life for a life. Earl Roderic has cruelly slain our good and noble lord, and now I demand a speedy vengeance."
She flung herself on her knees before her son Alpin.
"Oh, my sweet son," she cried, clasping his two hands, "I charge you upon my blessing, and upon the high nobility you inherit, to be revenged upon this traitor for his crime;" and thereupon she took up the bloodstained weapon and forced it into her son's hand.