But at that moment Cummin, who believed
his doom only suspended, rose from his knee, and drawing his dirk from
under his plaid, struck it into the back of the prince. Bruce turned
on him with the quickness of thought. "Hah!" exclaimed he, seizing him
by the throat, "then take thy fate! This accursed deed hath removed
the only barrier between vengeance and thee--thus remember William
Wallace!"
As the prince spoke he plunged his dagger into the breast of the
traitor. Cummin uttered a fearful cry, and rolled down at his feet
murmuring imprecations.
Bruce fled from the spot. It was the first time his arm had drawn
blood except in the field of battle, and he felt as if the base tide
had contaminated his hand. In the cloisters he was encountered by his
friends. A few words informed them of what had happened.
"Is he dead?" inquired Kirkpatrick.
"I can hardly doubt it," answered Bruce.
"Such a matter," returned the veteran, "must not be left to conjecture;
I will secure him!"** And running forward, he found the wounded regent
crawling from the door of the cell. Throwing himself upon him without
noise, he stabbed him to the heart.
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