And she, did she see more than her son?
She _knew_ that face, and as she gazed, she felt hope had departed; she beheld naught but a long, endless vista of anguish; yet she felt not for herself, she thought but of her child.

And the earl, can we define his exulting mood ?--it was the malice, the triumph of a fiend.
"Who and what art thou ?" demanded Alan, fiercely, laying his right hand on his sword, and with the left firmly clasping his mother's waist.
"What bold knight and honorable chevalier art thou, thus seeking by stealth the retreat of a wanderer, and overpowering by numbers and treachery men, who on the field thou and such as thou had never dared to meet ?" The earl laughed; that bitter, biting laugh of contempt and triumph so difficult to bear.
"Thou hast a worthy tongue, my pretty springald," said he; "canst thou use thy sword as bravely?
Who and what am I?
ask of the lady thou hast so caressingly encircled with thine arm, perchance she can give thee information." Alan started, a cold thrill passed through his frame, as the real cause of his mother's terror flashed on his mind; her lips, parched and quivering, parted as to speak, but there was no sound.
"Mother," he said, "mother, speak to thy son.

Why, why art thou thus?
it is not the dread of imprisonment, of death.

No, no; they have no terrors for such as thee.

Who is this man ?" Engrossed in his own agitation, Alan had not heard the muttered exclamation which burst from Buchan's lips with his first words, for great was the earl's surprise as he looked on his son; the impression he was still a child had remained on his mind despite all reports to the contrary, but no softer feeling obtained dominion.
"Who and what am I ?" he continued, after a brief pause.