The Caged Lion

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XVI: THE CAGE OPEN

  More than a year had passed, and it was March when Malcolm was descendingthe stone stair that leads so picturesquely beneath the archway of itstower up to the hall of the college of St. Mary Winton, then _really_ NewCollege. He had been residing there with Dr. Bennet, associating withthe young members of the foundation educated at Winchester, and studyingwith all the freshness of a recent institution. It had been a very happytime for him, within the gray stone walls that pleasantly recalledColdingham, though without Coldingham's defensive aspect, and with amplefood for the mind, which had again returned to its natural state ofinquiring reflection and ardour for knowledge.

  Daily Malcolm woke early, attended Matins and Mass in the chapel, studiedgrammar and logic, mastered difficult passages in the Fathers, or copiedout portions for himself in the chamber which he as a gentleman commoner,as we should call him, possessed, instead of living in a common dormitorywith the other scholars. Or in the open cloister he listened and tooknotes of the lectures of the fellows and tutors of the college, andseated on a bench or walking up and down received special instructions.Then ensued the meal, spread in the hall; the period of recreation, inthe meadows, or in the licensed sports, or on the river; fresh studies,chapel, and a social but quiet evening over the supper in the hall. Allthis was varied by Latin sermons at St. Mary's, or disputations andlectures by notable doctors, and public arguments between scholars, bywhich they absolutely fought out their degrees. There were few collegesas yet, and those resident in them were the _elite_; beyond, there was agreat mob of scholars living in rooms as they could, generally very poor,and often very disorderly; but they did not mar the quiet semi-monasticstillness within the foundations, and to Malcolm it seemed as if thetruly congenial home was opened.

  The curriculum of science began to reveal itself to him with all thestages so inviting to a mind conscious of power and longing forcultivation. The books, the learned atmosphere, the infinitepossibilities, were delightful to him, and opened a more delightfulfuture. His metaphysical Scottish mind delighted in the scholasticarguments that were now first set before him, and his readiness,appreciation, and eager power of acquiring surprised his teachers, andmade him the pride of New College.

  When he looked back at his year of court and camp, he could only marvelat having ever preferred them. In war his want of bodily strength wouldmake real distinction impossible; here he felt himself excelling; herewas absolute enjoyment, and of a kind without drawback. Scholarship mustbe his true element and study: the deep universal study of the sisterhoodof science that the University offered was his veritable vocation. Surelyit was not without significance that the ring that shone on his fingerbetrothed him to Esclairmonde, the Light of the World; for though inperson the maiden was never to be his own, she was the emblem to him ofthe pure virgin light of truth and wisdom that he would be for everwooing, and winning only to see further lights beyond. Human nature felta pang at the knowledge that he was bound to deliver up the ring andresign his connection with that fair and stately maiden; but the painthat had been sore at first had diminished under the sense that he stoodin a post of generous trust, and that his sacrifice was the passport toher grateful esteem. He knew her to be with Lady Montagu, awaiting avacancy at St. Katharine's, and this would be the signal for dissolvingthe contract of marriage, after which his present vision was to bestowLilias upon Patrick, make over his estates to them, take minor orders,and set forth for Italy, there to pursue those deeper studies in theologyand language for which Padua and Bologna were famous. It was many monthssince he had heard of Lilias; but this did not give him any greatuneasiness, for messengers were few, and letter-writing far from being acommon practice. He had himself written at every turning-point of hislife, and sent his letters when the King communicated with Scotland; butfrom his sister he had heard nothing.

  He had lately won his first degree as Bachelor of Arts, and wasdescending the stair from the Hall after a Lenten meal on salt fish, whenhe saw below him the well-known figure of King James's English servant,who doffing his cap held out to him a small strip of folded paper,fastened by a piece of crimson silk and the royal seal. It only bore thewords:--

  '_To our right trusty and well-beloved Cousin the Lord Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie this letter be taken_.

  'DEAR COUSIN,

  'We greet you well, and pray you to come to us without loss of time, having need of you, we being a free man and no captive.

  'Yours, 'JAMES R.

  'Written at the Castle of Windsor this St. David's Day, 1424.'

  'A free man:' the words kept ringing in Malcolm's ears while he hastenedto obtain license from Warden John Bonke, and to take leave of Dr.Bennet. He had not left Oxford since the beginning of his residencethere. Vacations were not general dispersions when ways and means oftransit were so scarce and tardy, and Malcolm had been long withoutseeing his king. Joy on his sovereign's account, and his country's,seemed to swallow up all other thoughts; as to himself, when he bade hisfriends and masters farewell, he declared it was merely for a time, andwhen they shook their heads and augured otherwise, he replied: 'Nay,think you I could live in the Cimmerian darkness yonder, dear sirs? Ourpoor country hath nothing better than mere monastery schools, and lightof science having once shone on me, I cannot but dwell in her courts forever! Soon shall I be altogether her son and slave!'

  Nevertheless, Malcolm was full of eagerness, and pressed on rapidlythrough the lanes between Oxford and Windsor, rejoicing to find himselfamid the noble trees of the forest, over which arose in all its grandeurthe Castle and Round Tower, as beautiful though less unique than now, andbearing on it the royal standard, for the little King was still nursedthere.

  Under the vaulted gateway James--with Patrick and Bairdsbrae behindhim--met Malcolm, and threw his arms round him, crying: 'Ay, kiss me,boy; 'tis a king and no caitiff you kiss now! Another six weeks, andthen for the mountain and the moor and the bonnie north countree.'

  'And why not for a month?' was Malcolm's question, as hand and eye andface responded heartily.

  'Why? Why, because moneys must be told down, and treaties signed; ay,and Lent is no time for weddings, nor March for southland roses to travelto our cold winds. Ay, Malcolm, you see a bridegroom that is to be! Didyou think I was going home without her?'

  'I did not think you would be in such glee even at being free, my lord,if you were.'

  'And now, Malcolm, ken ye of ony fair Scottish lassie--a cousin of mineain, who could be had to countenance my bride at our wedding, and ridewith us thereafter to Scotland?'

  'I know whom your Grace means,' said Malcolm, smiling.

  'An if you do, maybe, Malcolm, sin she bides not far frae the border,ye'd do me the favour of riding with Sir Patrick here, and bringing herto the bridal,' said the King, making his accent more home-like andScottish than Malcolm had ever heard it before.

  The happiness of that spring afternoon was surpassing. The King linkedhis arm into Malcolm's, and walked up and down with him on the slopes,telling him all that had led to this consummation; how Walter Stewart andhis brothers had become so insolent and violent as to pass the enduranceof their father the Regent, as well as of all honest Scots; and how,after secret negotiations and vain endeavours to obtain from him a pledgeof indemnity for all that had happened, the matter had been at lengthopened with Gloucester, Beaufort, and the Council. The Scottish nation,with Albany at the head, was really recalling the King. This was thecondition on which Henry V. had always declared that he should beliberated; these were the terms on which he had always hoped to return;and his patience was at last rewarded. Bedford had sent his joyfulconsent, and all was now concluded. James was really free, and waitedonly for his marriage.

  'I would not tell you, Malcolm, while there might yet be a slip betweencup and lip,' said the King; 'it might have hindered the humanities; andyet I needed you as much when I was glad as when all seemed like tofail!'

  'You had Patrick,'
said Malcolm.

  'Patrick's a tall and trusty fellow,' said the King, 'with a shrewd wit,and like to be a right-hand man; but there's something in you, Malcolm,that makes a man turn to you for fellow-feeling, even as to a wife.'

  Nevertheless, the King and Patrick had grown much attached to each other,though the latter, being no lover of books, had wearied sorely of thesojourn at Windsor, which the King himself only found endurable by muchstudy and reflection. Their only variety had been keeping Christmas atHertford with Queen Catherine; 'sorry pastime,' as Drummond reported itto him, though gladdened to the King by Joan Beaufort's presence, in allher charms.

  'The Demoiselle of Luxemburg was there too, statelier than ever,' saidJames. 'She is now at Middleham Castle, with the Lady Montagu, and youmight make it your way northward, and lodge a night there. If you canwin her consent, it were well to be wedded when we are.'

  'Never shall I, my lord. I should not dare even to speak of it.'

  'It is well; but, Malcolm, you merit something from the damsel. You areten times the man you were when she flouted you. If women were notmostly witless, you would be much to be preferred to any mere Ajax orFierabras; and if this damsel should have come to the wiser mind that itwere pity to be buried to the world--'

  'Sir, I pray you say no more. I were forsworn to ask such a thing.'

  'I bid you not, only I would I were there to see that all be not lost forwant of a word in season; and it is high time that something be done.Here be letters from my Lord of Therouenne, demanding the performance ofthe contract ere our return home.'

  'He cannot reach her here,' said Malcolm.

  'No; but his outcry can reach your honour; and it were ill to have such ahouse as that of Luxemburg crying out upon you for breach of faith totheir daughter.'

  Malcolm smiled. 'That I should heed little, Sir. I would fain bearsomething for her.'

  'Why, this is mere sublimated devoir, too fine for our grossunderstandings,' said James, ironically. 'Mayhap the sight of the softroseate cheek may bring it somewhat down to poor human flesh and bloodonce more.'

  'Once I was tempted, Sir,' said Malcolm, blushing deeply; 'but did I notknow that her holiness is the guardian of her earthly beauty, I would notsee her again.'

  'Nay, there I command you,' said the King; 'soon I shall have subjectsenough; but while I have but half a dozen, I cannot be disobeyed by them!I bid you go to Middleham, and there I leave all to the sight.'

  The King spoke gaily, and with such kind good-humour that Malcolm,humiliated by the thought of the past, durst not make freshasseverations. James, in the supreme moment of the pure and innocentromance of which he was the hero, looked on love like his own as thehighest crown of human life, and distrusted the efforts after thesuperhuman which too often were mere simulation or imitation; but acertain recollection of Henry's warnings withheld him from pressing thematter, and he returned to his own joys and hopes, looking on thestruggles he expected with a strong man's exulting joy, and not evencounting the years of his captivity wasted, though they had taken awayhis first youth.

  'What should I have been,' he said, 'bred up in the tumults at home? Whatcould I have known better than Perth? Nay, had I been sent home when Icame to age, as a raw lad, how would one or other by fraud or force havegot the upper hand, so as I might never have won it back. No, I wouldnot have foregone one year of study--far less that campaign in France,and the sight of Harry in war and in policy.'

  James also took Malcolm to see the child king, his little master. This,the third king of James's captivity, was now a fair creature of two yearsold. He trotted to meet his visitor, calling him by a baby name forbrother, and stretching out his arms to be lifted up and fondled; for, asDame Alice Boteller, his _gouvernante_, muttered, he knew the King ofScots better than he did his own mother.

  A retinue had been already collected, and equipments prepared, so thatthere was no delay in sending forth Malcolm and Patrick upon theirnorthward journey. At the nearest town they halted, sending forward amessenger to announce their neighbourhood to the old Countess ofSalisbury and her grand-daughter Lady Montagu, and to request permissionto halt for 'Mothering Sunday' at the Castle.

  In return a whole band of squires and retainers came forth, headed by theknightly seneschal, to invite Lord Malcolm Stewart and his companion tothe Castle; whereupon Sir Patrick proceeded to don his gayest gown andchaperon, and was greatly scandalized that Malcolm's preparationconsisted in putting on his black serge bachelor's gown and hood ofrabbit's fur such as he wore at Oxford, looking, as Patrick declared, nobetter than a begging scholar. But Malcolm had made up his mind that ifhe appeared before Esclairmonde at all it should be in no other guise;and thus it was that he rode like a black spot in the midst of thecavalcade, bright with the colours of Nevil and of Montagu, and wasmarshalled up the broad stairs by the silver wand of the seneschal.

  Lord Montagu had gone back to the wars; so the family at home consistedof the grand, stately, and distant old Countess of Salisbury, and heryoung grand-daughter, the Lady Montagu, with her three months' old son.Each had an almost royal suite of well-born dames and damsels inattendance, among whom the Demoiselle de Luxemburg alone was on anequality with the mistresses of the house. Even Queen Catherine'spresence-chamber had hardly equalled the grand baronial ceremony of thehall, where sat the three ladies in the midst of their circle ofattendants, male and female ranged on opposite sides; and old LadySalisbury knew the exact number of paces that it befitted her and LadyMontagu to advance to receive the royal infusion of blood that flowed inthe veins of my Lord of Glenuskie. And yet it was the cheek, and not thehand, that were offered in salutation by both ladies, as well as byEsclairmonde. Malcolm, however, only durst kneel on one knee and saluteher hand, and felt himself burning with crimson as the touch and voicebrought back those longings that, as James had said, proved him humanstill. He was almost glad that etiquette required him to hand the agedCountess to her seat and to devote his chief attention to her.

  Punctilio reigned supreme in such a house as this. Nowhere had Malcolmseen such observance of ceremony, save in the court of the Duke ofBurgundy, and there it was modified by the presence of rough and readywarriors; but an ancient dame like Lady Salisbury thought it both the dueand the safeguard of her son's honour, and exacted it rigorously of allwho approached her.

  Alice of Montagu had the sweet fragile look of a young mother about her,but her frightened fawn air was gone; she was in her home, had found herplace, and held it with a simple dignity of her own, quite ready to ripeninto all the matronly authority, without the severe formality, of hergrand-dame.

  She treated Malcolm with a gentle smiling courtesy such as she had nevervouchsafed to him before, and all the shyness that had once made hersilent was gone, when at the supper-table, and afterwards seated aroundthe fire, the tidings of the camp and court were talked over with all thezest of those to whom King Harry's last campaign was becoming 'oldtimes'; and what with her husband's letters and opinions, little Alicewas really the best-informed as to the present state of things.Esclairmonde took her part in the conversation, but there was noopportunity of exchanging a private or personal word between her andMalcolm in a party of five, where one was as vigilant and grave-eyed asmy Lady Salisbury.

  However, the next was a peculiar day, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, called'Mothering Sunday' because on that day it was originally the custom forofferings to be carried from all the country round to the cathedral ormother church on that day. This custom had been modified, but it wasstill the rule that all the persons, who at other times worshipped at thenearest monastery chapel or at a private chapel in their own houses,should on that day repair to their parish church, and there make aspecial offering at the Mass--that offering which has since become theEaster dues. It was a festival Sunday too--'Refreshing Sunday'--then, asnow, marked by the Gospel on the feeding of the multitude; and from this,as well as from the name, the pretty custom had begun of offering themother of each house her rich simnal cake,
with some other gift from eachof her children.

  Hearing a pattering of feet in the early morning, Malcolm looked out andbeheld a whole troop of small children popping in and out of a lowarchway. If he could have peeped in, he would have known how manysimnals Ladies Esclairmonde and Alice were sending down--with somethingmore substantial--to be given to mothers by the children who as yet hadnothing to bring of their own.

  But when the household assembled in the castle hall, they did see fairyoung Lady Montagu kneel at the chair of the grave old Countess, and holdup a silver dish, wherein lay the simnal, mixed, kneaded, and moulded byher own hands, and bearing on it a rich ruby clasp, sent by her father,the Earl, as his special gift to his mother on this Sunday.

  And then, when the old lady, with glistening eyes, had spoken herblessing on the fair young head bent down before her, and the grandchildrose up, there was the pretty surprise for her of her little swaddledson, lying in Esclairmonde's arms, and between the small fingers, that asyet knew not how to grasp, the tiny simnal; and moreover a fair pearldevised in like manner by the absent Sir Richard as a gift for his wife'sfirst 'Mothering Sunday.' There was no etiquette here to hinder sweetAlice from passionately clasping her child, and covering him with kisses,as many for his father as for himself, as she laughed at the baby smilesand helpless gestures of the future king-maker, whose ambition andturbulence were to be the ruin of that fair and prosperous household, andbring the gentle Alice to a widowed, bereaved, and attainted old age.

  Well that none there present saw the future, as she proudly claimed theadmiration of Malcolm for her babe!

  She was equipped for the expedition to the parish church, as likewisewere Esclairmonde and almost all the rest; but the aged Countess couldnot encounter the cold March winds, and had a dispensation; and thusAlice, being the lady of the procession, contrived at the same time tocall Sir Patrick to her side, and bid Lord Malcolm lead the LadyEsclairmonde.

  For as the weather was dry and cold, Lady Montagu had chosen to go onfoot; and a grand procession it was that she led, of gentlemen andladies, two and two, in their bright dresses and adornments thatdelighted the eyes of the homely yeomen and their wives, flocking in fromtheir homesteads with baskets of offerings, often in kind.

  Meantime, Malcolm, holding the tips of Esclairmonde's fingers, durst notspeak till she began: 'This is a devout and pious household--full ofpeace and good government.'

  'And your time goes happily here?' asked Malcolm.

  'Yes, it has been a peaceful harbour wherein to wait,' said Esclairmonde.'And even if Alice were called to her husband in France, my Lady Countesswill keep me with her till there be a vacancy for me at St. Katharine's.'

  'Have you the promise from Queen Joan?'

  'Yes,' replied Esclairmonde. 'The Countess had been a lady of hers, andwrought with her, so that whenever the post of bedeswoman is in her giftI shall be preferred to it.'

  'You, the heiress, accept the charity!' Malcolm could not helpexclaiming.

  'The better for all remnants of pride,' returned the lady. 'And you, mylord, has it fared well with you?'

  Malcolm, happy in her interest, poured forth all that he had to tell, andshe listened as Esclairmonde alone could listen. There was something inher very expression of attention that seemed to make the speaker take outthe alloy and leave only his purest gold to meet her ears. Malcolmforgot those throbs of foolish wild hope that had shot across him likedemon temptations to hermit saints, and only felt that the creature ofhis love and reverence was listening benignly as he told her of theexceeding delight that he was unravelling in learned lore; how each stepshowed him further heights, and how he had come to view the Light of theWorld as the light of wisdom, to the research of which he meant to devotehis entire life, among universities and manuscripts.

  'The Light of Wisdom,' repeated Esclairmonde--'so it may be, for Christis Heavenly Wisdom; but I doubt me if the Light of the World lies solelyin books and universities.'

  'Nay,' said Malcolm. 'Once I was fool enough to fancy it was the lightof glory, calling knights to deeds of fame and chivalry. I have seenmine error now, and--oh, lady, what mean you? where should that light be,save in the writings of wise and holy men?'

  'Methinks,' said Esclairmonde, 'that the light is there, even as thelight is also before the eyes of the true knight; but it is not onlythere.'

  'Where is it then?' said Malcolm. 'In helmet or in cowl, I am the swornchampion of the Light of the World.'

  'The Light,' said Esclairmonde, looking upwards, 'the true Light of theWorld is the Blessed Saviour, the Heavenly Wisdom of God; and Hischampions find Him and serve Him in camp, cloister, or school, orwherever He has marked their path, so as they seek not their own profitor glory, and lay not up their treasure for themselves on earth.'

  'Then surely,' said Malcolm, 'the hoards of deep study within the mindare treasures beyond the earth.'

  'Your schoolmen speak of spirit, mind, and body,' said Esclairmonde--'atleast so I, an ignorant woman, have been told. Should not the true Lightfor eternity lighten the spirit rather than the mind?'

  Malcolm pondered and said: 'I thought I had found the right path atlast!'

  'Nay--never, never did I say otherwise,' cried Esclairmonde. 'To seekGod's Light in good men's words, and pursue it, must be a blessed task.Every task must be blessed to which He leads. And when you areenlightened with that light, you will hold it up to others. When youhave found the treasure, you will scatter it here, and so lay it upabove.'

  Esclairmonde's words were almost a riddle to Malcolm, but his reverencefor her made him lay them up deeply, as he watched her kneeling at theMass, her upturned face beaming with an angelic expression.

  His mind was much calmed by this meeting. It had had an absolutelycontrary effect to what King James had expected, by spiritualizing hislove, and increasing that reverence which cast out its earthliness. Thatfirst throb which had been so keen at meeting, and knowing her not forhim, had passed away in the refining of that distant worship he had paidher in those days of innocence.

  Lady Montagu was quite satisfied with him now. He was the Malcolm of herfirst acquaintance, only without his foolish diffidence, and with aweight and earnestness that made him a man and not a boy; and shecordially invited him to bring his sister with him, and rest, on the waysouthward. He agreed most thankfully, since this would be the onlyopportunity of showing Esclairmonde and Lilias one to the other, as wellas one of his own few chances of seeing Esclairmonde.

  Once they must meet, that their promises might be restored the one to theother; but as the betrothal remained the lady's security, this could notbe done till she became pledged at St. Katharine's. When the opportunitycame, she was to send Malcolm a messenger, and he would come to her atonce. Until then he promised that he would not leave Great Britain.

  On Monday the cousins proceeded, coming after a time to the route bywhich Malcolm had ridden three years before, and where he was now at homein comparison with Patrick. How redolent it was with recollections ofKing Harry, in all his gaiety and grace, ere the shock of his brother'sdeath had fallen on him! At Thirsk, Malcolm told of the prowess and theknighthood of honest Trenton and Kitson, to somewhat incredulous ears.The two squires had been held as clownish fellows, and the sentiment ofthe country was that Mistress Agnes was well quit of them, and the roughguardianship by which they had kept off all other suitors. As mine hostconcluded, ''Tis a fine thing to go to the wars.'

  Hearing that Kitson's mother lived not a mile out of his way, Malcolmrode to the fine old moated grange, where he found her sitting at herspinning, presiding over a great plentiful household, while her secondson, a much shrewder-looking man than Sir Christopher, managed the farm.

  The travellers were welcomed with eager hospitality so soon as it wasunderstood that they brought tidings of 'our Kit'; and Malcolm's storywas listened to with tears of joy by the old lady, while the brothercould not get over his amazement at hearing that Trenton and Kitson hadbecome a proverb in the
camp for oneness in friendship.

  'Made it up with Will Trenton! And never fought it out! I'd never knowour Kit again after that!'

  His steady bravery, his knighthood, and the King's praise, his havingassisted in saving Lord Glenuskie's life against such odds, did not seemto strike Wilfred Kitson half as much as the friendship with Trenton, andMalcolm did not think the regret was very great at the two knights havinggiven up their intention of returning. 'Our Kit's' place seemed to haveclosed up behind him; Wilfred seemed to be too much master to be ready togive up to the elder brother; and even the mother had learnt to dowithout him. 'I'll warrant,' quoth she, 'that now he is a knight and gotused to fine French ways, he'll think nothing good enow for him. And ifhe brought Will Trenton with him, I'd not sit at the board with thefellow.--But ye'll ride over, Wilfred, and take care the minx Agnes knowswhat she's lost. Ay, and if you knew of a safe hand, Sir, when theshearing is over I'd send the lad a purse of nobles to keep up hisknighthood in the camp, forsooth.'

  'Certes,' said Malcolm, as after a salt-fish dinner he mounted again, 'ifhonest Kitson knew, he would scarce turn back from the camp, where he issomebody. Shall we find ourselves as little wanted when we get home,Patie?'

  Patrick drew himself up with a happy face of secret assurance. Nothingcould make Lilias forsake him, he well knew.

  At Durham they found their good friend Father Akefield, erst Prior ofColdingham, but who had been violently dispossessed by the House ofAlbany in favour of their candidate, Drax, about a year before, and wasthankful to have been allowed with a few English monks to retire acrossthe Border to the mother Abbey at Durham.

  The good father could hardly believe his eyes when he beheld Malcolm, nowa comely and personable young gentleman, less handsome and gracefulindeed than many, but with all his painful personal peculiarities gone,with none of the scared, imploring look, but with a grave thoughtfulearnestness about his face, as though all that once was timid andwandering was now fixed and steadfast.

  Father Akefield could tell nothing of Lilias since his own expulsion, butas the Prioress of St. Abbs was herself a Drummond, and no one durstinterfere with her, he had no alarms for her safety. But he advised thetwo gentlemen to go straight to St. Abbs, without showing themselves atColdingham, lest Prior Drax, being in the Albany interest, should makeany demur at giving her up to the care of the brother, who still wantedsome months of his twenty-first year.

  Accordingly they pushed on, and in due time slept at Berwick, receivingcivilities from the English governor that chafed Patrick's blood, whichbecame inflammable as soon as he neared the Border; and rising early thenext morning, they passed the gates, and were on Scottish ground oncemore, their hearts bounding at the sense that it was their own land, andwould soon be no more a land of misrule. With their knowledge of KingJames and his intentions, well might they have unlimited hopes for thecountry over which he was about to reign.

  They turned aside from Coldingham, and made for the sea, and at lengththe promontory of St. Abbs Head rose before them; they passed through theouter buildings intended as shelter for the attendants of ladies comingto the nunnery, and knocked at the gateway.

  A wicket in the door was opened, and the portress looked out through agrating.

  '_Benedicite_, good Sister,' said Malcolm. 'Prithee tell the MotherAbbess that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie is here from the King, andcraves to speak with her and the Lady Lilias.'

  'Lord Malcolm! Lady Lilias! St. Ebba's good mercy!' shrieked theaffrighted portress. They heard her rushing headlong across the court,and looked on one another in consternation.

  Patrick betook himself to knocking as if he would beat down the door, andMalcolm leant against it with a foreboding that took away hisbreath--dreading the moment when it should be opened.

  The portress and her keys returned again, and parleyed a moment. 'Youare the Lord Malcolm in very deed--in the flesh?'

  'Wherefore not?' demanded Malcolm.

  'Nay, but we heard ye were slain, my lord,' explained theportress--letting him in, however, and leading them across the court, towhere the Mother Abbess, Annabel Drummond, awaited them in the parlour.

  'Alas, Sirs, what grievous error has this been?' was her exclamation;while Malcolm, scarcely waiting for salutation, demanded, 'Where is mysister?'

  'How? In St. Hilda's keeping at Whitby, whither the King sent for her,'said the Abbess.

  'The King!' cried Malcolm, 'we come from the King! Oh, what treacheryhas been here?'

  'And you, Lord Malcolm--and you, my kinsman, Sir Patrick of the Braes,how do I see you here? We had heard you both were dead.'

  'You heard a lying tale then, good Mother,' said Patrick, gruffly, 'nodoubt devised for the misery of the--of my--' He could not finish thesentence, and Malcolm entreated the Abbess to tell the whole.

  It appeared that about a year previously the chaplain of the monasteryhad learnt at Coldingham that Sir John Swinton of Swinton had sent hometidings that Patrick Drummond had been thrown from his horse and leftbehind in a village which the English had harried, and as he could notmove, he was sure to have been either burnt or hung. This conclusion wasnatural, and argued no malice in the reporter; and while poor Lilias wasstill in her first agony of grief, Prior Drax sent over intelligencederived from the Duke of Albany himself that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskiehad been stabbed in the forest of Vincennes. This report Malcolm himselfaccounted for. He had heard a Scots tongue among his foes, thoughnational feeling had made him utterly silent on that head to the Duke ofBedford, and he guessed it to belong to a certain M'Kay, whose clanregarded themselves as at feud with the Stewarts, and of whom he hadheard as living a wild _routier_ life. He had probably been hired byGhisbert for the attack, and had returned home and spread the report ofits success.

  Some few weeks later, the Abbess Annabel continued, there had arrived twomonks from Coldingham, with an escort, declaring themselves to havereceived orders from King James to transport the Lady Lilias to thenunnery at Whitby, where the Abbess had promised to receive her, till hecould determine her fate.

  The forlorn and desolate Lilias, believing herself to stand alone in theworld, was very loth to quit her shelter and her friends at St. Abbs; butthe Abbess, doubting her own ability to protect her from the rapaciousgrasp of Walter Stewart, now that she had, as she believed, become anheiress, and glad to avert from her house the persecution that suchprotection would bring upon it, had gratefully heard of this act ofconsideration on the King's part, and expedited her departure. The twomonks, Simon Bell and Ringan Johnstone, had not returned to themonastery, but had been thought to be in the parent house at Durham; butMalcolm, who knew Brother Simon by sight, was clear that he had not seenhim there.

  All this had taken place a year ago, and there could be no doubt thatsome treachery had been exercised. Nothing had since been heard ofLilias; none of Malcolm's letters had reached St. Abbs, having doubtlessbeen suppressed by the Prior of Coldingham; and all that was certain wasthat Walter Stewart, to whom their first suspicions directed themselves,had not publicly avouched any marriage with Lilias or claimed theGlenuskie estates, or the King, who had of late been in closecorrespondence with Scotland, must have heard of it. And it was alsohardly possible that the Regent Murdoch and his sons, though they mightfor a few weeks have been misled by M'Kay's report, should not have soonbecome aware of Malcolm's existence.

  Unless, then, Walter had married her 'on the first brash,' as Patrickcalled it, he might not have thought her a prize worth the winning; butthe whole aspect of affairs had become most alarming, and Malcolm turnedpale as death at the thought that his sister might be sufferingretribution for the sin he had contemplated.

  The danger was terrible! He could not imagine Lilias to have the moralgrandeur and force of Esclairmonde. Moreover, she supposed her loverdead, and had not the same motive for guarding her troth. Forlorn anddespairing, she might have yielded, and Walter Stewart was, Malcolmverily believed, worse to deal with than even Boemond. As the wh
oledanger and uncertainty came over him, his senses seemed to reel; he leantback in his seat, and heard as in the midst of a dream his sister's sobsand groans, Patrick's fierce and furious exclamations, and the Abbess'sattempts at consoling him. Dizzy with horror at the scene he realized,Lilias's cries and shrieks of entreaty were ringing in his ear, whensuddenly a sweet full low voice seemed to come through them, 'I am boundever to pray for you and your sister.' Mingled with the cry came everthe sweet soft Litany cadences--'For all that are desolate and oppressed:we beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.' Gradually the cries seemed to beswallowed up, both voices blended in _Kyrie eleison_ and then in the_Gloria_, and at that moment he became aware of Patrick crying, 'I willseek her in every castle in Scotland.'

  'Stay, Patrick,' he said, rising, though forced to hold by his chair;'that must be my part.'

  'You--why, the laddie is white as a sheet! He well-nigh swooned at thetidings. You seek her, forsooth!' and Patrick laughed bitterly.

  'Yes, Patie,' said Malcolm, 'for this I am strong. It is my duty and notyours, and God will strengthen me for it.'

  Patrick burst out at this: 'Neither man nor devil shall tell me it is notmine!'

  'You are the King's prisoner still,' said Malcolm, rising to energy; 'youare bound to return to him. The tidings must be taken to him at once.'

  'A groom could do that.'

  'Neither so swiftly nor surely as you. Moreover, your word of honourbinds you not to wander at your own pleasure.'

  'My honour binds me not to trust you--wee Malcolm--to wander into thewolf's cage alone.'

  'I am not the silly feckless callant I once was, Patie,' answeredMalcolm. 'There are many places where my student's serge gown will takeme safely, where your corslet and lance would never find entrance. Noone will know me again as I am now: will they, holy Mother?'

  'Assuredly not,' said the Abbess.

  'A student is too mean a prey to be meddled with,' proceeded Malcolm,'and is sure of hospitality in castle or convent. I can try atColdingham to find out whither the two monks are gone, and then follow upthe track.'

  Patrick stormed at the plan, and was most unwilling it should be adopted.He at least must follow, and keep watch over his young cousin, or itwould be a mere throwing the helve after the hatchet--a betrayal of histrust.

  But a little reflection convinced him that thus to follow would onlybring suspicion on Malcolm and defeat his plans; and that it were betterto obtain some certain information ere the King should come home, andhave to interfere with a high hand; and Malcolm's arguments about hisobligations as a captive, too, had their effect. He perceived his ownincapacity to act; and in his despair at nothing being done consented torisk Malcolm in the search, while he himself should proceed to the King,only ascertaining on the way that Lilias was not at Whitby. And so, ingrief and anxiety, the cousins parted, and Malcolm alone durst speak aword of hope.