CHAPTER XVIII: CLERK DAVIE
For Malcolm to speak with his sister was well-nigh an impossibility. Hadhe been detected, he would have been immediately treated as a spy, andthe suspicion thus excited would have been a dangerous preparation forthe King as well as for himself; nor was there any pretext for giving thewandering scholar an interview with her.
But harsh and strict as was the Duchess of Albany--a tall, raw-boned, red-haired woman, daughter of the fierce old Earl of Lennox--and resolved asshe was to bend Lilias by persecution to accept her son, she could notdebar a young gentleman of the royal kindred, like James Kennedy, fromentering the apartment where the ladies of the family sat with theirneedles; and the Regent, half from pity, half from shame, had refused topermit Lilias Stewart's being treated as a mere captive.
Thus Malcolm remained in Kennedy's room in much anxiety, while his cousinwent forth to do his best in his cause, and after some hours returned tohim with the tidings that he had succeeded in letting Lily know that hewas in the Castle. Standing over her while she bent over her embroidery,and thus concealing her trembling agitation, he had found it possible towhisper in her ears the tidings of her brother having come to save her,and of hearing her insist that Malcolm, 'wee Malcolm, must run no peril,but that she would do and dare everything--nay, would prefer death itselfto Walter Stewart.'
'Have you any device in this matter?' demanded James Kennedy, when he hadthus spoken.
'Have you your college gown here?' inquired Malcolm.
'I have, in yon kist,' said Kennedy. 'Would you disguise her therein?You and she are nearly of a height.'
'Ay,' said Malcolm. 'The plot I thought on is this--the worst is thatthe risk rests with you.'
'That is naught, less than naught,' said Kennedy. 'I had risked myselften times over had I seen any hope for her in so doing.'
Malcolm then explained his plan, namely, that if Lilias could haveKennedy's gown conveyed to her, she should array herself therein, and beconducted out of the castle by her cousin by one gate, he himself insecular garb going by another, and joining at some place of meeting,whence, as a pair of brothers, Malcolm and she might gain the Englishborder.
James Kennedy considered, and then added that he could improve on theplan. He had long intended leaving Doune for his brother's castle, butonly tarried in case he could do anything for Lilias. He would at supperpublicly announce to the Regent his departure for the next day, and alsosay that he had detained his fellow-scholar to go within him. Thenarranging for Malcolm's exit in a secular dress among his escort, as oneof the many unobserved loungers, Lilias should go with him in very earlymorning in the bachelor's gown, which he would place in a corner of adark passage, where she could find it. Then if Malcolm and she turnedaside from his escort, as the pursuit as soon as her evasion wasdiscovered would be immediately directed on himself, they would have themore time for escape.
It was a complicated plan, but there was this recommendation, thatMalcolm need not lose sight of his sister. Clerk as he was, youngKennedy could not ride without an escort, and among his followers hecould place Malcolm. Accordingly at supper he announced his desire toleave Doune at dawn next morning, and was, as a matter of course,courteously pressed to remain. Malcolm in the meantime eludedobservation as much as possible while watching his sister, who, in spiteof all her efforts, was pale and red by turns, never durst glance towardshim, and trembled whenever any one went near him.
The ladies at length swept out of the hall, and Robert and Alexandercalled for more wine for a rere-supper to drink to James's good journey;but Kennedy tore himself from their hospitable violence, and again he andMalcolm were alone, spending a night of anxiety and consultation.
Morning came; Malcolm arrayed himself in a somewhat worn dress ofKennedy's, with the belt and dirk he had carried under his scholar's garbnow without, and a steel cap that his cousin had procured for him on hishead. With a parcel in his arms of Kennedy's gear, he might pass for aservant sent from home to meet him; and so soon as this disguise wascomplete, Kennedy opened the door. On the turret stair stood a hoodedblack figure, that started as the door opened.
Malcolm's heart might well seem to leap to his lips, but both brother andsister felt the tension of nerve that caution required too much to giveway for a moment.
Kennedy whispered, 'Your license, fair Cousin,' and passed on with thefree step of lordly birth, while a few paces behind the seeming scholarhumbly followed, and Malcolm, putting on his soldier's tread and thecareless free-and-easy bearing he had affected before Meaux, brought upthe rear with Master Kennedy's mails.
As they anticipated, the household was not troubling itself to rise tosee the priest off. Not that this made the coast clear, for the floor ofthe hall was cumbered with snoring sleepers in all sorts ofattitudes--nay, at the upper table, the flushed, debauched, though youngand handsome, faces of Robert and Alexander Stewart might have beendetected among those who lay snoring among the relics of their lastnight's revel.
The old steward was, however, up and alert, ready to offer the stirrup-cup, and the horses were waiting in the court; but what they had by nomeans expected or desired was that Duke Murdoch himself, in his longfurred gown, came slowly across the hall to bid his young kinsman Kennedyfarewell.
'Speed you well, my lad,' he said kindly. 'I ask ye not to tarry in whatye must deem a graceless household;' and he looked sadly across at histwo sons, boys in age, but seniors in excess. 'I would we had mair ladslike you. I fear me a heavy reckoning is coming.'
'You have ever been good lord to all, Sir,' said Kennedy, affectionately,for he really loved and pitied the soft-hearted Duke.
'Too good, maybe,' said Murdoch. 'What! the scholar goes with you?' andhe fixed a look on Lily's face that brought the colour deep into it underher hood.
'Yes, Sir,' answered Kennedy, respectfully. 'Here, you Tam,' indicatingMalcolm, 'take him behind you on the sumpter-horse.'
'Fare ye weel, gentle scholar,' said Murdoch, taking the hand that Lilywas far from offering. 'May ye win to your journey's end safe and sound;and remember,' he added, holding the fingers tight, and speaking underthe hood, 'if ye have been hardly served, 'twas to make ye the secondlady in Scotland. Take care of her--him, young laddie,' he added,turning on Malcolm: ''tis best so; and mind' (he spoke in the samewheedling tone of self-excuse), 'if ye tell the tale down south, nae illhath been dune till her, and where could she have been mair fitly thanbeneath her kinsman's roof? I'd not let her go, but that young blude ishot and ill to guide.'
An answer would have been hard to find; and it was well that he did notlook for any. Indeed, Malcolm could not have spoken without being heardby the seneschal, and therefore could only bow, take his seat on thebaggage-horse, and then feel his sister mounting behind him in anattitude less unfamiliar on occasion even to the high-born ladies of thefifteenth century than to those of our day. Four years it was since hehad felt her touch, four years since she had sat behind him as theyfollowed the King to Coldingham! His heart swelled with thankfulness ashe passed under the gateway, and the arms that clung round his waistclasped him fervently; but neither ventured on a word, amid Kennedy'sescort, and they rode on a couple of miles in the same silence. ThenKennedy, pausing, said, 'There lies your way, Brother. Tam, you may showthe scholar the way to the Gray Friars' Grange, bear them greetings fraeme, and halt till ye hear from me. Fare ye well.'
Lilias trusted her voice to say, 'Blessings on ye, Sir, for all ye havedone for me,' but Malcolm thought it wiser in his character of retainerto respond only by a bow.
Of course they understood that the direction Kennedy gave was the veryone they were not to take, but they followed it till a tall bush of gorsehid them from the escort; and then Malcolm, grasping his sister's hand,plunged down among the rowans, ferns, and hazels, that covered the steepbank of the river, and so soon as a footing was gained under shelter of atall rock, threw his arms round her, almost sobbing in an under-tone, 'MyLily, my tittie!--safe at last! Oh, God
be thanked! I knew her prayerswould be heard! Oh, would that Patrick were here!' Then, as her facechanged and quivered ready to weep, he cried, 'Eh, what! art stilldeeming him dead?'
'How!' she cried wildly. 'He fell into the hands of your English, and--'
'He fell into the hands of your King and mine,' said Malcolm. 'Yes, KingJames dragged him out of the burning house, and wrung his pardon out ofKing Harry. He came with me to St. Abbs to fetch you, Lily, and onlywent back because his knighthood would not serve in this quest like myclerkship.'
'Patrick living, Patrick safe! Oh!' she fell on her knees among theferns, hid her face in her hands, and drew a long breath. 'Malcolm, thisis joy overmuch. The desolation of yesterday, the joy to-day!'
Malcolm, seeing her like one stifled by emotion, fell on his knees besideher, and whispered forth a thanksgiving. She rested with her head on hisshoulder in content till he started up, saying in a lively manner, 'Come,Lily, we must be on our way. A very bonnie young clerk you are, withyour berry-brown locks cut so short round your face.'
Lilias blushed up to the short dark curls she had left herself. 'Had Ithought he lived, I could scarce have done it.'
'What, not to get to him, silly maid? Here,' as he shook out and donnedthe gown he had brought rolled up, 'now am I a scholar too. Stay, youmust take off this badge of the bachelor; you have only been in amonastery school, you know; you are my young brother--what shall we callyou?'
'Davie,' softly suggested Lilias.
'Ay, Davie then, that I've come home to fetch to share my Paris lear. Youcan be very shy and bashful, you know, and leave all the knapping ofLatin and logic to me.'
'If it is such as you did with Jamie Kennedy,' said Lilias, 'it willindeed be well. Oh, Malcolm, I sat and marvelled at ye--so gleg ye tookhim up. How could ye learn it? And ye are a brave warrior too inbattles,' she added, looking him over with a sister's fond pride.
'We have had no battle, no pitched field,' said Malcolm 'but I have seenwar.'
'So that ugly words can never be flung in your face again!' cried Lilias.'Are you knighted, brother?'
'No, but they say I have won my spurs. I'll tell you all, Lily, as wewalk. Only let me bestow this iron cap where some mavis may nestle init. Ay, and the boots too, which scarce befit a clerk. There, yourhand, Clerk Davie; we must make westward to-day, lest poor Duke Murdochbe forced to send to chase us. After that, for the Border and Patie.'
So brother and sister set forth on their wandering--and truly it was ahappy journey. The weather favoured them, and their hearts were light.Lilias, delivered from terrible, hopeless captivity, her brother besideher, and now not a brother to be pitied and protected, but to protect herand be exulted in, trod the heather with an exquisite sense of joy andfreedom that buoyed her up against all hardships; and Malcolm was atpeace, as he had seldom been. His happiness was not exactly like hissister's in her renewed liberty and restoration to love and joy, for hehad known a wider range of life, and though really younger than Lily, hismore complicated history could not but make him older in thought andmind. Another self-abnegation was beginning to rise upon him, as hetravelled slowly southwards by stages suited to his sister's powers, andby another track than that by which he had gone. On the moor, or by theburn side, there was peace and brightness; but wherever he met with manhe found something to sadden him. Did they rest in a monastery, therewas often irregularity, seldom devotion, always crass ignorance. Themanse was often a scene of such dissolute life that Malcolm shunned tobring his sister into the sight of it; the peel tower was the dwelling ofsavagery; the farm homestead either rude and lawless or in constantterror; the black spaces on many a brae side showed where dwellings hadbeen burned; more than once they passed skeletons depending from thetrees or lying rotting by the way-side. And it was frightful to Malcolm,after his four years' absence, to find how little Lilias shared hishorror, taking quite naturally what to Alice Montagu would have seemedbeyond the bounds of possibility, and would have set Esclairmonde's soulon fire, while Lilias seemed to think it her brother's amiablepeculiarity to be shocked, or to long to set such things straight.
He felt the truth of James Kennedy's words--that reformation could not bethe sole work of the King, but that his hands must be strengthened by allthe few who knew that a different state of things was possible, and that,above all, the clergy needed to be awakened into vigour and intelligence.Formerly, the miserable aspect of the country had merely terrified him,and driven him to strive to hide his head in a convent; but the strengthand the sense of duty he had acquired had brought his heart to respond toKennedy's call to work.
Esclairmonde's words wrought within him beyond her own ken or purpose inspeaking them. He began to understand that to bury himself in an Italianuniversity and dive into Aristotle's sayings, to heap up his own memorywith the stores of thought he loved, or to plunge into the mazes ofmathematics, philosophy, and music, while his brethren in his own countrywere tearing one another to pieces for lack of any good influence toteach or show them better things, would be a storing of treasure forhimself on earth, a pursuit of the light of knowledge indeed, but not awooing of the light of Wisdom, the true Light of the World, as seen inHim who went about doing good. To complete his present course was, heknew, necessary. He had seen enough of really learned scholars to knowthe depths of his own ignorance, and to be aware that certain books mustbe read under guidance, and certain studies gone through, before hiscultivation would be on a level with the standard of the best workingclergy of the English Church--such as Chicheley, Waynflete, or the like.He would therefore remain at Oxford, he thought, long enough to take hisMaster of Arts degree, and then, though to his own perceptions only theone-eyed among the blind, he would make the real sacrifice of himself inthe rude and cruel world of Scotland.
He knew that his king was well satisfied with Patrick, and also that aman of sound heart and prompt, hard hand was far fitter to rule as asecular lord than his own more fine-drawn mature could ever be; but as apriest, with the influence that his birth and the King's friendship wouldgive him, he already saw chances of raising the tone of the clergy, andthus improving the wild and lawless people.
A deep purpose of self-devotion was growing up in his soul, but withoutsaddening him, only rendering him more energetic and cheerful than hissister had ever known him.
As they walked together over the long stretches of moor, many were Lily'squestions; and Malcolm beguiled the way with many a story of camp andcourt, told both for his own satisfaction in her sympathy, and with thedesire to make the Scottish lassie see what was the life and what thethoughts of ladies of her own degree in other lands, so that the Lady ofGlenuskie might be awake to somewhat of the high purpose of virtuous homegovernment to which Alice of Salisbury had been trained.
As to the Flemish heiress, no representation would induce Lilias to loveher. Reject Malcolm for a convent's sake! It was unpardonable; and asto a bedeswoman, working uncloistered in the streets, Lily viewed that asneither the one thing nor the other, neither religious nor secular; andshe was persuaded that a little exertion on the part of the brother, whomshe viewed as a paladin, would overcome all coyness on the lady's part.
Malcolm found it vain to try to show his sister his sense of his owndeserts, and equally so to declare that if the maiden should so yield,she would indeed be the Demoiselle de Luxemburg to whom he was pledged,but not the Esclairmonde whom his better part adored. So he let thematter pass by, and both enjoyed their masquing in one another's companyas a holiday such as they could never have again.
They had no serious alarms; the pursuit must have been disconcerted, andthe two young scholars were not worth the attention of freebooters. Theirwinsomeness of manner won them kindness wherever they harboured; andthus, after many days, without molestation they came to the walls ofBerwick. And now, while Malcolm thought his difficulties at an end, ahorror of bashfulness fell upon Lilias. She had been Clerk Davie merrilyenough while there was no one to suspect her, but the transm
utation intoher proper self filled her with shame.
She hung back, and could be hardly dragged forward to the embattledgateway of the bridge by her brother--who, as the guards, jealouslycautious even in this time of peace, called out to him to stand, showedhis ring bearing the royal arms, and desired to speak within the captainof the garrison, who was commanding in the name of the Earl ofNorthumberland, Governor of Berwick and Warden of the Marches, and whohad entertained him on his way north, and would have been warned byPatrick of his probable return in this guise.
Instead of the stalwart form of the veteran sub-governor, however, aquick step came hurrying to the gateway, and the light figure of a youngknight stood before him, with outstretched hands, crying: 'Welcome to thegood town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, dear comrade!' And he added in a lowertone: 'So you have succeeded in your quest--if, as I trow, this fairestof clerks be your lady sister. May I--'
'Hold!' softly said Malcolm. 'She is so shamefast that she cannot brooka word;' and in fact Lilias had pulled her hood over her face, and shrunkbehind him, at the first approach of the young gentleman.
'We will to my mother,' said Ralf, aloud. 'She has always a soft cornerin her heart for a young clerk or a wanderer.'
And so saying, without even looking at the disguised figure, he gave thepass-word, and holding Malcolm by the arm, led him, followed by Lilias,through the defences and into the court of the castle, then to a side-door, where, bounding up several steps at once of a stone stair, heopened a sort of anteroom door, and bade the two strangers wait therewhile he fetched his mother.
'That is well! Who would have looked to see him here!' cried Malcolm,joyously. 'What, you knew him not? It was Ralf Percy, my dear oldcompanion!'
'Ralf Percy! he that was so bold and daring?' cried Lilias. 'Nay, buthow can it be, he was as meek and shamefast--'
'As yourself,' smiled Malcolm. 'Ah, sister, you have much to learn ofthe ways of an English gentleman among ladies.'
Before many further words could be exchanged, there entered a fair andmatronly dame in the widow's veil she had worn ever since the fatal dayof Shrewsbury--that eager, loving, yet almost childish woman whom we knowso well as Hotspur's gentle Kate (only that unfortunately her name wasElizabeth); fondling, teasing, being fondled and teased in return, andthen with all her pretty puerilities scorched away when she upbraidsNorthumberland with his fatal delay. Could Malcolm and Lilias have knownher as we do in Shakespeare, they would have been the more gratified byher welcome, whereas they only saw her kind face and the courtly sweep ofher curtsey, as, going straight up to the disguised girl, blushing andtrembling now more than ever, she said: 'Poor child, come with me, and wewill soon have you yourself again, ere any other eye see you;' and thenmoved away again, holding Lily by the hand, while Ralf, who had followedclose behind her, again grasped Malcolm's hand.
'Well done, Glenuskie; you have all the adventures! They seek you, Ibelieve! So you have borne off your damosel errant, and are just in timeto receive your king.'
'Is he wedded then?'
'Ay, and you find us all here in full state, prepared to banquet him andlodge him and his bride for a night, and then I fancy my brother is to gothrough some ceremony, ere giving him up to his own subjects. We arewatching for him every day. Come to my chamber, and I'll apparel you.'
'Nay, but what brings you here, Ralf?--you, whom I thought in France.'
''Twas a Scottish bill that brought me,' answered Ralf. 'What, are youtoo lost in parchment at Oxford to hear of us poor soldiers, or knew younot how we fought at Crevant?'
'I heard of the battle, and that you were hurt, but that was months ago,and I deemed you long since in the field again. Was it so sore amatter?'
'Chiefly sore for that it hindered me from taking the old rogue Douglas,and meriting my spurs as befitted a Percy. I was knighted while thetrumpet was sounding, and I did think that I was on the way to prowess,for fully in the _melee_ I saw a fellow with the Douglas banner. I madeat it, thinking of my father's and of Otterburn; and, Malcolm, this veryhand was on the staff, when what must a big Scot do but chop at me withhis bill like a butcher's axe. Had it fallen on mine arm it would havebeen lopped off like a bough of a tree, but, by St. George's grace, itlit here, between my neck and shoulder, and stuck fast as I went down,and the fellow was swept away from me. 'Twas so fixed in the very bone,that they had much ado to wrench it out, when there was time after thefight to look after us who had come by the worse. And what d'ye thinkthey found, Malcolm? Why, those honest Yorkshiremen, Trenton and Kitson,stark dead, both of them. Trenton must have gone down first, with alance-thrust in the throat; and there was Kitson over him, his shieldover his head, and his own cleft open with an axe! They laid them sideby side--so I was told--in their grave; and sure 'twas as strange and astrue a brotherhood as ever was between two brave men.'
'The good fellows!' cried Malcolm. 'Nay, after what I saw I can hardlygrieve. I went to Kitson's home, where they knew as little as I did ofhis death, and verily his place had closed up behind him, so that Iscarce think his mother even cared to see him more, and the whole of themseemed more concerned at his amity with Trenton than proud of his featsof arms. I was marvelling if their friendship would be allowed tosubsist at home, even when they, poor fellows, were lying side by side intheir French grave.'
'We warriors should never come home,' said Percy; 'we are spoilt foraught but our French camp. I am wearying to get back once more, but solong as I cannot swing my sword-arm I must play the idler here.'
'It must have been a fearsome wound,' said Malcolm. 'The marvel is yourovergetting it.'
'So say they all; and truly it has lasted no small time. They shipped meoff home so soon as I could leave my bed, and bade me rest. Nay, and mymother herself came even to London, when my brother was summoned toParliament,--she who had never been there since the first year after shewas wedded!'
'You can scarce complain of such kin as that,' said Malcolm.
''Tis not the kin, but this petty Border life, that frets me. Here wemove from castle to castle, and now and then come tidings of a cattlelifting, and Harry dons his helm and rides forth, but nine times out often 'tis a false alarm, or if it be true, the thieves have made off, andbeing time of peace, he, as Warden, cannot make a raid in return. I'msick of the life, after the only warfare fit for a knight, with Frenchnobles instead of Border thieves; and back I will. If my right arm willnot serve me, the left shall. I can use a lance indifferent wellalready.'
As Sir Ralf Percy spoke, a bugle-call rang through the castle. Hestarted. 'Hark! that's the warder's horn,' and flying to the door, hesoon returned crying--'Your king is in sight, Malcolm!'
'How soon will he be here?'
'In less than half an hour. There's time to array yourself. I'll takeyou to my chamber.'
'Thanks,' said Malcolm; 'but this gown is no disguise to me. I hadrather meet the King thus, for it is my fitting garb. Only I wouldremove the soil of the journey, and then take my sister by the hand.'
For this there was ample time, and Malcolm had arranged his hair, andbrushed away the dust from his gown, washed his face and hands, and madehimself look more like an Oxford bachelor, and less like a begging clerk,than he had of late judged it prudent to appear, ere Ralf took him to thegreat hall, where he found Lord Northumberland and the chief gentlemen ofhis household, with his mother, Lady Percy, and his young wife, togetherwith their ladies, assembling for the reception of their royal guests.
Malcolm was presented to, and kindly greeted by, each of the principalpersonages, and then the Earl, Sir Ralf, and their officers went forth tomeet the King at the gateway. Malcolm, however, at his sister'sentreaty, remained with her, for in the doubt whether Patrick were reallyat hand, and a fond unreasonable vexation that he had had no part in herliberation, her colour was coming and going, and she looked as if shemight almost faint in her intense excitement.
But when, marshalled by the two Percies, King James and Queen Joan hadentered the ha
ll, and the blare of trumpets without and rejoicingswithin, and had been welcomed with deep reverences by the two ladies,Ralf said: 'Sir, methinks you have here what you may be glad to see.'
And standing aside, he made way for the two figures to stand forth, onein the plain black gown and hood, the other in the rich robes of a high-born maiden, her dark eyes on the ground, her fair face quivering withinemotion, as both she and her brother bent the knee before their royalmaster.
'Ha!' cried James, 'this is well indeed. Thou hast her, then, lad? See,Patrick! Where is he? Nay, but, fair wife, I must present thee thefirst kinswoman of mine thou hast seen. How didst bring her off,Malcolm?' And he embraced Malcolm with the ardour of a happy man, as headded, 'This is all that was wanting.'
Truly James looked as if nothing were wanting to his joy, as there hestood after his years of waiting, a bridegroom, free, and on the bordersof his native land. His eyes shone with joy, and there was a brightenergy and alacrity in his bearing that, when Malcolm bethought him ofthose former grave movements, and the quiet demeanour as though onlyinterested by an effort, marked the change from the captive to the freeman. And beautiful Joan, lovelier than ever, took on her her queenlydignity with all her wonted grace and graciousness.
She warmly embraced Lilias, hailing her as cousin, and auguring joyouslyof the future from the sight of this first Stewart maiden whom she hadseen; and the next moment Patrick Drummond, hurrying forward, fell on hisknee before his lady, grasped, kissed, fondled her hand, and struggledand stammered between his rejoicing over her liberation and despair thathe had no part in it.
'Yea,' said the King 'it was well-nigh a madman whom you sent home to me,Malcolm. He was neither to have nor to hold; and what he would have hadme do, or have let him do, I'll not say, nor doth he know either. I musthear your story ere I sleep, Malcolm.'
The King did not ask for it then: he would not brook the exposure of thedisunion and violence of Scotland to the English, especially the Percies;and it was not till he could see Malcolm alone that he listened to hishistory.
'Cousin,' he said, 'you have done both bravely and discreetly. Methinksyou have redeemed my pledge to your good guardian that in the south youshould be trained to true manhood; though I am free to own that 'twas notunder my charge that you had the best training. How is it to be,Malcolm? Patrick tells me you saw the Lady of Light.'
'Ay, Sir, but neither her purpose nor mine is shaken. My lord, I believeI see how best to serve God and yourself. If you will consent, I willfinish my first course at Oxford, and then offer myself for thepriesthood.'
'Not hide thyself in cloister or school--that is well!' exclaimed theKing.
'No, Sir. Methinks I could serve yonder rude people best if I were amongthem as a priest.'
James considered, then said: 'I pledged myself not to withstand yourconscience, Malcolm; and though I grieve that the lady should be lost,she has never wavered, and cannot be balked of her will. Godly andlearned priests will indeed be needed; and between you and James Kennedy,when both are come to elder years, we may perchance lift our poorScottish Church to some clearer sense of what a church should be.Meanwhile--' The King stopped and considered. 'Study in England! Ay!You see, Malcolm, I must take my seat, and have the reins of my unrulysteed firm in my hand, ere I take cognizance of these offences. Thecaitiff Walter--mansworn that he is--he shall abye it; but that canscarce be as yet, and methinks it were not well that I entered Scotlandwith you and your sister at my side, for then must I seem to haveoverlooked an offence that, by this holy relic, I will never pardon. So,Malcolm, instead of entering Scotland with me--bonnie land, how sweet itsair blows from the north!--ye must e'en turn south! But how to disposeof your sister? Some nunnery--'
'Poor Lily, she is weary of convents,' said Malcolm 'but if Lady Montaguwould let her be with her and the Lady Esclairmonde, then would she learnsomewhat of the ways of a well-ordered English noble house. And I couldwell provide for her being there as befits her station.'
'Well thought of! The gentle Lady Alice will no doubt welcome her,' saidthe King; 'and Patrick must endure.'
Thus then was it fixed. The King and Queen, stately and beautiful,royally robed, and mounted on splendid steeds, were escorted the nextmorning to the Scottish gate of Berwick by Lord Northumberland and hisretinue, and they were met by an imposing band of Scottish nobles, withthe white-haired Earl of Lennox at their head. To these the captive wasformally surrendered by Northumberland; and James, flinging himself fromhis horse, kissed his native soil, and gave thanks aloud to God, ere hestood up and received the homage of his subjects, to most of whom he wasa total stranger.
Malcolm and Lilias on the walls could see all, but could not hear, andfinally beheld the glittering troop wind their way over the hills to makeready for the coronation of James and Joan as king and queen of Scotland.
CHAPTER XIX: THE LION'S WRATH
It was the 24th of May, 1425, when in the vaulted hall of the Castle ofStirling the nobles of Scotland were convened to try, as the peers of therealm, men of rank--no less than Murdoch, Duke of Albany, his sons Walterand Alexander, the Earl of Lennox, and twenty-two other nobles, most ofwhom had been arraigned in the Parliament of Perth two months previously,and had been shut up in different castles. Robert Stewart had escaped tothe Highlands; and Walter--who had neither been at the Coronation ofScone, nor at the Parliament of Perth, nor indeed had ever bowed hispride so as to present himself to the King at all--had been separatelyarrested, and shut up for two months in the strong castle on the BassRock.
The charge was termed treason and violence; and assuredly there had beenperpetual acts of spoil and barbarous infractions of the law by men whodeemed themselves above all law. The only curiosity was, for which ofthese acts they were to be tried, and this affected many of their judgeslikewise; for there was hardly a man in that court who was not consciousof some deed that would not exactly bear to be set beside the code ofScotland, and who had not been in the habit of regarding those laws asall very well for burghers, but not meant for gentlemen.
There, on seats behind the throne, sat the twenty-one jurors, EarlDouglas among them--a new earl, for the grim old Archibald had died inthe battle of Verneuil some months before. Angus, March, and Mar, andall the most powerful names in Scotland, were there; and upon his throne,in regal robes of crimson and ermine, the crown upon his brow, thesceptre in his hand, the sword of state held before him, sat King James,the most magnificent-looking king then reigning in Europe, but with thesternest, saddest, most resolute of countenances, as one unalterablyfixed upon the terrible duty of not bearing the sword in vain. Somethingof Henry's avenging-angel look seemed to have passed into his face, butwith far more of melancholy weight.
Walter Stewart was led into the court. He too was a man of lofty statureand princely bearing, and his grand Stewart features were set in anexpression of easy nonchalance and scorn; aware as he was that ofwhatever he might be accused, there were few of his judges that did notshare the guilt, and moreover persuaded that this was a mere ceremony,and that the King would never dare to go beyond this futile attempt tooverawe him. He stood alone--his father and the others were reserved foranother trial; and as, richly arrayed, he stood opposite to the jury,gazing fixedly first at one, then at the other, as though challengingtheir right to sit in judgment on him, one eye after another fell beneathhis gaze.
'Walter Stewart of Albany, Earl of Fife,' proclaimed the crier's voice.'You stand here arraigned of murder and of robbery.'
'At whose suit?' demanded Walter, undaunted.
'At the suit of Malcolm and Lilias Stewart of Glenuskie; and of PatrickDrummond of the Braes,' returned the crier, an ecclesiastic, as were alllawyers; and at the same moment three figures came forward, namely, atall knightly gentleman with gold chain and spurs, a lady whose veildisclosed a blushing dark-eyed face, and a slender youth of deep andearnest countenance. 'At the suit of these here present you standarraigned, Sir Walter Stewart of Albany, for having feloniousl
y, and ofmalice aforethought, on the Eve of the Annunciation of our Lady, of theyear of grace 1421, set upon the said Malcolm and Lilias Stewart, SirDavid Drummond of the Braes, Tutor of Glenuskie, and divers otherpersons, on the muir of Hetherfield; and having there cruelly andmaliciously wounded the said David of the Braes to the death; and ofhaving forcibly stolen and abducted the person of the said LiliasStewart--'
The crier was not permitted to proceed, for Walter Stewart broke forth,passionately addressing the jurors. 'So this is all that can be found tobe laid against me. This is the way that matters of five years back areraked up to vex the princes and nobles of Scotland. I am sorry for you,lords and gentlemen, if this is the way that vexatious are to be stirredup against those who have defended their country so long.'
'This is no answer to the accusation, Sir Walter,' said the Earl of Mar.
'Accusation, forsooth!' said Walter Stewart scornfully. 'Who dares tobear witness, if I _did_ maintain my father's lawful authority overpeevish runaway wards of the Crown?'
'Sir Walter,' said the King, 'you would have done better to have waitedand heard the whole indictment ere answering one charge. But since youdemand who will dare to bear witness in this matter of the murder of SirDavid Drummond of the Braes, and of the seizure of the Lady Lilias, hereis one.'
So saying, and rising as he spoke, he held forth the reliquary that hungfrom a chain round his neck, keeping his gleaming tawny eyes fixedsteadily straight upon Walter Stewart's face.
That face, as he first had stood up, expressed the utmost amazement, andthis gradually, under the lion glance, became more and more of dismay,quailing, collapsing visibly under the passionless gravity of that look.Even the tall form seemed to shrink, the eyes dilated, the brows drewcloser together, and the chest seemed to pant, as the relic was heldforth. There was a dead silence throughout the court as the King ceasedto speak; only he continued to bend that searching gaze upon hisprisoner.
'Was it you?--was it your own self, my lord?' he stammered forth at last,in the tone of one stricken.
'Yea, Walter Stewart. To me it was, and on this holy relic, that youmade oath to abstain from all further spoil and violence until the Kingshould come again in peace. How that oath has been kept the furtherindictments will show.'
'I deemed it was St. Andrew,' faltered the prisoner.
'And therefore that the oath to a heavenly saint would better bearbreaking than one to an earthly sinner,' replied James gravely. 'Readon, Clerk of the Court.'
The roll continued--a long and terrible record of violence and cruelty;the private warfare of the lawless young prince, the crimes of recklessbarbarity and of savage passion--a deadly roll, in which indeed even thesecond abduction of Lilias was one of the least acts laid to his charge.
No lack of witnesses were there to prove deeds that had been done in theopen face of day, in utter fearlessness of earthly justice, and defianceof Heaven. The defence that the prisoner seemed to have been prepared tous?--that those who sat to judge him had shared in his offences, and hisdaring power of brow-beating them, as he had so often done before, as sonof the man who sat in the King's seat--had utterly failed him now. Hewas mute; and the forms of the trial were gone through as of one whosedoom was already sealed, but who must receive his sentence according tothe strictest form of law, lest the just reward of his deeds shouldpartake of their own violence. By the end of the day the jurors hadfound Walter Stewart guilty; and the doomster, a black-robed clerk,rising up, pronounced the sentence that condemned Walter Stewart ofAlbany to suffer death by beheading.
Even then no one believed that the doom would be inflicted. Royal bloodhad never flowed beneath the headsman's axe; and it would have beeninfinitely more congenial to Scottish feelings if the King had sent aparty of men-at-arms to fall on the Master in the high road, and cut himoff, or had burnt him alive in his castle. The verdict 'served himright' would have been universally returned, and rejoiced in; but aregular trial of a man of such birth was unheard of, and shocking to thefeelings even of those whom that irresistible force of the King's hadcompelled to sit in judgment upon him. No one could avow it face to facewith the King; but every one felt it an outrage to find that no rank wasexempt from law.
Duke Murdoch, his son Alexander, and his father-in-law Lennox, were triedthe next day, and many a deed of dark treason was laid to their charge.The Earl of Lennox had been the scourge of Scotland for more than halfthe eighty years of his life, but his extreme age might have excited somepity; Murdoch had erred rather negatively than positively; and Alexander,ruffian as he was, had been bred to nothing better. Each had deservedthe utmost penalty of the law again and again, and yet there did seemmore scope for mercy in their case than in that of Walter.
But the King was inexorable. He set Malcolm aside as he had set others.
'I know what you would say, lad. Lennox is old, and Alexander is young,and Albany is a fool; and Walter has injured you, so you are bound tospeak for him. Take it all as said. But these are the men who have beenforemost in making our country a desert! Did I pardon them, with whatface could I ever make any man suffer for crime? And, in the state ofthis land, ruth to the guilty high would be treason to the sackless low.'
So Stirling saw the unprecedented sight of three generations sufferingfor their crimes upon the same scaffold--the white-haired Lennox, theDuke of Albany in the prime of life, Walter in the flush and strength ofearly manhood, Alexander in the bloom of youth. They all met their fateundauntedly; for if Murdoch's heart in any measure failed him, he wasafraid to give way in presence of the proud bold Walter, who maintainedan iron rigidity of demeanour with the wild fortitude of a Red Indian atthe stake, and in like manner could by no means comprehend that KingJames acted from any motive save malice, for having been so long kept outof his kingdom. 'It was his turn now,' said poor Murdoch, even when mostdesirous of bringing himself to die in a state of Christian forgiveness;nor could any power on earth show any of the criminals that the Kingacted in the eternal interests of right and justice.
Thus it was with the whole country; and when the four majestic-lookingmen stood bare-headed on the scaffold, in view even of their own fairtowers of Doune, and one by one bowed their heads on the block, perverseScottish nature broke out into pity for their fate, and wrath against theKing, who could thus turn against his own blood, and disgrace the royallineage.
On that same day Malcolm received Esclairmonde's token, there being atpresent full peace with England, and set forth on her summons. He mether at Pontefract, where she was residing with the Dowager Queen Joan ofNavarre, Alice of Salisbury having been summoned to return to her husbandin France.
There then it was that Malcolm and Esclairmonde, in presence of thechaplain, gave each other back the rings, and therewith their troth towed none other, and were once more declared free.
Esclairmonde held out her hand to Malcolm, saying, 'The thanks I owe you,Sir, are beyond what tongue can tell. May He to Whom my first vows weredue requite it to you.'
And Malcolm, with his knee to the ground, pressing for the last time thatfair hand, said, 'The thanks, lady, are mine. Had you been one whitlower in aims or in constancy, what had I been? You were my light of theworld, but to light me to seek that higher Light that shone forth in you,and which may I show truly to the darkened spirits of my countrymen!Lady, you will permit me to take to myself the ring you have worn solong. It will be my token of my betrothal to that true Light.'
Such was their parting, when the one went forth to her tasks of charityamong the poor in London, the other to divest himself of land andlordship on behalf of his sister and her husband, and then to begin histask in the priesthood, of trying to hold up the true Light to heartsdarkened by many an age of crime and ignorance.
Lived very happy ever after! Yes, we would fain always leave thecreatures with whom our thoughts have been busy in such felicity; butwhen we have linked them with real events, the sense of the veritablecourse of history reminds us that we cannot even suppose
beings possiblein real life without endowing them with the common lot of humanity; andthe personages of our tale lived in a time of more than ordinary reverseand trouble.
Yet Sir Patrick Drummond and Lilias his wife, the Lord and Lady ofGlenuskie, nearly did fulfil these conditions. They had not feelingsbeyond their age, but they were good specimens of that age, and they didtheir duty in it; he as a trustworthy noble, ready to aid in council orwar, and she as the beneficent dame, bringing piety and charity to healthe sufferings of her vassals and serfs. His hand was strong enough torepel the attacks of his foes; her intelligence, backed by Malcolm'scounsel, introduced improvements; and the little ravine of Glenuskie wasa happy valley of peace and prosperity for many years among theconvulsions of Scotland.
Nor was Esclairmonde de Luxemburg's life in the Hospital of St. Katharineotherwise than the holy and beneficent career that she had always longedfor--worshipping in the fair church, and going forth from thence 'intothe streets and lanes of the city,' to fulfil Queen Philippa's piousbehest, to seek out the suffering and the ignorant, and to tend andinstruct them. The tall form and beautiful countenance of Sister Clarewere loved and reverenced as those of an angel messenger among the highhouses and courts that closed in on the banks of the Thames; and whileLuxemburgs in France and Flanders intrigued and fought, plotted and fell,their kinswoman's days passed by in busy alms-deeds and ever loftierdevotion, till those who watched her steps felt that she was verily alight of the world, manifesting forth the true Light in many a darkplace.
And her light of sympathy shone upon many an old friend both in joy andin grief. When the dissensions of Gloucester and Beaufort had summonedBedford to England to endeavour to appease their strife, his BurgundianDuchess sought out her early friend, and Esclairmonde saw her gentlecompanion, the Lady Anne, fulfilling her daily task of mediation, andliving a life, not indeed very sunshiny, but full of all that esteem andrespect could give her, and of calm gratitude and affection, althoughAnne, like all others, believed that John of Bedford's heart had beenburied in his brother's grave, and that of youthful love he had none togive. His whole soul was absorbed in his care for the welfare of thepale, gentle, dreamy, inanimate boy, who, from his very meekness anddocility, gave so little promise of representing the father whose name hebore.
The loving Alice of Montagu, though the mother of many a bold boy andgirl, and busy with all the cares of the great Nevil household, regardedas the chief delight in a journey to court the sight of her dear SisterClare. It was to Sister Clare that Alice turned for comfort when herbrave old father died at the siege of Orleans; and it was while dailysoothing and ministering to her sorrow that Esclairmonde heard thestrange wild tales of the terrible witch maiden who had appeared onbehalf of the French, and turned whole English armies to flight, by powerthat the French declared to come from the saints, but which the Englishnever doubted to be infernal. Maimed and wounded soldiers, whomEsclairmonde relieved and tended as they returned from lost battles, gaveher fearful accounts of the panic that La Pucelle inspired. Even thehardy veteran, Sir John Fastolfe, had not been able to withstand herspells, but had fled from the field of Jergeau, where gallant Sir RalfPercy had died, in a vain attempt to gather the men to resist theirresistible maiden. His groom, who had succumbed for a time to woundsand weakness on his way home to Alnwick, was touched by the warmth andemotion with which the kind bedeswoman listened to his lamentation overthe good and loyal knight, whom she pictured to herself resisting theenchantress's dread power as dauntlessly as he had defied the phantoms ofthe Dance of Death.
No whisper ever reached Esclairmonde that the terrible Pucelle was amaiden as pure and high-souled as herself. All that she heard more wasthat this terror of the English and Burgundians was taken, imprisoned fora time by her own Luxemburg kindred, and then carried to Rouen, where thekind Duchess Anne of Bedford did her best to persuade her to overcome thesuperstition that kept her in male garments, thus greatly tending toincrease the belief in her connection with the powers of evil. Frenchand Burgundian bishops, and even the University of Paris, were the judgesof the maiden; and the dastard prince she had crowned never stirred afinger nor uttered a protest in her behalf. Bedford, always disposed tobelief in witchcraft, acquiesced in the decision of Churchmen, which wastherefore called the judgment of the Church; but when he removed himselfand his duchess from Rouen, and left the conduct of the matter to thesterner and harder Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, it was with little thoughtthat after-generations would load his memory with the fate of Jeanned'Arc, as though her sufferings had proceeded from his individual malice.
Esclairmonde never saw Bedford again, and only heard through Alice, nowCountess of Salisbury, how when good Duchess Anne was dead, and hergentle influence removed, Burgundy's disinclination to the English causewas no longer balanced; and how Bedford, perplexed, disheartened, brokenin health, but still earnest to propitiate friends for his helplessnephew, had listened to the wily whisper of the Bishop of Therouenne,that his niece, Jaquette, would secure the devotion of the Count de St.Pol, and that she was moreover like unto another Demoiselle de Luxemburg.
How like, Esclairmonde could judge, when her kinswoman, widowed in hereighteenth year, at six months' end, came to London to claim her dower.Never, since her days of wandering and anxiety, had Esclairmonde feltsuch pain as when she perceived how little store the thoughtless girl hadset by the great and noble spirit that had been quenched under the loadof toil and care with which it had battled for thirteen long years.Faithful, great-hearted Bedford, striving to uphold a losing cause, toreconcile selfish contentions, to retain conquests that, though unjustlymade, he had no power to relinquish; and all without one trustworthyrelation, with friends and fellow-warriors dying, disputing, betraying,or deserting, his was as self-devoted and as mournful a career as everwas run by any prince at any age of the world; and while he slept in hisgrave at Rouen, that grave which even Louis XI. respected, Esclairmonde,as, like a true bedeswoman of St. Katharine, she joined in the orisonsfor the repose of the souls of the royal kindred, never heard the name ofthe Lord John without a throb of prayer, and a throb too that warmed herheart with tenderness.
It was some four years later, and the even tenor of Sister Clare's coursehad only been interrupted by her kinswoman, Jaquette, making her way toher to confess her marriage with Richard Wydville, and to entreat herintercession with the Luxemburg family; when one summer night she wascalled on to attend a pilgrim priest from the Holy Land, who had beenlanded from a Flemish vessel, and lay dangerously sick at the 'God'shouse,' or hospital, by the river side. He was thought by his accent tobe foreign, and Sister Clare was always called on to wait upon thestranger.
As she stood by his bedside, she beheld a man of middle age, but wastedwith sickness, and with a certain strange look of horror so imprinted onhis brow, that even as he lay asleep, though his mouth was grave andpeaceful, the lines were still there, and the locks that hung from aroundhis tonsure were of a whiteness that scarce accorded with the features.It was a face that Esclairmonde could not look at without waking strangememories; but it was not till the sleeper awakened, opened two dark eyes,gazed on her with dreamy doubtful wonder, and then clasped his hands withthe murmured thanksgiving, 'My God, hast Thou granted me this? Light ofmy life!' that she was assured to whom she was speaking.
Malcolm Stewart it verily was. Canon Malcolm Stewart of Dunkeld was hisproper title, for he had, as she knew, long ceased to be Lord ofGlenuskie. It was not at first that she knew how he had been broughtwhere she now saw him; but after some few days of her tender care andskilful leechcraft, he somewhat rallied, and she gathered his historyfrom his conversation when he was able to speak.
He had had a time of happy labour in Scotland, fully carrying out thedesigns with which he and his cousin James Kennedy had taken upon themthe ministry. Their own birth, and the appointments their King gavethem, so soon as their age permitted, made them able to exert aninfluence that told upon the rude and unenlightened clergy around. Ithad been alm
ost a mission of conversion, to awaken a spirit ofChristianity in the country, that had so long been a prey to anarchy. TheKing's declaration, 'I will make the key keep the castle, and the bracken-bush keep the cow, though I live the life of a dog to bring it about,'had been the moving spring of their lives. James had fought hour by hourwith the foul habits of lawlessness, savagery, and violence, that hadhitherto been absolutely unchecked; and while he strove with the sword ofjustice, the two young priests worked within the Word of truth, toimplant some sense of conscience in the neglected people.
It had been a life of constant exertion, but full of hope andcheerfulness. Amid that rude country, James's own home was always abright spot of peace, sunshine, and refinement. With his beloved queen,and their fair little brood of children, the King cast aside his cares,and was all, and more than all, he had been as the ornament of Henry'sCourt. There all that was sweet, innocent, and beautiful was to befound; and there Malcolm, his royal kinsman's confidant, counsellor, andchaplain, was always welcome as one of the home circle and family, tillhe broke away from such delights to labour in his task of revivingreligion in the land. A little band of men were gathering round, clergyawakening from their sloth or worldliness, young nobles who began to seewhat chivalry meant, burghers who rejoiced in order; and hope andencouragement strengthened the hands of the three kinsmen.
But, alas! there were those who deemed James's justice on the savageprince and noble mere sacrilege on high blood, and who absolutely hatedand loathed peace and order. Those thirteen years of cheerful progressended in that murder so unspeakably horrible in all its circumstances,which almost merits the name of a martyrdom to right and justice. Malcolmso shuddered when he did but touch on it, and was so rent with agitation,that Esclairmonde perceived that when his beloved King had perished, hehad indeed received the death-wound to his own fragile nature.
He had been actually in the Abbey of Perth; and had been one of those wholifted the mangled corpse from the vault, and sought in vain for aremnant of life, if but to grant the absolution, for which the victim hadso piteously besought his murderers. No wonder that Fastern's E'en hadwhitened Malcolm's hair!
But when the assassins were captured, and Joan of Beaufort was resolvedthat their death should be as atrocious as their crime, it was Malcolmwho strove to bend her to forgiveness. He bade her recollect King Henry,and how, when dealing with that cruel monster, the Castellane of Meaux,he had merely required death, without enhancing the agony; but Joan, inher rage and misery, had left the Englishwoman behind her, and wasimplacable. All that human cruelty could invent was to be the lot ofRobert Graham and his associates; and whereas they had granted no priestto their victim, none should be granted to them.
And then it was that all Malcolm had learnt of the true spirit of theChristian triumphed--not only over the dark Keltic spirit of revenge, butover the shuddering of a tender and pitiful nature. Where no otherpriest durst venture, he went. Through all the frightful and protractedsufferings of Athol, Graham, Hall, and the rest, it was Malcolm Stewartwho, never flinching, prayed with and for them; gathered their agonizedsobs of confession, or strove to soften their hardness; spoke the wordsof absolution, and commended their departing souls.
When he awoke from the long unconsciousness and delirium that ensued uponthe force he had put on himself, he found himself tended by his sister atGlenuskie. Patrick Drummond had transported him thither; finding thatthe angry Queen, in the madness of her vindictiveness, was well-nighdisposed to connect him with the treasonable designs of Athol and Graham.He slowly and partially recovered, but his influence was gone; the Queenwould not brook the sound of his name, the little king was beyond hisreach, James Kennedy was biding his time, and the country was returned toits state of misrule and violence, wherein an individual priest could dolittle: yet Malcolm would have held by his post, had not his health beenso utterly shattered that he was incapable of the work he had hithertodone, as a confessor and a preacher. And therefore, as the state of hisbeloved King, 'sent to his account unhouselled, disappointed,unannealed,' hung heavy on his mind, he determined, so soon as he was inany degree convalescent, to set forth on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, theobject of so many dreams of King Henry; there to offer masses and prayersfor the welfare of his departed prince, as well as of the unhappymurderers, and for the country in its distracted condition.
And there, at the Holy Sepulchre, had Malcolm, in the fervour of hisheart, offered the greatest treasure he possessed--nay, the only one thathe still really cared for--namely his betrothal ring, which Esclairmondehad worn for so long and had returned to him. As a priest, he had deemedthat it was not unlawful for him to retain the memorial of the link thathad bound him to her who had been the light that led him to the trueLight beyond; but as youth passed away, as devotion burned brighter, asthe experiences of those years became more dream-like, and the horror,grief, and misery of his King's death had been assuaged only by thesteadier contemplation of the Light of Eternity, he had felt that thislast pledge of his once lower aims and hopes ought to be resigned; andthat if it cost him a pang, it was well that it should be so, to renderthe offering a sacrifice. So the ring that had once been Esclairmonde'sprotection was laid on the altar of the Holy Tomb.
There Malcolm had well-nigh died, under the influences of agitation,fatigue, and climate; but he had revived enough to set out on his returnfrom his pilgrimage, and had made his way tardily and wearily, losing hisattendants through death and desertion on the road; and passing from onereligious house to another, as his strength and nearly exhausted meansserved him. Unable to find any vessel bound for Leith, he had taken shipfor London; concealing his quality, lest, in the always probablecontingency of a war, it might lead to his being made prisoner; and thushe had arrived, sick indeed unto death, but peaceful, rejoicing, andhopeful.
'Sister,' he said, 'the morn that I had offered my ring, I was feeble andfaint; and when I knelt on before the altar in continued prayer--I knownot whether I slept or whether it were a vision, but it was to me asthough I were again on the river, and again the hymn of Bernard ofMorlaix was sung around and above me, by the voice I never thought tohear again. I looked up, and behold it was I that was in the boat--myKing was there no more. Nay, he stood on the shore, and his eyes beamedon me; while the ghastly wounds that I once strove in anguish to staunchshone out like a ruby cross on his breast--the hands, that were so sorelygashed, were to me as though marked by the impress of the Sacred Wounds.He spake not; but by his side stood King Henry, beautiful andspirit-like, and smiled on me, and seemed as though he pointed to thewounds, as he said, "Blessed is the king who died by his people's hand,for withstanding his people's sin! Blessed is every faint image of thetrue King!"
'Then methought they held out their arms to me; and I would have come tothem on their shore of rest, but the river bore me away--and I looked up,to find I was as yet only in the earthly Jerusalem; but I watch for themevery hour, to call me once and for ever.'
FOOTNOTES
{1} 'Hail, reverend brother. I come from Paris.'
{2} Student of the first year.
{3} Manners are lacking to the Northerners.
{4} Wretches.
{5} For supper.
{6} Telephus and Peleus, when both are poor and exiled, dismiss boastingand six-foot words.
{7} It is dispersed in a cloud.
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