like an Englishman--to the purpose.'

'Yea, is it not? Oh! is it not better than all the fine speeches and
compliments that Joan Beaufort gets from her Scottish king?'

'They have truths in them too, child.'

'Ay; but too fine-spun, too minstrel-like, for a plain English maid. The
hobgoblins should eat out his heart ere they touched me!' she repeated to
herself, as though the saying were the most poetical concert sung on
minstrel lover's lute.

Death's Dance had certainly brought this affianced pair to a better
understanding than all the gayest festivities of the Court.

Esclairmonde would have been happy if no one had noticed her benevolence
to the young Scot save Alice Montagu; but she had to endure countless
railleries from every lady, from Countess Jaqueline downwards, on the
unmistakable evidence that her heart had spoken; and her grave dignity
had less effect in silencing them than usual, so diverting was the
alleged triumph over her propriety, well as they knew that she would have
done the same for the youngest horse-boy, or the oldest man-at-arms.

CHAPTER X: THE WHITSUNTIDE FESTIVAL

'Lady, fairest lady! Ah, suffer your slave to fall at your feet with his
thanks!'

'No thanks are due, Sir. I knew not who had fallen.'

'Cruel coyness! Take not away the joy that has fed a hungry heart.'

'Lord Glenuskie's heart was wont to hunger for better joys.'

'Lady, I have ceased to be a foolish boy.'

'Such foolishness was better than some men's wisdom.'

'Listen, belle demoiselle. I have been forth into the world, and have
learnt to see that monasteries have become mere haunts for the sluggard,
who will not face the world; and that honour, glory, and all that is
worth living for, lie beyond. Ah, lady! those eyes first taught me what
life could give.'

'Hush, Sir!' said Esclairmonde. 'I can believe that as a child you
mistook your vocation, and the secular life may be blest to you; but with
me it can never be so; and if any friendship were shown to you on my
part, it was when I deemed that we were brother and sister in our vows.
If I unwittingly inspired any false hopes, I must do penance for the
evil.'

'Call it not evil, lady,' entreated Malcolm. 'It cannot be evil to have
wakened me to life and hope and glory.'

'What should you call it in him who should endeavour to render Lady Joan
Beaufort faithless to your king, Lord Malcolm? What then must it be to
tempt another to break troth-