attention in his power. And
such a silent tedious meal was sure to be remarked, either with laughing
rudeness by Countess Jaqueline, or with severe reproof by the Bishop of
Therouenne, both of whom assured her that she had better lay aside her
airs, and resign herself in good part, for there was no escape for her.

One day, however, when the feast was at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and there
were some slight differences in the order of the guests, the Duke of
Bedford put himself forward as the Lady Esclairmonde's cavalier, so much
to her relief, that her countenance, usually so guarded, relaxed into the
bright, sweet smile of cheerfulness that was most natural to her.
Isolated as the pairs at the table were, and with music braying in a
gallery just above, there was plenty of scope for conversation; and once
again Esclairmonde was talking freely of the matters regarding the
distress in Paris, that Bedford had consulted her upon before he became
so engrossed with his brother's affairs, or she so beset by her
persecutors.

Towards the evening, when the feast had still some mortal hours to last,
there fell a silence on the Duke; and at length, when the music was at
the loudest, he said 'Lady, I have watched for this moment. You are
persecuted. Look not on me as one of your persecutors; but if no other
refuge be open to you, here is one who might know better how to esteem
you than that malapert young Scot.'

'How, Sir?' exclaimed Esclairmonde, amazed at these words from the woman-
hating Bedford.

'Make no sudden reply,' said John. 'I had never thought of you save as
one consecrate, till, when I see you like to be hunted down into the
hands of yon silly lad, I cannot but thrust between. My brother would
willingly consent; and, if I may but win your leave to love you, lady, it
will be with a heart that has yearned to no other woman.'

He spoke low and steadily, looking straight before him, with no visible
emotion, save a little quiver in the last sentence, a slight dilating of
the delicately cut nostril; and then he was silent, until, having
recovered the self-restraint that had been failing him, he prevented the
words she was trying to form by saying, 'Not in haste, lady. There is
time yet before you to bethink yourself whether you can be free in will
and conscience. If so, I will bear you through all.'

How invitingly the words fell on the lonely heart, so long left to fight
its own battles! There came for the fir