from his
horse, he bounded up the stairs, through the smoke, amid flakes of
burning thatch falling from the roof, groped in the dense clouds of smoke
for the senseless weight, and holding the shoulders while Malcolm held
the feet, they sped down the stair, and rested not till they had laid him
under a chestnut tree, out of reach of the crash of the house, which fell
in almost instantly.

'Does he live?' gasped Malcolm.

'He will not,' said the King, 'if his nation be known here. Keep out of
his sight! He must hear only French!'

Remembering how inexorably Henry hung every Scotch prisoner, Malcolm's
heart sank. This was why no one had sought the prisoner. A Scot was not
available for ransom! Should he be the murderer of his cousin, Lily's
love?

Meantime James hurriedly explained to Kitson that here was the sick man
left by the enemy, summoned Sir Nigel to his side, closed his own visor,
and called for water; then hung over the prisoner, anxious to prevent the
first word from being broad Scotch. In the free air, some long sobs
showed that Patrick was struggling back to life; and James at once said,
'Rendez vous, Messire;' but he neither answered, nor was there meaning in
his eyes. And James perceived that he was bandaged as though for broken
ribs, and that his right shoulder was dislocated, and no doubt had been a
second time pulled out when Malcolm had grasped him by the arms. He
swooned again at the first attempt to lift him, and a hay-cart having
been left in the flight of the marauders, he was laid in it, and covered
with the King's cloak, to be conveyed to Corbeil, where James trusted to
secure his life by personal intercession with Henry. He groaned heavily
several times, but never opened his eyes or spoke articulately the whole
way; and James and Sir Nigel kept on either side of the cart, ready to
address him in French the first moment, having told the English that he
was a prisoner of quality, who must be carefully conveyed to King James's
tent at Corbeil. Malcolm was not allowed to approach, lest he should be
recognized; and he rode along in an agony of shame and suspense, with
very different feelings towards Patrick than those with which he had of
late thought of him, or of his own promises. If Patrick died through
this plundering raid, how should he ever face Lily?

It was nearly night ere they reached Corbeil, where the tents were
pitched outside the little town. James committed his captive