village, or abbey where the halt chanced to
be made. Very slow was this progress; almost like a continual dream was
that long column, moving, moving on--white in front, black behind--when
seen winding over a hill, or, sometimes, the banners peering over the
autumn foliage of some thicket, all composed to profound silence and
tardy measured tread; while the chants rose and fell with the breeze,
like unearthly music. Many moved on more than half asleep; and others of
the younger men felt like Ralf Percy, who, for all his real sorrow for
the King, declared that, were it not for rushing out, morning and
evening, for a bathe and a gallop, to fly a hawk or chase a hare, he
should some day run crazed, blow out all the wax lights, or play some mad
prank to break the intolerable oppression. Malcolm smiled at this; but
to him, still in the dreamy inertness of recovery, this tranquil onward
movement in the still autumn weather had some thing in it of healing
influence; and the sweet chants, the continual offices of devotion, were
accordant with his present tone of mind, and deepened the purpose he had
formed.

Queen Catherine and her ladies joined the funeral march at Rouen, or
rather followed it at a mile's interval; but the two trains kept apart,
and only occasional messages were sent from one to the other. Some of
the gentlemen, who had a wife or sister in the Queen's suite, would ride
at nightfall to pay her a hasty visit; but Malcolm--though he longed to
be sent--durst not intrude upon Esclairmonde; and the Duke of Bedford was
not only forced to spend all the evening and half the night in business,
but was not loth to put off the day of the meeting with his dear sister
Catherine--to say nothing of the 'Woman of Hainault.'

Therefore it was not until all had arrived at Calais, where a fleet was
waiting to meet them, that any visits were openly made by the one party
to the other.

Bedford and James went together to the apartments of the Queen, and while
they saw her in private, Malcolm came blushing towards Esclairmonde, and
was welcomed by her with a frank smile, outstretched hand, and kind
inquiry after his recovery.

She treated him indeed as a brother, as one on whom she depended, and had
really wished to see and arrange with. She told him that Alice Montagu
and her husband were returning to England, and that her little friend had
so earnestly prayed her to abide with her at Middleham for the present,
that she had