consented--'until such time as the way be open,' said
Esclairmonde, with her steady patient smile.

Malcolm bowed his head. 'I am glad you will not be forced to be with
your Countess,' he said.

'My poor lady! Maybe I have spoken too plainly. But I owe her much. I
must ever pray for her. And you, my lord?'

'I,' said Malcolm, 'shall go to study at Oxford. Dr. Bennet intends
returning thither to continue his course of teaching, and my king has
consented to my studying with him. It will not cut me off, lady, from
that which you permit me to be. King Henry and his brothers have all
been scholars there.'

'I understand,' said Esclairmonde, slightly colouring. 'It is well. And
truly I trust that matters may be so guided, that care for me may not
long detain you from more lasting vows--be they of heaven or earth.'

'Lady,' said Malcolm, earnestly, 'none who had been plighted to you
_could_ pledge himself to aught else save One above!'

Then, feeling in himself, or seeing in Esclairmonde's face, that he was
treading on dangerous ground, he asked leave to present to her his
cousin, Patrick Drummond: and this was accordingly done; the lady
comporting herself with so much sweet graciousness, that the good knight,
as they left the hall, exclaimed: 'By St. Andrew, Malcolm, if you let
that maiden escape you now she is more than half-wedded to you, you'll be
the greatest fool in broad Scotland. Why, she is a very queen for
beauty, and would rule Glenuskie like a princess--ay, and defend the
Castle like Black Agnes of Dunbar herself! If you give her up, ye'll be
no better than a clod.'

Malcolm and Patrick had been borne off by James's quitting the Castle;
Bedford remained longer, having affairs to arrange with the Queen. As he
left her, he too turned aside to the window where Esclairmonde sat as
usual spinning, and Lady Montagu not far off, but at present absorbed by
her father, who was to remain in France.

One moment's hesitation, and then Bedford stepped towards the Demoiselle
de Luxemburg, and greeted her. She looked up in his face, and saw its
settled look of sad patient energy, which made it full ten years older in
appearance than when they had sat together at Pentecost, and she marked
the badge that he had assumed, a torn-up root with the motto, 'The root
is dead.'

'Ah! my lord, things are changed,' she could not help saying, as she felt
that he yearned for comfort.

'Changed indeed!' he said; 'God'