s account unhouselled, disappointed,
unannealed,' hung heavy on his mind, he determined, so soon as he was in
any degree convalescent, to set forth on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the
object of so many dreams of King Henry; there to offer masses and prayers
for the welfare of his departed prince, as well as of the unhappy
murderers, and for the country in its distracted condition.

And there, at the Holy Sepulchre, had Malcolm, in the fervour of his
heart, offered the greatest treasure he possessed--nay, the only one that
he still really cared for--namely his betrothal ring, which Esclairmonde
had worn for so long and had returned to him. As a priest, he had deemed
that it was not unlawful for him to retain the memorial of the link that
had bound him to her who had been the light that led him to the true
Light beyond; but as youth passed away, as devotion burned brighter, as
the experiences of those years became more dream-like, and the horror,
grief, and misery of his King's death had been assuaged only by the
steadier contemplation of the Light of Eternity, he had felt that this
last pledge of his once lower aims and hopes ought to be resigned; and
that if it cost him a pang, it was well that it should be so, to render
the offering a sacrifice. So the ring that had once been Esclairmonde's
protection was laid on the altar of the Holy Tomb.

There Malcolm had well-nigh died, under the influences of agitation,
fatigue, and climate; but he had revived enough to set out on his return
from his pilgrimage, and had made his way tardily and wearily, losing his
attendants through death and desertion on the road; and passing from one
religious house to another, as his strength and nearly exhausted means
served him. Unable to find any vessel bound for Leith, he had taken ship
for London; concealing his quality, lest, in the always probable
contingency of a war, it might lead to his being made prisoner; and thus
he had arrived, sick indeed unto death, but peaceful, rejoicing, and
hopeful.

'Sister,' he said, 'the morn that I had offered my ring, I was feeble and
faint; and when I knelt on before the altar in continued prayer--I know
not whether I slept or whether it were a vision, but it was to me as
though I were again on the river, and again the hymn of Bernard of
Morlaix was sung around and above me, by the voice I never thought to
hear again. I looked up, and behold it was I that was in the boat--my
King was there no more.