been devoured by them. The sea, far below, calmly brightened
with the brightening sky, and reflected the morning stars in a lucid
track of light, strong enough to make the lights glisten red in the
convent windows. Lilias was expected, was a frequent guest, and had many
friends there, and as the sweet sound of the Lauds came from the chapel,
and while she dismounted in the court the concluding 'Amen' swelled and
died away, she, though no convent bird, felt herself in a safe home and
shelter under the wing of kind Abbess Annabel Drummond, and only mourned
that Malcolm, so much tenderer and more shrinking than herself, should be
driven into the unknown world that he dreaded so much more than she did.

CHAPTER III: HAL

The sun had not long been shining on the dark walls of St. Ebba's
monastery, before the low-browed gate of Coldingham Priory opened to let
pass the guests of the previous night. Malcolm had been kissed and
blessed by his guardian, and bidden to transfer his dutiful obedience to
his new protector; and somewhat comforted by believing Sir David to be
mending since last night, he had rent himself away, and was riding in the
frosty morning air beside the kinsman who had so strangely taken charge
of him, and accompanied by Sir James's tall old Scottish squire, by the
English groom, and by Malcolm's own servant, Halbert.

For a long space there was perfect silence: and as Malcolm began to
detach his thoughts from all that he had left behind, he could not help
being struck with the expressions that flitted over his companion's
countenance. For a time he would seem lost in some deep mournful
reverie, and his head drooped as if in sadness or perplexity; then a
sudden gleam would light up his face, as if a brilliant project had
occurred to him, his lips would part, his eyes flash, he would impel his
horse forward as though leading a charge, or lift up his head with
kindling looks, like one rehearsing a speech; but ever a check would come
on him in the midst, his mouth closed in dejection, his brow drew
together in an anguish of impatience, his eyelids drooped in weariness,
and he would ride on in deep reflection, till roused perhaps by the
flight of a moor-fowl, or the rush of a startled roe, he would hum some
gay French hunting-song or plaintive Scottish ballad.

Scarcely a word had been uttered, until towards noon, on the borders of a
little narrow valley, the merry sound of bells clashed up to their