s hastily pushed down some with
his horse, and struck down one or two with his sword, he was felled by a
mighty blow on the head, and the ecorcheurs thronged over him, dragging
him off his horse, any resistance on the part of the Scottish archers,
their escort, they could not tell; they only heard a tumult of shouts
and cries, and found rude hands holding them on their horses and
dragging them among the trees. Their screams for help were answered by
a gruff voice from a horseman, evidently the leader of the troop. 'Hold
that noise, Lady! No ill is meant to you, but you must come with us. No;
screams are useless! There's none to come to you. Stop them, or I must!'

'There is none!' said Madame de Ste. Petronelle's voice in her own
tongue; 'best cease to cry, and not fash the loons more.'

The sisters heard, and in her natural tone Eleanor said in French, 'Sir,
know you who you are thus treating? The King's daughter--sisters of the
Dauphiness!'

He laughed. 'Full well,' he answered, in very German-sounding French.

'Such usage will bring the vengeance of the King and Dauphin on you.'

He laughed yet more loudly. His face was concealed by his visor, but the
ill-fitting armour and great roan horse made Jean recognise the knight
whose eyes had dwelt on her so boldly at the tournament, and she added
her voice.

'Your Duke of the Tirol will punish this.'

'He has enough to do to mind his own business,' was the answer.

'Come, fair one, hold your tongue! There's no help for it, and the less
trouble you give us the better it will be for you.'

'But our squire!' Jean exclaimed, looking about her. 'Where is he?'

Again there was a rude laugh.

'Showed fight. Disposed of. See there!' and Jean could not but recognise
the great gray horse from the Mearns that George Douglas had always
ridden. Had she brought the gallant youth to this, and without word or
look to reward his devotion? She gave one low cry, and bowed her head,
grieved and sick at heart. While Eleanor, on her side, exclaimed,

'Felon, thou hast slain a nobleman's brave heir! Disgrace to
knighthood!'

'Peace, maid, or we will find means to silence thy tongue,' growled the
leader; and Madame de Ste. Petronelle interposed, 'Whisht--whisht, my
bairn; dinna anger them.' For she saw that there was more disposition
to harshness towards Eleanor than towards Jean, whose beauty seemed to
command a sort of regard.

Eleanor took the hint. Her eyes filled with tears,