aster's stripes. Go, Earl William, I made a mistake; I thought
you had been a man. But since I was wrong I bid you get back to the
monk's chapter house, to clerkly copies and childish toys."

Then black and sullen anger glared from the eyes of the Douglas.

"Get hence," he cried. "Hence, both of you--you, Uncle William, ere I
forget your holy office and your kinsmanship; you, Malise, that I may
settle with to-morrow ere the sun sets. I swear it by my word as a
Douglas. I will never forgive either of you for this night's work!"

The fair white hand was laid upon his wrist.

"Nay," said the lady, "do not quarrel with those you love for my poor
sake. I am indeed little worth the trouble. Go back with them in
peace, and forget her who but sat by your side an hour neither doing
you harm nor thinking it."

"Nay," he cried, "that will I not. I will show them that I am old
enough to choose my company for myself. Who is my uncle that he
should dictate to me that am an earl of Douglas and a peer of France,
or my servant that he should come forth to spy upon his master?"

"Then," she whispered, smiling, "you will indeed abide with me?"

He gave her his hand.

"I will abide with you till death! Body and soul, I am yours alone!"

"By the holy cross of our Lord, that shall you not!" cried Malise;
"not though you hang me high as Haman for this ere the morrow's morn!"

And with these words he sprang forward and caught his master by the
wrist. With one strong pull of his mighty arm he dragged him within
the circle which the Abbot had marked out with the sword's point.

The lady seemed to change colour. For at that moment a gust of wind
caused the lamps to flicker, and the outlines of her white-robed
figure appeared to waver like an image cast in water.

"I adjure and command you, in the name of God the One and Omnipotent,
to depart to your own place, spirit or devil or whatever you may be!"

The voice of the Abbot rose high above the roaring of the bursting
storm without. The lady seemed to reach an arm across the circle as if
even yet to take hold of the young man. The Abbot thrust forward his
crucifix.

And then the bolt of God fell. The whole pavilion was illuminated with
a flash of light so intense and white that it appeared to blind and
burn up all about. The lady was seen no more. The silken covering
blazed up. Malise plunged outward into the darkness of the storm,
carrying his young master lightly as a child in his