ho, bowing
before her, stated that four commissioners having arrived from the King of
Scotland, the presence of the Princess Jolande was required at the palace.
Patrick Douglas started to his feet as he heard the page approach, and as
he listened to his words he trembled.

The princess blushed, and turning from Patrick, proceeded in confusion
towards the palace; while he followed at a distance, repenting of what he
had said, and of what he had done, or, rather, wishing that he had said
more, or said less.

"Yet," thought he, "she did not look on me as if I had spoken
presumptuously! I will hope, though it be against hope--even though it be
but the shadow of despair."

But an hour had not passed, although he sought to hide himself with his
thoughts in his chamber, when he heard that the commissioners who had
arrived from his native land, were Thomas Charteris, the High Chancellor;
Patrick de Graham, William de St Clair, and John de Soulis; and that their
errand was to demand the beautiful Jolande as the bride and queen of their
liege sovereign, Alexander the Third, yet called good.

Now, the praise of Alexander was echoed in every land. He was as a father
to his people, and as a husband to his kingdom. He was wise, just,
resolute, merciful. Scotland loved him--all nations honoured him. But
Death, that spareth not the prince more than the peasant, and which, to
short-sighted mortals, seemeth to strike alike at the righteous and the
wicked, had made desolate the hearths of his palaces, and rendered their
chambers solitary. Tribulation had fallen heavily on the head of a virtuous
King. A granddaughter, the infant child of a foreign prince, was all that
was left of his race; and his people desired that he should leave behind
him, as inheritor of the crown, one who might inherit also his name and
virtues. He was still in the full vigour of his manhood, and the autumn of
years was invisible on his brow. No "single silverings" yet marked the
raven ringlets which waved down his temples; and, though his years were
forty and three, his appearance did not betoken him to be above thirty.

His people, therefore, wished, and his courtiers urged, that he should
marry again; and fame pointed out the lovely Jolande, the daughter of the
Count of Dreux, as his bride.

When Patrick Douglas, the learned and honoured, but fortuneless soldier,
found that his new competitor for the hand of the gentle Jolande was none
other than his sovere