Two Penniless Princesses Read online

  CHAPTER 5. THE MEEK USURPER

  'Henry, thou of holy birth, Thou to whom thy Windsor gave Nativity and name and grave! Heavily upon his head Ancestral crimes were visited.'--SOUTHEY.

  It suits not with the main thread of our story to tell of the happy andpeaceful meetings between the Lady of Glenuskie and her old friend, whohad given up almost princely rank and honour to become the servantof the poor and suffering strangers at the wharves of London. To DameLilias, Mother Clare's quiet cell at St. Katharine's was a blessed havenof rest, peace, and charity, such as was neither the guest-chamber northe Prioress's parlour at St. Helen's, with all the distractions ofthe princesses' visitors and invitations, and with the Lady Joannacontinually pulling against the authority that the Cardinal, her uncle,was exerting over his nieces.

  His object evidently was to keep them back, firstly, from the Yorkparty, and secondly, from the King, under pretext of their mourning fortheir mother; and in this he might have succeeded but for the interestin them that had been aroused in Henry by his companion, namesake, andalmost brother, the King of Wight. The King came or sent each day to St.Helen's to arrange about the requiem at Westminster, and when their latetravelling companions invited the young ladies to dinner or to supperexpressly to meet the King and the Cardinal--not in state, but atwhat would be now called a family party--Beaufort had no excuse for arefusal, such as he could not give without dire offence. And, indeed, hewas even then obliged to yield to the general voice, and, recalling hisown nephew from Normandy, send the Duke of York to defend the remnant ofthe English conquests.

  He could only insist that the requiem should be the first occasion ofthe young ladies going out of the convent; but they had so many visitorsthere that they had not much cause for murmuring, and the Frenchinstructions of Sister Beata did not amount to much, even with Eleanor,while Jean loudly protested that she was not going to school.

  The great day of the requiem came at last. The Cardinal had, throughSir Patrick Drummond and the Lady, provided handsome robes of black andpurple for his nieces, and likewise palfreys for their conveyance toWestminster; and made it understood that unless Lady Joanna submitted tobe completely veiled he should send a closed litter.

  'The doited auld carle!' she cried, as she unwillingly hooded and veiledherself. 'One would think we were basilisks to slay the good folk ofLondon with our eyes.'

  The Drummond following, with fresh thyme sprays, beginning to turnbrown, were drawn up in the outer court, all with black scarves acrossthe breast--George Douglas among them, of course--and they presentlyunited with the long train of clerks who belonged to the household ofthe Cardinal of Winchester. Jean managed her veil so as to get more thanone peep at the throng in the streets through which they passed, so asto see and to be seen; and she was disappointed that no acclamationsgreeted the fair face thus displayed by fits. She did not understandEnglish politics enough to know that a Beaufort face and Beaufort trainwere the last things the London crowd was likely to applaud. They hadnot forgotten the penance of the popular Duke Humfrey's wife, which,justly or unjustly, was imputed to the Cardinal and his nephews ofSomerset.

  But the King, in robes of purple and black, came to assist her from herpalfrey before the beautiful entry of the Abbey Church, and led her upthe nave to the desks prepared around what was then termed 'a herce,'but which would now be called a catafalque, an erection supposed tocontain the body, and adorned with the lozenges of the arms of Scotlandand Beaufort, and of the Stewart, in honour of the Black Knight of Lorn.

  The Cardinal was present, but the Abbot of Westminster celebrated. Allwas exceedingly solemn and beautiful, in a far different style from themaimed rites that had been bestowed upon poor Queen Joanna in Scotland.The young King's face was more angelic than ever, and as psalm andsupplication, dirge and hymn arose, chanted by the full choir, speakingof eternal peace, Eleanor bowed her head under her veil, as her bosomswelled with a strange yearning longing, not exactly grief, and largetears dropped from her eyes as she thought less of her mother than ofher noble-hearted father; and the words came back to her in which FatherMalcolm Stewart, in his own bitter grief, had told the desolate childrento remember that their father was waiting for them in Paradise. EvenJean was so touched by the music and carried out of herself that sheforgot the spectators, forgot the effect she was to produce, forgot herstruggle with her uncle, and sobbed and wept with all her heart, perhapswith the more abandon because she, like all the rest, was fasting.

  With much reverence for her emotion, the King, when the service wasover, led her out of the church to the adjoining palace, where the Queenof Wight and the Countess of Suffolk, a kinswoman through the motherof the Beauforts, conducted the ladies to unveil themselves before theywere to join the noontide refection with the King.

  There was no great state about it, spread, as it was, not in the greathall, but in the richly-tapestried room called Paradise. The King'smanner was most gently and sweetly courteous to both sisters. His threelittle orphan half-brothers, the Tudors, were at table; and his kindcare to send them dainties, and the look with which he repressed anunseasonable attempt of Jasper's to play with the dogs, and Edmund'sroughness with little Owen, reminded the sisters of Mary with 'herweans,' and they began to speak of them when the meal was over, whilehe showed them his chief treasures, his books. There was St. Augustine'sCity of God, exquisitely copied; there was the History of St. Louis, bythe bon Sire de Joinville; there were Sir John Froissart's Chronicles,the same that the good Canon had presented to King Richard of Bordeaux.

  Jean cast a careless glance at the illuminations, and exclaimed at QueenIsabel's high headgear and her becloaked greyhound. Eleanor looked andlonged, and sighed that she could not read the French, and only a verylittle of the Latin.

  'This you can read,' said Henry, producing the Canterbury Tales; 'thefair minstrelsy of my Lady of Suffolk's grandsire.'

  Eleanor was enchanted. Here were the lines the King of Wight hadrepeated to her, and she was soon eagerly listening as Henry read to herthe story of 'Patient Grisell.'

  'Ah! but is it well thus tamely to submit?' she asked.

  'Patience is the armour and conquest of the godly,' said Henry, quotinga saying that was to serve 'the meek usurper' well in after-times.

  'May not patience go too far?' said Eleanor.

  'In this world, mayhap,' said he; 'scarcely so in that which is tocome.'

  'I would not be the King's bride to hear him say so,' laughed the Ladyof Suffolk. 'Shall I tell her, my lord, that this is your Grace's ladderto carry her to heaven?'

  Henry blushed like a girl, and said that he trusted never to be solacking in courtesy as the knight; and the King of Wight, wishing tochange the subject, mentioned that the Lady Eleanor had sung or saidcertain choice ballads, and Henry eagerly entreated for one. It was thepathetic 'Wife of Usher's Well' that Eleanor chose, with the three sonswhose hats were wreathen with the birk that

  'Neither grew in dyke nor ditch, Nor yet in any shaugh, But at the gates of Paradise That birk grew fair eneugh.'

  Henry was greatly delighted with the verse, and entreated her, if itwere not tedious, to repeat it over again.

  In return he promised to lend her some of the translations from theLatin of Lydgate, the Monk of Bury, and sent them, wrapped in a silkenneckerchief, by the hands of one of his servants to the convent.

  'Was that a token?' anxiously asked young Douglas, riding up to DavidDrummond, as they got into order to ride back to Winchester House, afterescorting the ladies to St. Helen's.

  'Token, no; 'tis a book for Lady Elleen. Never fash yourself, man; theKing, so far as I might judge, is far more taken with Elleen than everhe is with Jean. He seems but a bookish sort of bodie of Malcolm'ssort.'

  'My certie, an' that be sae, we may look to winning back Roxburgh andBerwick!' returned the Douglas, his eye flashing. 'He's welcome to LadyElleen! But that ane should look at her in presence of
her sister! Hemaun be mair of a monk than a man!'

  Such was, in truth, Jean's own opinion when she flounced into herchamber at the Priory and turned upon her sister.

  'Weel, Elleen, and I hope ye've had your will, and are a bit shamed,taking up his Grace so that none by yersell could get in a word wi'him.'

  'Deed, Jeanie, I could not help it; if he would ask me about ourballants and buiks, that ye would never lay your mind to--'

  'Ballants and buiks! Bonnie gear for a king that should be thinking ofspears and jacks, lances and honours. Ye're welcome to him, Elleen, sinye choose to busk your cockernnonny at ane that's as good as wedded!I'll never have the man who's wanting the strick of carle hemp in themaking of him!'

  Eleanor burst into tears and pleaded that she was incapable of any suchintentions towards a man who was truly as good as married. She declaredthat she had only replied as courtesy required, and that she wouldnot have her harp taken to Warwick House the next day, as she had beenrequested to do.

  Dame Lilias here interposed. With a certain conviction that Jean'sdislike to the King was chiefly because the grapes were sour, shedeclared that Lady Elleen had by no means gone beyond the demeanour ofa douce maiden, and that the King had only shown due attention to guestsof his own rank, and who were nearly of his own age. In fact, she said,it might be his caution and loyalty to his espoused lady that made himavoid distinguishing the fairest.

  It was not complimentary to Eleanor, but Jean's superior beauty wasas much an established fact as her age, and she was pacified in somedegree, agreeing with the Lady of Glenuskie that Eleanor was bound totake her harp the next day.

  Warwick House was a really magnificent place, its courts, gardens,and offices covering much of the ground that still bears the name in theCity, and though the establishment was not quite as extensive as itbecame a few years later, when Richard Nevil had succeeded hisbrother-in-law, it was already on a magnificent scale.

  All the party who had travelled together from Fotheringay were present,besides the King, young Edmund and Jasper Tudor, and the Earl andCountess of Suffolk; and the banquet, though not a state one, norencumbered with pageants and subtilties, was even more refined andelegant than that at Westminster, showing, as all agreed, the hand of amistress of the household. The King's taste had been consulted, for inthe gallery were the children of St. Paul's choir and of the chapel ofthe household, who sang hymns with sweet trained voices. Afterwards, onthe beautiful October afternoon, there was walking in the garden, whereEdmund and Jasper played with little Lady Anne Beauchamp, and again KingHenry sought out Eleanor, and they had an enjoyable discussion of theTale of Troie, which he had lent her, as they walked along the gardenpaths. Then she showed him her cousin Malcolm, and told of BishopKennedy and the schemes for St. Andrews, and he in return describedWinchester College, and spoke of his wish to have such anotherfoundation as Wykeham's under his own eye near Windsor, to train up thegodly clergy, whom he saw to be the great need and lack of the Church atthat day.

  By and by, on going in from the garden, the King and Eleanor found thata tall, gray-haired gentleman, richly but darkly clad, had entered thehall. He had been welcomed by the young King and Queen of Wight, who hadintroduced Jean to him. 'My uncle of Gloucester,' said the King, aside.'It is the first time he has come among us since the unhappy affair ofhis wife. Let me present you to him.'

  Going forward, as the Duke rose to meet him, Henry bent his kneeand asked his fatherly blessing, then introduced the Lady Eleanor ofScotland--'who knows all lays and songs, and loves letters, as you toldme her blessed father did, my fair uncle,' he said, with sparkling eyes.

  Duke Humfrey looked well pleased as he greeted her. 'Ever the scholar,Nevoy Hal,' he said, as if marvelling at the preference above thebeauty, 'but each man knows his own mind. So best.' Eleanor's heartbegan to beat high! What did this bode? Was this King fully pledged? Shehad to fulfil her promise of singing and playing to the King, which shedid very sweetly, some of the pathetic airs of her country, which reachback much farther than the songs with which they have in later timesbeen associated. The King thoroughly enjoyed the music, and the Duke ofYork came and paid her several compliments, begging for the song she hadonce begun at Fotheringay. Eleanor began--not perhaps so willingly asbefore. Strangely, as she sang--

  'Owre muckle blinking blindeth the ee, lass, Owre muckle thinking changeth the mind,'--

  her face and voice altered. Something of the same mist of tears andblood seemed to rise before her eyes as before--enfolding all around.Such a winding-sheet which had before enwrapt the King of Wight, shesaw it again--nay, on the Duke of Gloucester there was such another,mounting--mounting to his neck. The face of Henry himself grew dimand ghastly white, like that of a marble saint. She kept herself fromscreaming, but her voice broke down, and she gave a choking sob.

  King Henry's arm was the first to support her, though she shuddered ashe touched her, calling for essences, and lamenting that they had askedtoo much of her in begging her to sing what so reminded her of her homeand parents.

  'She hath been thus before. It was that song,' said Jean, and the Ladyof Glenuskie coming up at the same time confirmed the idea, and declinedall help except to take her back to the Priory. The litter that hadbrought the Countess of Salisbury was at the door, and Henry would notbe denied the leading her to it. She was recovering herself, and couldsee the extreme sweetness and solicitude of his face, and feel that shehad never before leant on so kind and tender a supporting arm, sinceshe had sat on her father's knee. 'Ah! sir, you mind me of my blessedfather,' she said.

  'Your father was a holy man, and died well-nigh a martyr's death,' saidHenry. ''Tis an honour I thank you for to even me to him--such as I am.'

  'Oh, sir! the saints guard you from such a fate,' she said, trembling.

  'Was it so sad a fate--to die for the good he could not work in hislife?' said Henry.

  They had reached the arch into the court. A crowd was roundthem, and no more could be said. Henry kissed Eleanor's hand, as heassisted her into the litter, and she was shut in between the curtains,alone, for it only held one person. There was a strange tumult offeeling. She seemed lifted into a higher region, as if she had been incontact with an angel of purity, and yet there was that strange sense ofawful fate all round, as if Henry were nearer being the martyr than theangel. And was she to share that fate? The generous young soul seemedto spring forward with the thought that, come what might, it would behallowed and sweetened with such as he! Yet withal there was a sense oflonging to protect and shield him.

  As usual, she had soon quite recovered, but Jean pronounced it 'one ofElleen's megrims--as if she were a Hielander to have second sight.'

  'But,' said the young lady, 'it takes no second sight to spae ill toyonder King. He is not one whose hand will keep his head, and there arethose who say that he had best look to his crown, for he hath no moreright thereto than I have to be Queen of France!'

  'Fie, Jean, that's treason.'

  'I'm none of his, nor ever will be! I have too much spirit for a gudemanwho cares for nothing but singing his psalter like a friar.'

  Jean was even more of that opinion when, the next day, at York House,only Edmund and Jasper Tudor appeared with their brother's excuses.He had been obliged to give audience to a messenger from the Emperor.'Moreover,' added Edmund disconsolately, 'to-morrow he is going to St.Albans for a week's penitence. Harry is always doing penance, I cannotthink what for. He never eats marchpane in church--nor rolls ballsthere.'

  'I know,' said Jasper sagely. 'I heard the Lord Cardinal rating him forbeing false to his betrothed--that's the Lady Margaret, you know.'

  'Ha!' said the Duke of York, before whom the two little boys werestanding. 'How was that, my little man?'

  'Hush, Jasper,' said Edmund; 'you do not know.'

  'But I do, Edmund; I was in the window all the time. Harry said he didnot know it, he only meant all courtesy; and then the Lord Cardinalasked him if he called it loyalty to h
is betrothed to be playing thefool with the Scottish wench. And then Harry stared--like thee, Ned,when thy bolt had hit the Lady of Suffolk: and my Lord went on to saythat it was perilous to play the fool with a king's sister, and his ownniece. Then, for all that Harry is a king and a man grown, he wept likeOwen, only not loud, and he went down on his knees, and he cried, "Meapeccata, mea peccata, mea infirmitas," just as he taught me to do atconfession. And then he said he would do whatever the Lord Cardinalthought fit, and go and do penance at St. Albans, if he pleased, and notsee the lady that sings any more.'

  'And I say,' exclaimed Edmund, 'what's the good of being a king and aman, if one is to be rated like a babe?'

  'So say I, my little man,' returned the Duke, patting him on the head,then adding to his own two boys, 'Take your cousins and play ball withthem, or spin tops, or whatever may please them.'

  'There is the king we have,' quoth Richard Nevil 'to be at the beck ofany misproud priest, and bewail with tears a moment's following of hisown will, like other men.'

  Most of the company felt such misplaced penitence and submission, asthey deemed it, beneath contempt; but while Eleanor had pride enough tohold up her head so that no one might suppose her to be disappointed,she felt a strange awe of the conscientiousness that repented whenothers would only have felt resentment--relief, perhaps, at not againcoming into contact with one so unlike other men as almost to alarm her.

  Jean tossed up her head, and declared that her brother knew better thanto let any bishop put him into leading-strings. By and by there was agreat outcry among the children, and Edmund Tudor and Edward of Yorkwere fighting like a pair of mastiff-puppies because Edward had laughedat King Harry for minding what an old shaveling said. Edward, though theyounger, was much the stronger, and was decidedly getting the best ofit, when he was dragged off and sent into seclusion with his tutor formisbehaviour to his guest.

  No one was amazed when the next day the Cardinal arrived, and told hisgrand-nieces and the Lady of Glenuskie that he had arranged that theyshould go forward under the escort of the Earl and Countess of Suffolk,who were to start immediately for Nanci, there to espouse and bring homethe King's bride, the Lady Margaret. There was reason to think that theFrench Royal Family would be present on the occasion, as the Queen ofFrance was sister to King Rene of Sicily and Jerusalem, and thus theopportunity of joining their sister was not to be missed by the twoScottish maidens. The Cardinal added that he had undertaken, and madeSir Patrick Drummond understand, that he would be at all charges forhis nieces, and further said that merchants with women's gear wouldpresently be sent in, when they were to fit themselves out as befittedtheir rank for appearance at the wedding. At a sign from him a largebag, jingling heavily, was laid on the table by a clerk in attendance.There was nothing to be done but to make a low reverence and returnthanks.

  Jean had it in her to break out with ironical hopes that they would seesomething beyond the walls of a priory abroad, and not be ordered offthe moment any one cast eyes on them; but my Lord of Winchester was notthe man to be impertinent to, especially when bringing gifts as a kindlyuncle, and when, moreover, King Henry had the bad taste to be moreoccupied with her sister than with herself.

  It was Eleanor who chiefly felt a sort of repugnance to being thus,as it were, bought off or compensated for being sent out of reach. Shecould have found it in her heart to be offended at being thought likelyto wish to steal the King's heart, and yet flattered by being, forthe first time, considered as dangerous, even while her awe, alike ofHenry's holiness and of those strange visions that had haunted her, madeher feel it a relief that her lot was not to be cast with him.

  The Cardinal did not seem to wish to prolong the interview with hisgrand-nieces, having perhaps a certain consciousness of injury towardsthem; and, after assuring brilliant marriages for them, and graciouslyblessing them, he bade them farewell, saying that the Lady of Suffolkwould come and arrange with them for the journey. No doubt, though hemight have been glad to place a niece on the throne, it would have beenfatal to the peace he so much desired for Henry to break his pledges toso near a kinswoman of the King of France. And when the bag was opened,and the rouleaux of gold and silver crowns displayed, his liberalitycontradicted the current stories of his avarice.

  And by and by arrived a succession of merchants bringing horned hoods,transparent veils, like wings, supported on wire projections, longtrained dresses of silk and sendal, costly stomachers, bands of velvet,buckles set with precious stones, chains of gold and silver--all thefashions, in fact, enough to turn the head of any young lady, and inwhich the staid Lady Prioress seemed to take quite as much interest asif she had been to wear them herself--indeed, she asked leave to sendSister Mabel to fetch a selection of the older nuns given to needleworkand embroidery to enjoy the exhibition, though it was to be carefullykept out of sight of the younger ones, and especially of the novices.

  The excitement was enough to put the Cardinal's offences out of mind,while the delightful fitting and trying on occupied the maidens, wholooked at themselves in the little hand-mirrors held up to them by theadmiring nuns, and demanded every one's opinion. Jean insisted thatAnnis should have her share, and Eleanor joined in urging it, when DameLilias shook her head, and said that was not the use the Lord Cardinalintended for his gold.

  'He gave it to us to do as we would with it,' argued Eleanor.

  'And she is our maiden, and it befits us not that she should look likeane scrub,' added Jean, in the words used by her brother's descendant, acentury later.

  'I thank you, noble cousins,' replied Annis, with a little haughtiness,'but Davie would never thole to see me pranking it out of English gold.'

  'She is right, Jeanie,' cried Eleanor. 'We will make her braw with whatwe bought at York with gude Scottish gold.'

  'All the more just,' added Jean, 'that she helped us in our need withher ain.'

  'And we are sib--near cousins after a',' added Eleanor; 'so we may wellgive and take.'

  So it was settled, and all was amicable, except that there was a slightcontest between the sisters whether they should dress alike, as Eleanorwished, while Jean had eyes and instinct enough to see that the coloursand forms that set her fair complexion and flaxen tresses off toperfection were damaging to Elleen's freckles and general auburncolouring. Hitherto the sisters had worn only what they could get, happyif they could call it ornamental, and the power of choice was a noveltyto them. At last the decision fell to the one who cared most about it,namely Jean. Elleen left her to settle for both, being, after the firstdazzling display, only eager to get back again to Saint Marie Maudelinbefore the King should reclaim it.

  There was something in the legend, wild and apocryphal as it is,together with what she had seen of the King, that left a deep impressionupon her.

  'And by these things ye understand maun The three best things which this Mary chose, As outward penance and inward contemplation, And upward bliss that never shall cease, Of which God said withouten bees That the best part to her chose Mary, Which ever shall endure and never decrease, But with her abideth eternally.'

  Stiff, quaint, and awkward sounds old Bokenham's translation of the'Golden Legend,' but to Eleanor it had much power. The whole history wasnew to her, after her life in Scotland, where information had been slowto reach her, and books had been few. The gewgaws spread out before Jeanwere to her like the gloves, jewels, and braiding of hair with whichMartha reproached her sister in the days of her vanity, and the cloisterwith its calm services might well seem to her like the better part.These nuns indeed did not strike her as models of devotion, and therewas something in the Prioress's easy way of declaring that being safethere might prevent any need of special heed, which rung false on herear; and then she thought of King Henry, whose rapt countenance had somuch struck her, turning aside from enjoyment to seclude himself at thefirst hint that his pleasure might be a temptation. She recollected toow
hat Lady Drummond had told her of Father Malcolm and Mother Clare, andhow each had renounced the world, which had so much to offer them, andchosen the better part! She remembered Father Malcolm's sweet smile andkind words, and Mother Clare's face had impressed her deeply with itslofty peace and sweetness. How much better than all these agitationsabout princely bridegrooms! and broken lances and queens of beautyseemed to fade into insignificance, or to be only incidents in thetumult of secular life and worldly struggle, and her spirit quailed atthe anticipation of the journey she had once desired, the gay court withits follies, empty show, temptations, coarsenesses and cruelties, andthe strange land with its new language. The alternative seemed to herfrom Maudelin in her worldly days to Maudelin at the Saviour's feet, andhad Mother Margaret Stafford been one whit more the ideal nun, perhapsevery one would have been perplexed by a vehement request to secludeherself at once in the cloister of St. Helen's.

  Looking up, she saw a figure slowly pacing the turf walk. It was theMother Clare, who had come to see the Lady of Glenuskie, but finding allso deeply engaged, had gone out to await her in the garden.

  Much indeed had Dame Lilias longed to join her friend, and make the mostof these precious hours, but as purse-bearer and adviser to her LadyJoanna, it was impossible to leave her till the arrangements with themerchants were over. And the nuns of St. Helen's did not, as has alreadybeen seen, think much of an uncloistered sister. In her twenty years'toils among the poor it had been pretty well forgotten that Mother Clarewas Esclairmonde de Luxembourg, almost of princely rank, so that noone took the trouble to entertain her, and she had slipped out almostunperceived to the quiet garden with its grass walks. And thereEleanor came up to her, and with glistening tears, on a sudden impulseexclaimed, 'Oh, holy Mother, keep me with you, tell me to choose thebetter part.'

  'You, lady? What is this?'

  'Not lady, daughter--help me! I kenned it not before--but all is vanity,turmoil, false show, except the sitting at the Lord's feet.'

  'Most true, my child. Ah! have I not felt the same? But we must wait Histime.'

  'It was I--it was I,' continued Eleanor, 'who set Jean upon thisjourney, leaving my brother and Mary and the bairns. And the farther wego, the more there is of vain show and plotting and scheming, and I amweary and heartsick and homesick of it all, and shall grow worse andworse. Oh! shelter me here, in your good and holy house, dear ReverendMother, and maybe I could learn to do the holy work you do in my owncountry.'

  How well Esclairmonde knew it all, and what aspirations had been hers!She took Elleen's hand kindly and said, 'Dear maid, I can only aid youby words! I could not keep you here. Your uncle the Cardinal would notsuffer you to abide here, nor can I take sisters save by consent of theQueen--and now we have no Queen, of the King, and--'

  'Oh no, I could not ask that,' said Eleanor, a deep blush mounting, asshe remembered what construction might be put on her desire to remainin the King's neighbourhood. 'Ah! then must I go on--on--on farther fromhome to that Court which they say is full of sin and evil and vanity?What will become of me?'

  'If the religious life be good for you, trust me, the way will open,however unlikely it may seem. If not, Heaven and the saints will showwhat your course should be.'

  'But can there be such safety and holiness, save in that higher path?'demanded Eleanor.

  'Nay, look at your own kinswoman, Dame Lilias--look at the Lady ofSalisbury. Are not these godly, faithful women serving God through theirduty to man--husband, children, all around? And are the longings andtemptations to worldly thoughts and pleasures of the flesh so wholly putaway in the cloister?'

  'Not here,' began Eleanor, but Mother Clare hushed her.

  'Verily, my child,' she added, 'you must go on with your sister on thisjourney, trusting to the care and guidance of so good a woman as mybeloved old friend, Dame Lilias; and if you say your prayers with allyour heart to be guarded from sin and temptation, and led into the paththat is fittest for you, trust that our blessed Master and our Lady willlead you. Have you the Pater Noster in the vulgar tongue?' she added.

  'We--we had it once ere my father's death. And Father Malcolm taught us;but we have since been so cast about that--that--I have forgotten.'

  'Ah! Father Malcolm taught you,' and Esclairmonde took the girl's hand.'You know how much I owe to Father Malcolm,' she softly added, as sheled the maiden to a carved rood at the end of the cloister, and, beforeit, repeated the vernacular version of the Lord's Prayer till Eleanorknew it perfectly, and promised to follow up her 'Pater Nosters' withit.

  And from that time there certainly was a different tone and spirit inEleanor.

  David, urged by his father, who still publicly ignored the youngDouglas, persuaded him to write to his father now that there could be nolonger any danger of pursuit, and the messenger Sir Patrick was sendingto the King would afford the last opportunity. George growled andgroaned a good deal, but perhaps Father Romuald pressed the duty onhim in confession, for in his great relief at his lady's going offunplighted from London, he consented to indite, in the chamber FatherRomuald shared with two of the Cardinal's chaplains, in a crooked andcrabbed calligraphy and language much more resembling Anglo-Saxon thanmodern English, a letter to the most high and mighty, the Yerl of Angus,'these presents.'

  But when he was entreated to assume his right position in the troop,he refused. 'Na, na, Davie,' he said, 'gin my father chooses to sendme gear and following, 'tis all very weel, but 'tisna for the creditof Scotland nor of Angus that the Master should be ganging about like aland-louper, with a single laddie after him--still less that he shouldbe beholden to the Drummonds.'

  'Ye would win to the speech of the lassie,' suggested David, 'gin thatbe what ye want!'

  'Na kenning me, she willna look at me. Wait till I do that which may garher look at me,' said the chivalrous youth.

  He was not entirely without means, for the links of a gold chain whichhe had brought from home went a good way in exchange, and though he hadspoken of being at his own charges, he had found himself compelled tolive as one of the train of the princesses, who were treated as theguests first of the Duke of York, then of the Cardinal, who had givenSir Patrick a sum sufficient to defray all possible expenses as far asBourges, besides having arranged for those of the journey with Suffolkwhose rank had been raised to that of a Marquis, in honour of hisactivity as proxy for the King.