that of the Béguines in Holland, had been invented, and when no nun ever dreamt of carrying her charity beyond the quadrangle of her own convent, could any one be expected to enter into Esclairmonde's admiration and longing for out-of-door works; but the person whom she had chiefly made her friend was the King's almoner and chaplain sometimes called Sir Martin Bennet, at others Dr. Bennet, a great Oxford scholar, bred up among William of Wykeham's original seventy at Winchester and New College, and now much trusted and favoured by the King, whom he everywhere accompanied. That Sir Martin was a pluralist must be confessed, but he was most conscientious in pro`viding substitutes, and was a man of much thought and of great piety, in whom the fair pupil of the Canon of St. Agnes found a congenial spirit.

CHAPTER VI.

MALCOLM'S SUIT.

"THAT is a gentle and gracious slip of the Stewart. What shall you do with him?" asked King Henry of James, as they stood together at one end of the tilt-yard at Westminster, watching Malcolm Stewart and Ralf Percy, who were playing at closhey, the early form of nine-pins.

"I know what I should like to do," said James. "What may that be?"

"To marry him to the Lady Esclairmonde de Luxemburg."

Henry gave a long whistle.

"Have you other views for her?"

"Not I! Am I to have designs on every poor dove who flies into my tent from the hawk? Besides, are not they both of them vowed to a religious life?"

"Neither vow is valid," replied James.

"To meddle with such things is what I should not dare,” said Henry.

"Monks and friars are no such holy beings, that I should greatly concern me about keeping an innocent lad out of their company," said James.

"Nor do I say they are," said Henry; "but it is ill to cross a vow of devotion, and to bring a man back to the world is apt to render him not worth the having. You may perchance get him down lower than you intended."

"This boy never had any real vocation at all," said James; "it was only the timidity born of ill-health, and the longing for food for the mind."

"Maybe so," replied the English king, "and you may be in the right; but why fix on that grand Luxemburg wench, who ought to be a Lady Abbess of Fontainebleau at least, or a very St. Hilda, to rule monks and nuns alike?"

"Because they have fixed on each other. Malcolm needs a woman like her to make a man of him; and with her spirit and fervent charity, we should have them working a mighty change in Scotland."

"If you get her there!"

"Have I your consent, Harry?”

"Mine?

It's no affair of mine! You must settle it with Madame of Hainault; but you had best take care. You are more like to make your tame lambkin into a ravening wolf, than to get that Deborah the prophetess to herd him."

James in sooth viewed this warning as another touch of Lancastrian superstition, and only considered how to broach the question. Malcolm, meantime, was balancing between the now approaching decision between Oxford and France. He certainly felt something of his old horror of warlike scenes; but even this was lessening; he was aware that battles were not every-day occurrences, and that often there was no danger at all. He would not willingly be separated from his king; and if the female part of the Court were to accompany the campaign, it would be losing sight of all he cared for, if he were left among a set of stranger shavelings at Oxford. Yet he was reluctant to break with the old habits that had hitherto been part of his nature; he felt, after every word of Esclairmonde-nay, after every glance towards her as though it were a blessed thing to have, like

her, chosen the better part; he knew she would approve his resort to the home of piety and learning; he was aware that when with Ralf Percy and the other youths of the Court he was ashamed of his own scrupulousness, and tempted to neglect observances that they might call monkish and unmanly; and he was not at all sure that in face of the enemy a panic might not seize him and disgrace him for ever! In effect he did not know what he wished, even when he found that the Queen had decided against going across the sea, and that therefore all the ladies would remain with her at Shene or Windsor.

He should probably never again see Esclairmonde, the guiding star of his recent life, the embodiment of all that he had imagined when conning the quaint old English poems that told the Legend of Seynct Katharine; and as he leant musingly against a lattice, feeling as if the brightness of his life was going out, King James merrily addressed him ::

"Eh! the fit is on you too, boy!"

"What fit, Sir?" Malcolm opened his eyes.

"The pleasing madness.”

Malcolm uttered a cry like horror, and reddened crimson. "Sir! Sir! Sir!" he stammered.

"A well-known token of the disease is raving."

"Sir, Sir! I implore you to speak of nothing so profane." "I am not given to profanity," said James, endeavouring to look severe, but with laughter in his voice. "Methought you were not yet so sacred a personage."

"Myself! No; but that I-I should dare to have such thoughts of-oh Sir!" and Malcolm covered his face with his hands. "Oh, that you should have so mistaken me!" "I have not mistaken you," said James, fixing his keen eyes on him.

"Oh, Sir!" cried Malcolm, like one freshly stung, "you

have! Never, never dreamt I of aught but worshipping as a living saint, as I would entreat St. Margaret or

There was still the King's steady look and the suppressed smile. Malcolm broke off, and with a sudden agony wrung his hands together. The King still smiled. "Ay, Malcolm, it will not do; you are man, not monk."

"But why be so cruel as to make me vile in my own eyes?" almost sobbed Malcolm.

66

Because," said the King," she is not a saint in heaven, nor a nun in a convent, but a free woman, to be won by the youth she has marked out.”

"Marked! Oh, Sir ! she only condescended because she knew my destination."

"That is well," said King James. "Thus sparks kindle at unawares."

Malcolm's groan and murmur of "Never!" made James almost laugh at the evidence that on one side at least the touch-wood was ready.

"Oh, Sir," he sighed, "why put the thought before me, to make me wretched! Even were she for the world, she I-doited—hirpling

would never be for me.

"Peace, silly lad; all that is past and gone. You are quite another now, and a year or two of Harry's school of chivalry will send you home a gallant knight and minstrel, such as no maiden will despise."

The King went, and Malcolm fell into a silent state of musing. He was entirely overpowered, both by the consciousness awakened within himself, by the doubt whether it were not a great sin, and by the strangeness that the King, hitherto his oracle, should infuse such a hope. What King James deemed possible could never be so incredible, or even sacrilegious, as he deemed it. Restless, ashamed, rent by a thousand conflicting feelings, Malcolm roamed up and down. his chamber, writhed, tried to sit and think, then, finding his