'She will never think about you at all but as a sullen malapert ne'erdo-weel, if you go off to that camp of routiers, trying to prop a bad cause because you cannot take correction or observe discipline.'

A sudden suspicion came over Malcolm that the King would not thus make light of the offence if it had really been the inexpiable insult he had supposed it, and the thought was an absolute relief; for in effect the parting from James, and joining the party opposed to Esclairmonde's friends, would have been so tremendous a step, that he could hardly have contemplated it in his sober senses, and he murmured, My honour, Sir,' in a tone that James understood.

'Oh, for your honour-you need not fear for that! Any knight in the army could have done as much without prejudice to your honour. Why, you silly loon, d'ye think I would not have been as angered as yourself, if your honour had been injured?'

Malcolm's heart felt easier, but he still growled. Then, Sir, if you assure me that I can do so without detriment to my honour, I will not quit you.'

James laughed. 'It might have been more graciously spoken, my good cousin, but I am beholden to you.'

Malcolm, ashamed and vexed at the sarcastic tone, held his tongue for a little while, but presently exclaimed, Will the Bishop of Therouenne hear of it?'

James laughed, 'Belike not; or if he should, it would only seem to him the reasonable training of a young squire.'

The King did not say what crossed his own mind, that the Bishop of Therouenne was more likely to think Henry over-strict in discipline, and absurdly rigorous.

The prelate, Charles de Luxemburg, brother to the Count de St. Pol, had made several visits to the English camp. He was one of those princely younger sons, who, like Beaufort at home, took ecclesiastical preferments as their natural provision, and as a footing whence they might become statesmen. He was a great admirer of Henry's genius, and as the chief French prelate who was heartily on the English side, enjoyed a much greater prominence than he could have done either at the French or Burgundian court. He and his brother of St. Pol were Esclairmonde's nearest kinsmen-'oncles à la mode de Bretagne,' as they called the relationship, which is here sometimes termed Welsh uncle, or first cousin once removed-and from him James had obtained much more complete information about Esclairmonde than he could ever get from the flighty duchess.

Her mother, a beautiful Walloon, had been heiress to wide domains in Hainault, her father to great estates in Flanders, all which were at present managed by the politic Bishop. Like most of the statesmansecular-clergy, the Bishop hated nothing so much as the monastic orders, and had made no small haste to remove his fair niece from the convent at Dijon, where she had been educated, lest the Cistercians should

become possessed of her lands. He had one scheme for her marriage; but his brother, the Count, had wished to give her to his own second son, who was almost an infant; and the Duke of Burgundy had designs on her for his half-brother Boëmond; and among these various disputants, Esclairmonde had never failed to find support against whichever proposal was forced upon her, until the coalition between the Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant becoming too strong, she had availed herself of Countess Jaqueline's discontent to evade them both.

The family had of course been much angered, and had fully expected that her estates would go to some great English abbey, or to some English lord whose haughty reserve and insularity would be insupportable. It was therefore a relief to Monseigneur de Therouenne to hear James's designs; and when the King further added that he would be willing to let the claims on the Hainault part of her estates be purchased by the Count de St. Pol, and those in Flanders by the Duke of Burgundy, the Bishop was delighted, and declared that rather than such a negociation should fail he would himself advance the sum to his brother; but that the Duke of Burgundy's consent was more doubtful, only could they not do without it?

And he honoured Malcolm with a few words of passing notice from time to time, as if he almost regarded him as a relation. No doubt it would have been absurd to fly from such chances as these to Patrick Drummond and the opposite camp; and yet there were times when Malcolm felt as if he should get rid of a load on his heart if he were to break with all his present life, hurry to Patrick, confess the whole to him, and then-hide his head in some hermitage, leaving his pledge unforfeited!

That, however, could not be. He was bound to the King, and might not desert him, and it was not unpleasant to brood over the sacrifice of his own displeasure.

'See,' said Henry in the evening, as he came into the refectory and walked up to James, 'I have found my signet. It was left in the finger of my Spanish glove, which I had not worn since the beginning of winter. Thanks to all who took vain pains to look for it.'

But Malcolm did not respond with his pleased look to the thanks. He was not in charity with Henry, and crept out of hearing of him, while James was saying, 'You had best destroy one or the other, or they will make mischief. Here, I'll crush it with the pommel of my sword.'

'Ay,' said Henry, laughing, 'you'd like to show off one of your sledge-hammer blows-Sir Bras de Fer! But, Master Scot, you shall not smash the English shield so easily. This one hangs too loose to be safe; I shall keep it to serve me when we have fattened up at Paris, after the leanness of our siege.'

'Hal,' said James, seeing his gay temper restored, 'you have grievously hurt that springald of mine. His northern blood cannot away with the taste he got of your fist.'

'Pretty well for your godly young monk to expect to rob unchecked!' laughed Henry.

'He will do well at last,' said James.

'Manhood has come on him with a rush, and borne him off his feet; nor would I have him overtame.'

'There spake the Scot!' said Henry. By my faith, Jamie, we should have had you the worst robber of all had we not caught you young! Well, what am I to do for this sprig of royalty? Say I struck unawares? Nay, had I known him, I'd have struck with as much of a will as his slight bones would bear.'

'An you love me, Hal, do something to cool his ill blood, and remove the sense of shame that sinks a lad in his own eyes.'

Methought,' said Henry, 'there was more shame in the deed than in the buffet.'

Nevertheless the good-natured King took an occasion of saying, 'My Lord of Glenuskie, I smote without knowing you. It was no place for a prince-nay, for any honest man; otherwise no hand should have been laid on my guest or my brother's near kinsman. And whereas I hear that both you and my fiery hot Percy verily credited the cry that prisoners were hid in that house, let me warn you that never was place yielded on composition but some villain got up the shout, and hundreds of fools followed it, till they learnt villany in their turn. Therefore I ever chastise transgression of my command to touch neither dwelling nor inhabitant. You have both learnt your lesson, and the lion rampant and he of the straight tail will both be reined up better another time.'

Malcolm had no choice but to bend his head, mutter something, and let the King grasp his hand, though to him the apology seemed none at all, but rather to increase the offence, since the blame was by no means taken back again, while the condescension was such as could not be rejected, and thus speciously took away his excuse for brooding over his wrath. His hand lay so unwillingly in that strong hearty clasp that the King dropped it, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to himself, Sullen young dog! No Scot can let bygones be bygones!' and then he turned away and cast the trifle from his memory.

James was amazed not to see the moody face clear up, and asked of Malcolm whether he were not gratified with this ample satisfaction. "I trow I must be, Sir,' said Malcolm.

'I tell thee, boy,' said James, 'not one king-nay, not one man-in a thousand would have offered thee the frank amends King Harry hath done this day-nay, I doubt whether even he could so have done, were it not that the hope of his wife's coming hath made him overflow with joy and charity to all the world.'

Malcolm did not make much reply, and James regarded him with some disappointment. The youth was certainly warmly attached to him, but those tokens of superiority to the faults of his time and country which had caused the King to seek him for a companion seemed to have

vanished with his feebleness and timidity. The manhood that had been awakened was not the chivalrous, generous, and gentle strength of Henry and his brothers, but the punctilious pride and sullenness, and almost something of the license, of the Scot. The camp had not proved the school of chivalry that James, in his inexperience, had imagined it must be under Henry, and the tedium and wretchedness of the siege had greatly added to its necessary evils by promoting a reckless temper, and willingness to snatch at any enjoyment without heed to consequences. Close attendance on the kings had indeed prevented either Malcolm or Percy from even having the temptation of running into any such length as those gentry who had plundered the shrine of St. Fiacre at Breuil, or were continually galloping off for an interval of dissipation at Paris; but they were both on the outlook for any snatch of stolen diversion, for in ceasing from monastic habits Malcolm seemed to have laid aside the scruples of a religious or conscientious youth, and specially avoided Dr. Bennet, the King's almoner.

James feared he had been mistaken, and looked to the influence of Esclairmonde to repair the evil, if perchance she should follow the Queen to France. And this it was almost certain she must do, since she was entirely dependent upon the Countess of Hainault, and could not obtain admission to a nunnery without recovering a portion of her estates.

(To be continued.)

BERTRAM; OR, THE HEIR OF PENDYNE.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE playground of St. Alban's schools, with one corner only separated by a railing from the narrow street, was often a source of attraction to the passers by. Usually the faces were those of small children, and the spectators were possessed with an ardent longing to join the games. But on this day-a few weeks later than the preceding conversation, and while the autumnal season was still fine and warm-the gazer was a gentlemanly-looking person, very tall and very dark, with a profusion of long hair and whiskers-one who will long ere this be farther indulging himself with a great show also of moustaches and beard.

He watched the children at their play for some time, and at last endeavoured to attract the attention of a little pale girl who was laughing with the others, but not joining in the games. At last she perceived that the stranger wanted her, and went slowly forward, showing that she was a little lame, to learn what his requirement might be.

'What is your name, my little maiden?'

'Amy, Sir.'

There was another child also who had not been at play with the rest: VOL. 7.

10

PART 38.

this was a boy, who had been sitting on the ground on the opposite side, bending over a slate. Observing the stranger's summons to his sister, he ran up and stood by the little girl.

'Well, and who are you?' said the tall gentleman good-naturedly. 'Robin, Sir.'

'Robin! What else?-Robin Hood, or Robin Adair, or Robin Gray? Not old Robin Gray yet, either?'

'No, Sir, not any of them,' replied the boy, unconscious of any joke. 'I am Robin, and my sister is Amy.'

'So she tells me,' continued the gentleman. Yours is an odd name, Robin; I wonder who gave it to you ?'

'My godfathers and my godmother, I suppose,' replied Robin; 'but I don't know who they were.'

'Well, it does not signify much, for I suppose we could not alter it, could we? And Robin does very nicely, only I am more accustomed to Robert. Where do you live?' turning towards Amy.

'She lives here, in the school-house, and so do I,' replied Robin, pointing in the direction of it with his finger.

'Is your school-mistress at home?'

The tall gentleman addressed himself again to Amy, but Robin replied, as before, 'Mrs. White is out now, Sir, but here's our master,' as Mr. White appeared crossing the playground. The boy ran up to him fearlessly, touching his cap, and Mr. White immediately came up to the railings.

'Will you walk in, Sir?-the gate is on this side,' and the schoolmaster went round and opened it for the stranger. 'Robin said you wanted my wife. She is not at home, but perhaps you will walk into the house.'

'No, thank you,' replied the gentleman. 'My business can be transacted here quite well, and I prefer the open air. My name is Easdale; my profession, as some would know tolerably well, is painting. Frequently I prefer to take children-almost always; so I stopped at your play-ground, hearing the voices, to see if I could be supplied with a study for my next picture. And I should like to take that little girl to whom I was speaking: the expression and the blue eyes are very charming. She tells me at least her brother tells me for her-that she lives here, so I suppose there are no parents to fee or to consult.'

'No, Sir; they are orphans. They are under the especial care of our clergyman, Mr. Sandford. I will speak to him-or would you prefer to do so yourself?'

'Perhaps you will obtain his consent for me,' replied the artist, 'and then I will call upon him. There is no hurry for the next few days, and a little orphan will not run away. Moreover, she is lame, I perceive.'

'Yes, Sir, but not permanently so, we hope. She is not allowed to stand about much, and never at her lessons. She has been dangerously