CHAPTER II: THE RESCUE OF COLDINGHAM
It was a lonely tract of road, marked only by the bare space trodden byfeet of man and horse, and yet, in truth, the highway between Berwick andEdinburgh, which descended from a heathery moorland into a somewhatspacious valley, with copsewood clothing one side, in the midst of whichrose a high mound or knoll, probably once the site of a camp, for itstill bore lines of circumvallation, although it was entirely deserted,except by the wandering shepherds of the neighbourhood, or occasionallyby outlaws, who found an admirable ambush in the rear.
The spring had hung the hazels with tassels, bedecked the willows withgolden downy tufts, and opened the primroses and celandines beneath them,when the solitary dale was disturbed by the hasty clatter of horses'feet, and hard, heavy breathing as of those who had galloped headlongbeyond their strength. Here, however, the foremost of the party, an oldesquire, who grasped the bridle-rein of youth by his side, drew up hisown horse, and that which he was dragging on with him, saying--
'We may breathe here a moment; there is shelter in the wood. And you,Rab, get ye up to the top of Jill's Knowe, and keep a good look-out.'
'Let me go back, you false villain!' sobbed the boy, with the first useof his recovered breath.
'Do not be so daft, Lord Malcolm,' replied the Squire, retaining his holdon the boy's bridle; 'what, rin your head into the wolf's mouth again,when we've barely brought you off haill and sain?'
'Haill and sain? Dastard and forlorn,' cried Malcolm, with passionateweeping. 'I--I to flee and leave my sister--my uncle! Oh, where arethey? Halbert, let me go; I'll never pardon thee.'
'Hoot, my lord! would I let you gang, when the Tutor spak to me as plainas I hear you now? "Take off Lord Malcolm," says he; "save him, and yousave the rest. See him safe to the Earl of Mar." Those were his words,my lord; and if you wilna heed them, I will.'
'What, and leave my sister to the reivers? Oh, what may not they bedoing to her? Let us go back and fall on them, Halbert; better diesaving her than know her in Walter Stewart's hands. Then were I thewretched craven he calls me.'
'Look you, Lord Malcolm,' said Halbert, laying his finger on his nose,with a knowing expression, 'my young lady is safe from harm so long asyou are out of the Master of Albany's reach. Had you come by a cannythrust in the fray, as no doubt was his purpose, or were you in his handsto be mewed in a convent, then were your sister worth the wedding; butthe Master will never wed her while you live and have friends to backyou, and his father, the Regent, will see she has no ill-usage. You'lldo best for yourself and her too, as well as Sir David, if you make forDunbar, and call ben your uncles of Athole and Strathern.--How now, Rab?are the loons making this way?'
'Na, na!' said Rab, descending; ''tis from the other gate; 'tis a knightin blue damasked steel: he, methinks, that harboured in our castle someweeks syne.'
'Hm!' said Halbert, considering; 'he looked like a trusty cheild: maybehe'd guide my lord here to a wiser wit, and a good lance on the way toDunbar is not to be scorned.'
In fact, there would have been no time for one party to concealthemselves from the other; for, hidden by the copsewood, and unheeded bythe watchers who were gazing in the opposite direction, Sir James Stewartand his two attendants suddenly came round the foot of Jill's Knowe uponthe fugitives, who were profiting by the interval to loosen the girths oftheir horses, and water them at the pool under the thicket, whilstHalbert in vain tried to pacify and reason with the young master, who hadthrown himself on the grass in an agony of grief and despair. Sir James,after the first momentary start, recognized the party in an instant, andat once leapt from his horse, exclaiming--
'How now, my bonnie man--my kind host--what is it? what makes thisgrief?'
'Do not speak to me, Sir,' muttered the unhappy boy. 'They have beenreft--reft from me, and I have done nothing for them. Walter of Albanyhas them, and I am here.'
And he gave way to another paroxysm of grief, while Halbert explained toSir James Stewart that when Sir Patrick Drummond had gone to embark forFrance, with the army led to the aid of Charles VI. by the Earl ofBuchan, his father and cousins, with a large escort, had accompanied himto Eyemouth; whence, after taking leave of him, they had set out to spendPassion-tide and Easter at Coldingham Abbey, after the frequent fashionof the devoutly inclined among the Scottish nobility, in whose castlesthere was often little commodity for religious observances. Short,however, as was the distance, they had in the midst of it been suddenlyassailed by a band of armed men, among whom might easily be recognizedthe giant form of young Walter Stewart, the Master of Albany, the RegentDuke Murdoch's eldest son, who was well known for his lawless excessesand violence. His father's silky sayings, and his own ruder speeches,had long made it known to the House of Glenuskie that the family policywas to cajole or to drive the sickly heir into a convent, and, renderingLilias the possessor of the broad lands inherited from both parents,unite her and them to the Albany family.
The almost barbarous fierceness and wild licentiousness of Walter wouldhave made the arrangement abhorrent to Lilias, even had not love passagesalready passed between her and her cousin, Patrick Drummond, and SirDavid had hitherto protected her by keeping Malcolm in the secular life;but Walter, it seemed, had grown impatient, and had made this treacherousattack, evidently hoping to rid himself of the brother, and secure thesister. No sooner had the Tutor of Glenuskie perceived that his ownparty were overmatched, than he had bidden his faithful squire to securethe bairns--if not both, at least the boy; and Halbert, perceiving thatLilias had already been pounced upon by Sir Walter himself and severalmore, seized the bridle of the bewildered Malcolm, who was still tryingto draw his sword, and had absolutely swept him away from the scene ofaction before he had well realized what was passing; and now that thepoor lad understood the whole, his horror, grief, and shame wereunspeakable.
Before Sir James had done more than hear the outline of Halbert's tale,however, the watchers on the mound gave the signal that the reivers werecoming that way--a matter hitherto doubtful, since no one could guesswhether Walter Stewart would make for Edinburgh or for Doune. With theutmost agility Sir James sprang up the side of the mound, reconnoitred,and returned again just as Halbert was trying to stir his master from theground, and Malcolm answering sullenly that he would not move--he wouldbe taken and die with the rest.
'You may save them instead, if you will attend to me,' said Sir James;and at his words the boy suddenly started up with a look of hope.
'How many fell upon you?' demanded Sir James.
'Full a hundred lances,' replied Halbert (and a lance meant at leastthree men). 'It wad be a fule's wark to withstand them. Best bide fastin the covert, for our horses are sair forfaughten.'
'If there are now more than twenty lances, I am greatly mistaken,'returned Sir James. 'They must have broken up after striking their blow,or have sent to secure Glenuskie; and we, falling on them from thisthicket--'
'I see, I see,' cried Halbert. 'Back, ye loons; back among the hazels.Hold every one his horse ready to mount.'
'With your favour, Sir Squire, I say, bind each man his horse to a tree.The skene and broadsword, which I see you all wear, will be ten times aseffective on foot.'
'Do as the knight bids,' said Malcolm, starting forth with colour on hischeek, light in his eye, that made him another being. 'In him there ishelp.'
'Ay, ay, Lord Malcolm,' muttered Halbert; 'you need not tell me that: Iknow my duty better than not to do the bidding of a belted knight, andpretty man too of his inches.'
The two attendants of Sir James were meantime apparently uttering someremonstrance, to which he lightly replied, 'Tut, Nigel; it will do thineheart good to hew down a minion of Albany. What were I worth could I notstrike a blow against so foul a wrong to my own orphan kindred? Brewster,I'll answer it to thy master. These are his foes, as well as those ofall honest men. Ha! thou art as glad to be at them as I myself.'
By this time he had exchanged his cap for a steel helmet,
and wasassuming the command as his natural right, as he placed the men in theirambush behind the knoll, received reports from those he had set to watch,and concerted the signal with Halbert and his own followers. Malcolmkept by him, shivering with intense excitement and eagerness; and thusthey waited till the horses' hoofs and clank of armour were distinctlyaudible. But even then Sir James, with outstretched hand, signed hisfollowers back, and kept them in the leash, as it were, until the troopwas fairly in the valley, those in front beginning to halt to give theirhorses water. They were, in effect, riding somewhat carelessly, and withthe ease of men whose feat was performed, and who expected no moreopposition. Full in the midst was Lilias, entirely muffled and pinionedby a large plaid drawn closely round her, and held upon the front of thesaddle of a large tall horse, ridden by a slender, light-limbed, wirygroom, whom Malcolm knew as Christopher Hall, a retainer of the Duke ofAlbany; and beside him rode her captor, Sir Walter Stewart, a man littleabove twenty, but with a bronzed, hardened, reckless expression that madehim look much older, and of huge height and giant build. Malcolm knewhim well, and regarded him with unmitigated horror and dread, both fromthe knowledge of his ruffianly violence even towards his father, fromfear of his intentions, and from the misery that his brutal jests,scoffs, and practical jokes had often personally inflicted: and the sightof his sister in the power of this wicked man was the realization of allhis worst fears. But ere there was time for more than one strong pang ofconsternation and constitutional terror, Sir James's shout of 'St. Andrewfor the right!' was ringing out, echoed by all the fifteen in ambush withhim, as simultaneously they leapt forward. Malcolm, among the first,darting with one spring, as it were, to the horse where his sister wascarried, seized the bridle with his left hand, and flashing his swordupon the ruffian with the other, shouted, 'Let go, villain; give me mysister!' Hall's first impulse was to push his horse forward so as totrample the boy down, but Malcolm's hold rendered this impossible;besides, there was the shouting, the clang, the confusion of the outburstof an ambush all around and on every side, and before the man could freehis hand to draw his weapon he necessarily loosed his grasp of Lilias,who, half springing, half falling, came to the ground, almostoverthrowing her brother in her descent, but just saved by him fromcoming down prostrate. The horse, suddenly released, started forwardwith its rider and at the same moment Malcolm, recovering himself, stoodwith his sword in his hand, his arm round his sister's waist, assuringher that she was safe, and himself glowing for the first time with manlyexultation. Had he not saved and rescued her himself?
It was as well, however, that the rescue did not depend on his soleprowess. Indeed, by the time the brother and sister were clingingtogether and turning to look round, the first shock was over, and theretainers of Albany, probably fancying the attack made by a much largertroop, were either in full flight, or getting decidedly the worst intheir encounters with their assailants.
Sir James Stewart had at the first onset sprung like a lion upon theMaster of Albany, and without drawing his sword had grappled with him.'In the name of St. Andrew and the King, yield thy prey, thou dastard,'were his words as he threw his arms round the body of Sir Walter, andexerted his full strength to drag him from his horse. The young giantwrithed, struggled, cursed, raged; he had not space to draw sword or evendagger, but he struck furiously with his gauntleted hand, strove to drivehis horse forward. The struggle like that of Hercules and Antaeus, sodesperate and mighty was the strength put forth on either side, butnothing could unclasp the iron grip of those sinewy arms, and almost assoon as Malcolm and Lilias had eyes to see what was passing, WalterStewart was being dragged off his horse by that tremendous grapple, andthe next moment his armour rung as he lay prostrate on his back upon theground.
His conqueror set his mailed foot upon his neck lightly, but so as toprevent any attempt to rise, and after one moment's pause to gatherbreath, said in a clear deep trumpet voice, 'Walter Stewart of Albany, onone condition I grant thee thy life. It is that thou take the mostsolemn oath on the spot that no spulzie or private brawl shall henceforthstain that hand of thine while thy father holds the power in Scotland.Take that oath, thou livest: refuse it, and--' He held up the deadlylittle dagger called the misericorde.
'And who art thou, caitiff land-louper,' muttered Walter, 'to put to oathknights and princes?'
The knight raised the visor of his helmet. The evening sun shoneresplendently on his damasked blue armour and the St. Andrew's cross onhis breast, and lighted up that red fire that lurked in his eyes, andwithal the calm power and righteous indignation on his features mighthave befitted an avenging angel wielding the lightning.
'Thou wilt know me when we meet again,' was all he said; and for the verycalmness of the voice the Master of Albany, who was but a merecommonplace insolent ruffian, quailed with awe and terror to the verybackbone.
'Loose me, and I will swear,' he faintly murmured.
Sir James, before removing his foot, unclasped his gorget, and undoing achain, held up a jewel shaped like a St. Andrew's cross, with a diamondin the midst, covering a fragmentary relic. At the sight WalterStewart's eyes, large pale ones, dilated as if with increasedconsternation, the sweat started on his forehead, and his breath came inshorter gasps. Malcolm and Lilias, standing near, likewise felt a senseof strange awe, for they too had heard of this relic, a supposed fragmentof St. Andrew's own instrument of martyrdom, which had belonged to St.Margaret, and had been thought a palladium to the royal family and Houseof Stewart.
'Rise on thy knees,' said Sir James, now taking away his foot, 'and swearupon this.'
Walter, completely cowed and overawed, rose to his knees at his victor'scommand, laid his hand on the relic, and in a shaken, almost tremulousvoice, repeated the words of the oath after his dictation: 'I, WalterStewart, Master of Albany, hereby swear to God and St. Andrew, to fightin no private brawl, to spoil no man nor woman, to oppress no poor man,clerk, widow, maid, or orphan, to abstain from all wrong or spulzie fromthis hour until the King shall come again in peace.'
He uttered the words, and kissed the jewel that was tendered to him; andthen Sir James said, in the same cold and dignified tone, 'Let thine oathbe sacred, or beware. Now, mount and go thy way, but take heed _how_ Imeet thee again.'
Sir Walter's horse was held for him by Brewster, the knight's Englishattendant, and without another word he flung himself into the saddle, androde away to join such of his followers as were waiting dispersed at asafe distance to mark his fate, but without attempting anything for hisassistance.
'Oh, Sir!' burst forth Malcolm; but then, even as he was about to utterhis thanks, his eye sought for the guardian who had ever been hismouthpiece, and, with a sudden shriek of dismay, he cried, 'My uncle!where is he? where is Sir David?'
'Alack! alack!' cried Lilias. 'Oh, brother, I saw him on the ground; hefell before my horse. I saw no more, for the Master held me, and muffledmy face. Oh, let us back, he may yet live.'
'Yea, let us back,' said Sir James, 'if we may yet save the good old man.Those villains will not dare to follow; or if they do, Nigel--Brewster,you understand guarding the rear.'
'Sir,' began Lilias, 'how can we thank--'
'Not at all, lady,' replied Sir James, smiling; 'you will do better totake your seat; I fear it must be _en croupe_, for we can scarce dismountone of your guards.'
'She shall ride behind me,' said Malcolm, in a more alert and confidentvoice than had ever been heard from him before.
'Ay, right,' said Sir James, placing a kind hand on his shoulder; 'thouhast won her back by thine own exploit, and mayst well have the keepingof her. That rush on the caitiff groom was well and shrewdly done.'
And for all Malcolm's anxiety for his uncle, his heart had never givensuch a leap as at finding himself suddenly raised from the depressed down-trodden coward into something like manhood and self-respect.
Lilias, who, like most damsels of her time, was hardy and active, saw nodifficulties in the mode of conveyance, and, so soon as Ma
lcolm hadseated himself on horseback, she placed one foot upon his toe, and with aspring of her own, assisted by Sir James's well-practised hand, wasinstantly perched on the crupper, clasping her brother round the waistwith her arms, and laying her head on his shoulder in loving pride at hisexploit, while for her further security Sir James threw round them boththe long plaid that had so lately bound her.
'Dear Malcolm'--and her whisper fell sweetly on his ear--'it will bebonnie tidings for Patie that thou didst loose me all thyself. The falsetyrant, to fall on us the very hour Patie was on the salt sea.'
But they were riding so fast that there was scant possibility for words;and, besides, Sir James kept too close to them for private whispers. Inabout an hour's time they had crossed the bit of table-land that formedthe moor, and descended into another little gorge, which was the placewhere the attack had been made upon the travellers.
This was where it was possible that they might find Sir David; but notrace was to be seen, except that the grass was trampled and stained withblood. Perhaps, both Lilias and old Halbert suggested, some of theirpeople had returned and taken him to the Abbey of Coldingham, and as thiswas by far the safest lodging and refuge for her and her brother, thehorses' heads were at once turned thitherwards.
The grand old Priory of Coldingham, founded by King Edgar, son ofMargaret the Saint, and of Malcolm Ceanmohr, in testimony of hisgratitude for his recovery of his father's throne from the usurperDonaldbane, was a Benedictine monastery under the dominion of the greatcentral Abbey of Durham.
It had been a great favourite with the Scottish kings of that gloriousdynasty which sprung from Margaret of Wessex, and had ample estates,which, when it was in good hands, enabled it to supply the manifoldpurposes of an ecclesiastical school, a model farm, a harbour fortravellers, and a fortified castle. At this period, the Prior, John deAkecliff, or Oakcliff, was an excellent man, a great friend of Sir DavidDrummond, and much disliked and persecuted by the House of Albany, sothat there was little doubt that this would be the first refuge thoughtof by Sir David's followers.
Accordingly Malcolm and his companions rode up to the chief gateway, agrand circular archway, with all the noble though grotesque mouldings,zigzag and cable, dog-tooth and parrot-beak, visages human and diabolic,wherewith the Norman builders loved to surround their doorways. Thedoors were of solid oak, heavily guarded with iron, and from a littlewicket in the midst peered out a cowled head, and instantly ensued theexclamation--
'Benedicite! Welcome, my Lord Malcolm! Ah! but this will ease the heartof the Tutor of Glenuskie!'
'Ah! then he is here?' cried Malcolm.
'Here, Sir, but in woful plight; borne in an hour syne by four carles whosaid you had been set upon by the Master of Albany, and sair harried, andthey say the Tutor doth nought but wail for his bairns. How won ye outof his hands, my Lord?'
'Thanks to this good knight,' said Malcolm; and the gate was opened, andthe new-comers dismounted to pass under the archway, which taughthumility. A number of the brethren met them as they came forth into thefirst quadrangle, surrounded by a beautiful cloister, and containing whatwas called Edgar's Walls, a house raised by the good founder, for his ownlodging and that of visitors, within the monastery. It was a narrowbuilding, about thirty feet from the church, was perfectly familiar toMalcolm, who bent his steps at once thither, among the congratulations ofthe monks; and Lilias was not prevented from accompanying him thus farwithin the convent, but all beyond the nave of the church was forbiddenground to her sex, though the original monastery destroyed by the Daneshad been one of the double foundations for monks and nuns.
Entering the building, the brother and sister hastily crossed a sort ofouter hall to a chamber where Sir David lay on his bed, attended by thePrior Akecliff and the Infirmarer. The glad tidings had already reachedhim, and he held out his hands, kissed and blessed his restored charges,and gave thanks with all his heart; but there was a strange wanness uponhis face, and a spasm of severe pain crossed him more than once, though,as Lilias eagerly asked after his hurts, he called them nothing, since hehad her safe again, and then bade Malcolm summon the captive knight thathe might thank him.
Sir James Stewart had been left in the hall without, to the hospitalityof the monks; he had laid aside his helmet, washed his face, and arrangedhis bright locks, and as he rose to follow Malcolm, his majestic statureand bearing seemed to befit the home of the old Scottish King.
As he entered the chamber, Sir David slightly raised himself on thepillow, and, with his eyes dilating into a bewildered gaze, exclaimed,'My liege, my dear master!'
'He raves,' sighed Lilias, clasping Malcolm's hand in dire distress.
'No,' muttered the sick man, sinking back. 'Good King Robert has been inhis grave many a day; his sons, woe is me!--Sir,' recovering himself,'pardon the error of an old dying man, who owes you more than he canexpress.'
'Then, Sir,' said James Stewart, 'grant me the favour of a few moments'private speech with you. I will not keep you long from him,' he added toMalcolm and Lilias.
His manner was never one to be disputed, there was an atmosphere ofobedience about the whole monastery, and the Prior added--
'Yes, my children, it is but fitting that you should give thanks in thechurch for your unlooked-for deliverance.'
Malcolm was forced to lead Lilias away into the exquisite cross church,built in the loveliest Early English style, of which a few gracefulremnants still exist. The two young things knelt together hand in handin the lornness of their approaching desolation, neither of them havingdared to utter the foreboding upon their hearts, but feeling it all themore surely; and while the sister's spirit longed fervently after himwhose protection had been only just removed, the brother looked up to thesheltering vaults, lost in the tranquil twilight, and felt that herealone was his haven of peace, the refuge for the feeble and thefatherless.
Their devotions performed, they ventured back to the outer hall, and ontheir return being notified, they were again admitted. Sir James, whohad been seated on a stool by the sick man's head, immediately rose andresigned his place to Lilias, but did not leave the room and Sir Davidthus spoke: 'Bairns, God in His mercy hath raised you up the best ofguardians in the stead of your ain poor Tutor. Malcolm, laddie, you willride the morn with this gentleman to the true head of your name, your ainKing, whom God for ever bless!' His voice quivered. 'And be it yourstudy so to profit by his example and nurture, as to do your devoir byhim for ever.'
'Nay, father,' cried Malcolm, 'I cannot leave you and Lily.'
'If you call me father, do my bidding,' said Sir David. 'Lily can besafely bestowed with the good Sisters of St. Abbs, nor while you are outof Albany's reach is the poor lassie worth his molesting; but when I amgone, your uncles of Albany and Athole become your tutors, and the Priorhas no power to save you. Only over the Border with the King is theresafety from them, and your ruin is the ruin of your sister.'
'And,' added Sir James, 'when the King is at liberty, or when youyourself are of age, you will return to resume the charge of your fairsister, unless some nearer protector be found. Meantime,' he laid onehand on Malcolm's head, and with the other took out the relic which hadhad so great an effect upon Walter Stewart, 'I swear on this holy Rood ofSt. Andrew, that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie shall be my charge, notmerely as my kinsman, but as my young brother.'
'You hear, Malcolm,' said Sir David. 'You will strive to merit suchgoodness.'
'Father,' broke out the poor boy again, 'you cannot mean to part us! Letus abide as we have been till I am of age to take my vows! I am not fitto serve the King.'
'He is the best judge of that,' returned Sir James.
'And,' added Sir David, 'I tell you, lad, that I shall never be as I wasbefore, and that were I a whole man and sain, riding back to Glenuskiethe morn, I should still bless the saints and bid you gang.'
Rarely did the youth of the fifteenth century venture to question theauthority of an elder, but Malcolm was only silenced for a moment,
andthough by no means understanding that his guardian believed his injuriesmortal, he threw himself upon the advice of the Prior, whom he entreatedto allow him to judge for himself, and to remain to protect his sister--hetalked boldly of protecting her after this day's exploit. But PriorAkecliff gave him no more encouragement than did his uncle. TheBenedictine vows were out of the question till he should be eighteen, andthe renunciation of the world they involved would be ruinous to Lilias,since she would become his heiress. Moreover, the Prior himself wasalmost in a state of siege, for the Regent was endeavouring to intrude onthe convent one Brother William Drake, or Drax, by his own nomination,instead of the canonical appointment emanating from Durham, and asnational feeling went with the Regent's nominee, it was by no meanscertain that the present Prior would be able to maintain his position.
'Oh, go! yes, go, dear brother,' entreated Lilias. 'I should be farhappier to know you in safety. They cannot hurt me while you are safe.'
'But you, Lily! What if this villain Drax have his way?'
'He could not harm her in St. Ebba's fold,' returned the Prior. 'TheAbbess herself could not yield her; and, as you have so often been told,my young Lord, your absence is a far greater protection to your sisterthan your presence. Moreover, were the Tutor's mind at rest, there wouldbe far better hope of his recovery.'
There was no alternative, and Malcolm could not but submit. Lilias wasto be conducted before daybreak to the monastery of St. Abbs, about sixmiles off, whence she could be summoned at any time to be with her unclein Coldingham; and Malcolm was to set off at daybreak with the captiveknight, whose return to England could no longer be delayed.
Poor children! while Sir James Stewart was in the Prior's chamber, theysat silent and mournful by the bedside where their guardian lay dozing,even till the bell for Matins summoned them in common with all the otherinmates of the convent; they knelt on the floor of the candle-lit church,and held each other's hands as they prayed; Lilias still the stronger andmore hopeful, while Malcolm, as he looked up at those dear familiarvaultings, felt as if he were a bird driven from its calm peaceful nestto battle with the tossing winds and storms of ocean, without one nearhim whom he had learnt to love.
It was still dark when the service had ended, and Prior Akecliff cametowards them. 'Daughter,' he said to Lilias, 'we deem it safer that youshould ride to St. Abbs ere daylight. Your palfrey is ready, the MotherAbbess is warned, and I will myself conduct you thither.'
Priors were not people to be kept waiting, and as it was reported thatthe Tutor of Glenuskie was still asleep, Lilias had to depart withouttaking leave of him. With Malcolm the last words were spoken whilecrossing the court. 'Fear not, Lily; my heart will only weary till theChurch owns me, and Patie has you.'
'Nay, my Malcolm; mayhap, as the Prior tells me, your strength andmanhood will come in the south country.'
'Let them,' said Malcolm; 'I will neither cheat the Church nor Patie.'
'It were no cheat. There never was any compact. Patie is winning hisfortune by his own sword; he would scorn--'
'Hush, Lily! When the King sees what a weakling Sir James has broughthim, he will be but too glad to exchange Patie for me, and leave me safein these blessed walls.'
But here they were under the archway, and the convoy of armed men, whomthe exigencies of the time forced the convent to maintain, were alreadymounted. Sir James stood ready to assist the lady to her saddle, andwith one long earnest embrace the brother and sister were parted, andLilias rode away with the Prior by her side, letting the tears flowquietly down her cheeks in the darkness, and but half hearing the longarguments by which good Father Akecliff was proving to her that thedecision was the best for both Malcolm and herself.
By and by the dawn began to appear, the air of the March night becamesharper, and in the distance the murmur and plash of the tide was heard.Then, standing heavy and dark against the clear pale eastern sky, therearose the dark mass of St. Ebba's monastery, the parent of Coldingham,standing on the very verge of the cliff to which it has left the name ofSt. Abb's Head, upon ground which has since been undermined by the waves,and has been devoured by them. The sea, far below, calmly brightenedwith the brightening sky, and reflected the morning stars in a lucidtrack of light, strong enough to make the lights glisten red in theconvent windows. Lilias was expected, was a frequent guest, and had manyfriends there, and as the sweet sound of the Lauds came from the chapel,and while she dismounted in the court the concluding 'Amen' swelled anddied away, she, though no convent bird, felt herself in a safe home andshelter under the wing of kind Abbess Annabel Drummond, and only mournedthat Malcolm, so much tenderer and more shrinking than herself, should bedriven into the unknown world that he dreaded so much more than she did.