once been, since he had become a
keeper instead of a fellow-sufferer. It was true that he did his best to
forget this by lavishing indulgences on his captive, and insisting on
being treated on terms of brotherly familiarity; but though his
transcendent qualities commanded love, the intimacy could be but a
semblance of the once equal friendship. Moreover, that conspiracy which
cost the life of the Earl of Cambridge had taught James that cautious
reserve was needed in dealing with even his old friends the princes, so
easily might he be accused of plotting either with Henry's immediate heir
or with the Mortimers; and, in this guarded life, he had hailed with
delight the opportunity of taking to himself the young orphan cousin of
kindred blood, of congenial tastes, and home-like speech, whom he might
treat at once as a younger brother and friend, and mould by and by into a
trusty counsellor and assistant. That peculiar wistfulness and
gentleness of Malcolm's look and manner, together with the refinement and
intellect apparent to all who conversed with him without alarming him,
had won the King's heart, and made him long to keep the boy with him. As
to Malcolm's longing for the cloister, he deemed it the result of the
weakly health and refined nature which shrank from the barbarism of the
outer world, and he thought it would pass away under shelter from the
rude taunts of the fierce cousins, at a distance from the well-meaning
exhortations of the monks, and at the spectacle of brave and active men
who could also be pious, conscientious, and cultivated. In the renewed
sojourn at Windsor which James apprehended, the training of such a youth
as Malcolm of Glenuskie would be no small solace.

By the time Malcolm had learnt as much of all this as Sir Nigel Baird
knew, or chose to communicate, the King entered the room. He flung
himself on his knees, exclaiming, with warm gratitude, as he kissed the
King's hand, 'My liege, I little kenned--'

'I meant thee to ken little,' said James, smiling. 'Well, laddie, wilt
thou share the prisoner's cell?--Ay, Bairdsbrae, you were a true prophet.
Harry will do all himself, and will not hear of losing me to deal with my
own people at my own gate. No, no, he'll have me back with Southron bows
and bills, so soon as this small trifle of France lies quiet in his
grasp! I had nearly flung back my parole in his face, and told him that
no English sword should set me on the Bruce's throne; b