ion, not for the devastation of
the turbulent country of an insane sovereign, but for his having relaxed
in the mighty work of renovation that he had imposed on himself.

Even when the service was ended, the King would not leave the Minster. He
lifted himself up to bid Bedford and his companions return; but for
himself, he intended to remain and confess, in preparation for being
'houselled' at the Mass for the dead early the next morning, before
hastening on the southern journey.

Was this, thought the bewildered Malcolm as he fell asleep, the godless
atmosphere he had been used to think all that was not Glenuskie or
Coldingham--England above all?

Indeed, in the frosty twilight of the spring morning, though Henry was
now clad in his usual garb, sleeplessness, sorrow, and fasting made him
as wan and haggard as any ascetic monk; his eyes were sunken, and his
closed lips bore a stern fixed expression, which scarcely softened even
when the sacrificial rite struck the notes of praise; and though a light
came into his eye, it was rather the devotion of one who had offered
himself, than the gleam of hopeful exultation. The horses stood saddled
at the west door, for Henry was feverishly eager to reach Pontefract,
where he had left his queen, and wished to avoid the delay of breaking
his fast at York, but only to snatch a meal at some country hostel on his
way.

Round the horses, however, a crowd of the citizens were collected to
gaze; and two or three women with children in their arms made piteous
entreaties for the King's healing touch for their little ones. The kind
Henry waited, ungloved his hand, asked his treasurer for the gold pieces
that were a much-esteemed part of the cure, and signed to his attendant
chaplain to say the Collect appointed for the rite.

Fervent blessings were meantime murmured through the crowd, which broke
out into loud shouts of 'God save King Harry!' as he at length leapt into
the saddle; but at that moment, a feeble, withered old man, leaning on a
staff, and wearing a bedesman's gown, peered up, and muttered to a
comrade--

'Fair-faced, quotha--fair, maybe, but not long for this world! One is
gone already, and the rest will not be long after; the holy man's words
will have their way--the death mark is on him.'

The words caught James's ear, and he angrily turned round: 'Foul-mouthed
raven, peace with thy traitor croak!' but Bedford caught his arm, crying--

'Hush! 'tis a mere bedesman