ear my vows.' And he was soon drawn into telling his
whole story, to which the ladies both listened with great interest and
kindness, Esclairmonde commending his resolution to leave the care of his
lands and vassals to one whom he represented as so much better fitted to
bear them as Patrick Drummond, and only regretting the silence King James
had enjoined, saying she felt that there was safety and protection in
being avowed as a destined religious.

'And you are one,' said Lady Alice, looking at her in wonder. 'And yet
you are with _that_ lady--' And the girl's innocent face expressed a
certain wonder and disgust that no one could marvel at who had heard the
Flemish Countess talk in the loudest, broadest, most hoydenish style.

'She has been my very good lady,' said Esclairmonde; 'she has, under the
saints, saved me from much.'

'Oh, I entreat you, tell us, dear lady!' entreated Alice. It was not a
reticent age. Malcolm Stewart had already avowed himself in his own
estimation pledged to a monastic life, and Esclairmonde of Luxemburg had
reasons for wishing her position and intentions to be distinctly
understood by all with whom she came in contact; moreover, there was a
certain congeniality in both her companions, their innocence and
simplicity, that drew out confidence, and impelled her to defend her
lady.

'My poor Countess,' she said, 'she has been sorely used, and has suffered
much. It is a piteous thing when our little imperial fiefs go to the
spindle side!'

'What are her lands?' asked Malcolm.

'Hainault, Holland, and Zealand,' replied the lady. 'Her father was
Count of Hainault, her mother the sister of the last Duke of Burgundy--him
that was slain on the bridge of Montereau. She was married as a mere
babe to the Duke of Touraine, who was for a brief time Dauphin, but he
died ere she was sixteen, and her father died at the same time. Some say
they both were poisoned. The saints forfend it should be true; but thus
it was my poor Countess was left desolate, and her uncle, the Bishop of
Liege--Jean Sans Pitie, as they call him--claimed her inheritance. You
should have seen how undaunted she was!'

'Were you with her then?' asked Alice Montagu.

'Yes. I had been taken from our convent at Dijon, when my dear brothers,
to whom Heaven be merciful! died at Azincourt. My _oncles a la mode de
Bretagne_--how call you it in English?'

'Welsh uncles,' said Alice.

'They are the Count de St. Pol and t