d whenever she looked towards him;
until at last, when the summer evening was closing in, and the last
signal was given for the break-up of the party, Malcolm ventured on one
faltering murmur, 'Lady, lady, you are not offended with me?'

'Nay,' said Esclairmonde, kindly; 'nothing has passed between us that
should offend me.'

His eye lighted. 'May I still be remembered in your prayers, lady?'

'As I shall remember all who have been my friends here,' she said.

'And oh, lady, if I should--should win honour, may I lay it at your
feet?'

'Whatever you achieve as a good man and true will gladden me,' said
Esclairmonde, 'as it will all others that wish you well. Both you and
your sister in her loneliness shall have my best prayers. Farewell, Lord
Malcolm; may the Saints bless and guard you, whether in the world or the
Church.'

Malcolm knew why she spoke of his sister, and felt as if there were no
hope for him. Esclairmonde's grave kindness was a far worse sign than
would have been any attempt to evade him; but at any rate she had spoken
with him, and his heart could not but be cheered. What might he not do
in the glorious future? As the foremost champion of a crusading king,
bearing St. Andrew's cross through the very gates of Jerusalem, what
maiden, however saintly, could refuse him his guerdon?

And he knew that, for the present, Esclairmonde was safe from retiring
into any convent, since her high birth and great possessions would make
any such establishment expect a large dower with her as a right, and few
abbesses would have ventured to receive a runaway foreigner, especially
as one of her guardians was the Bishop of Therouenne.

CHAPTER VII: THE SIEGE OF MEAUX

Wintry winds and rains were sweeping over the English tents on the banks
of the Marne, where Henry V. was besieging Meaux, then the stronghold of
one of those terrible freebooters who were always the offspring of a
lengthened war. Jean de Gast, usually known as the Bastard de Vaurus,
nominally was of the Armagnac or patriotic party, but, in fact, pillaged
indiscriminately, especially capturing travellers on their way to Paris,
and setting on their heads a heavy price, failing which he hung them upon
the great elm-tree in the market-place. The very suburbs of Paris were
infested by the forays of this desperate _routier_, as such highway
robbers were called; the supplies of previsions were cut off, and the
citizens had petitioned King Hen