ting suspicion without him;
and, besides, he needed Malcolm himself, in the scarcity of attendants
who had any tenderness or dexterity of hand to wait upon the suffering
King.

Henry had rallied enough to walk down to the river, leaning upon James;
and he smiled thanks when he was assisted by Trenton and Kitson to lie
along on cushions. 'So, my Yorkshire knights,' he said, ''tis you that
have had to stop from the battle to watch a sick man home!'

'Ay, Sir,' said Sir Christopher; 'I did it with the better will, that
Trenton here has not been his own man since the fever; and 'twere no fair
play in the matter your Grace wets of, did I go into battle whole and
sound, and he sick and sorry.'

Henry's look of amusement brightened him into his old self, as he said,
'Honester guards could I scarce have, good friend.'

At that moment, after a nudge or two from Trenton, Kitson and he came
suddenly down on their knees, with an impetus that must have tried the
boards of the bottom of the barge. 'Sir,' said Kitson, always the
spokesman, 'we have a grace to ask of you.'

'Say on,' said Henry. 'Any boon, save the letting you cut one another's
throats.'

'No, Sir. Will Trenton's scarce my match now, more's the pity; and,
moreover, we've lost the good will to it we once had. No, Sir; 'twas
license to go a pilgrimage.'

'On pilgrimage!'

'Ay, Sir; to yon shrine at Breuil--St. Fiacre's, as they call him. Some
of our rogues pillaged his shrine, as you know, Sir; and those that know
these parts best, say he was a Scottish hermit, and bears malice like a
Scot, saint though he be; and that your sickness, my lord, is all along
of that. So we two have vowed to go barefoot there for your healing, my
liege, if so be we have your license.'

'And welcome, with my best thanks, good friends,' said Henry, exerting
himself to lean forward and give his hand to their kiss. Then, as they
fell back into their places, with a few inarticulate blessings and
assurances that they only wished they could go to Rome, or to Jerusalem,
if it would restore their king, Henry said, smiling, as he looked at
James, 'Scotsmen here, there, and everywhere--in Heaven as well as earth!
What was it last night about a Scot that moved thine ire, Jamie? Didst
not tender me thy sword? By my faith, thou hast it not! What was the
rub?'

James now told the story in its fulness. How he had met Sir Patrick
Drummond at Glenuskie; how, afterwards, the knight had