to deny that she
possessed it, and worked her up into a state of impracticability, in
which Sir Lewis Robsart was unable to deal with her, and only produced so
wild a tempest of passion as perfectly to appal both him and her ladies.

That the Duke of Bedford had sent for a ring, which she would not give
up, was known over the whole palace; the only matter still not perhaps
known was, what was the value of that individual ring.

Robsart, however, promised to exonerate Malcolm from having shown any
indiscretion; he charged it all on himself for having left his Queen for
an instant to Isabeau.

Meanwhile, Malcolm and he, with other nobles and ladies, waited, waited
in the outer chamber, listening to the fearful storm of shrieks and
cries, till they began to spend themselves and die away; and then they
heard Esclairmonde's low voice singing her lullaby, and every one
breathed freer, as though relieved, and murmurs of conversation rose
again. Malcolm moved across to greet the Lady Montagu; and though she
looked at him with all the disdain her little gentle face could
accomplish, he had somehow a spring and strength in him that could not
now be brow-beaten.

He bent over her, and said, 'Lady, I see you know all. It is but a
trust.'

'If you so treat it, Sir, you will do well,' responded the young matron,
with as much stern gravity as she could assume; the fact being that she
longed to break down and cry heartily, that Esclairmonde should so far
have failed, and become like other people.

Long, long they waited--Malcolm with a strange dreamy feeling at his
heart, neither triumph nor disappointment, but something between both,
and peace above all. Dinner was served in the hall; the company returned
to the outer apartment, yet still all was silent within; till at last,
late in the afternoon, there came a black figure forth from under the
black hangings, and Esclairmonde, turning to Lady Warwick, said, 'The
Queen is awake, and desires her ladies' presence.' And then coming
towards Malcolm, who was standing near Sir Lewis Robsart, she placed in
his hand the signet-ring.

Both, while the attendants of the Queen filed back into her chamber,
eagerly demanded how the ring had been obtained.

'Poor lady!' said Esclairmonde, 'she was too much spent to withhold
anything. She was weak and exhausted with cries and tears; and when she
had slept, she was as meek as a lamb; and there was no more ado but to
bid her remember that