tokens.

'She scarce spoke, my Lord; but the Countess Jaqueline pretended to be in
one of her merry moods. She told me one good turn deserved another, and
that, as in gratitude and courtesy bound, I must do her the favour of
either lending her the signet, or, if I would not let it out of my hands,
of setting it to a couple of parchments, which she declared King Henry
had promised to grant.'

'The false woman!'

'Sir, words told not on her. She laughed and clapped her hands at
whatever I said of honour, faith, or trust. She would have it that it
was a jest--nay, romping fashion, she seized my hand, which I let her
have, knowing it was only my own seal that was on it. Never was I so
glad that the signet being too small for my fingers, it was in my bosom.'

'Knew you what the parchments bore?' asked, Bedford, anxiously.

'One--so far as I could see--was of the Duke of Orleans' liberty,' said
Malcolm. 'The other--pardon me, Sir--it bore the names of Duke Humfrey
and Countess Jaqueline.'

'The shameless wanton!' broke forth Bedford. 'How did you escape her at
last, boy?'

'Sir,' said Malcolm, turning as red as loss of blood permitted, 'she had
not kept her hands off me; therefore when she stood between me and the
door, I told her that discourtesy was better than trust-breaking, and
while she jeered at my talking out of a book of chivalry, I e'en took her
by the hands, lifted her aside, opened the door, ran down-stairs, and so
to the stables, where I mounted with the only three men I could get
together.'

Bedford could not but laugh, as he added, 'Bravely done, Lord Malcolm;
but, I fear me, she will never forgive you. What next?'

'I left word for the other fellows to join us at the hostel by the gate,
and tarried for them till I feared being here after the gates were fast;
then set out without them, and rode till, just within the forest, a band
of men, how many I cannot tell, were on us, and before my sword was well
drawn they had surrounded me, and seized my bridle. One of them bade me
submit quietly, and they would not harm me, if I would yield up that
which I wist of. I said I would sooner yield my life than my trust;
whereupon they mastered me, and dragged me off my horse, and were rifling
me, when I--knowing the Flemish accent of that drunken fellow of the
Countess's--called out, "Shame on you, Ghisbert!" Then it was that he
stabbed me, even at the moment when the holy Saints sent brave Percy and
t