ith all the other
inmates of the convent; they knelt on the floor of the candle-lit church,
and held each other's hands as they prayed; Lilias still the stronger and
more hopeful, while Malcolm, as he looked up at those dear familiar
vaultings, felt as if he were a bird driven from its calm peaceful nest
to battle with the tossing winds and storms of ocean, without one near
him whom he had learnt to love.

It was still dark when the service had ended, and Prior Akecliff came
towards them. 'Daughter,' he said to Lilias, 'we deem it safer that you
should ride to St. Abbs ere daylight. Your palfrey is ready, the Mother
Abbess is warned, and I will myself conduct you thither.'

Priors were not people to be kept waiting, and as it was reported that
the Tutor of Glenuskie was still asleep, Lilias had to depart without
taking leave of him. With Malcolm the last words were spoken while
crossing the court. 'Fear not, Lily; my heart will only weary till the
Church owns me, and Patie has you.'

'Nay, my Malcolm; mayhap, as the Prior tells me, your strength and
manhood will come in the south country.'

'Let them,' said Malcolm; 'I will neither cheat the Church nor Patie.'

'It were no cheat. There never was any compact. Patie is winning his
fortune by his own sword; he would scorn--'

'Hush, Lily! When the King sees what a weakling Sir James has brought
him, he will be but too glad to exchange Patie for me, and leave me safe
in these blessed walls.'

But here they were under the archway, and the convoy of armed men, whom
the exigencies of the time forced the convent to maintain, were already
mounted. Sir James stood ready to assist the lady to her saddle, and
with one long earnest embrace the brother and sister were parted, and
Lilias rode away with the Prior by her side, letting the tears flow
quietly down her cheeks in the darkness, and but half hearing the long
arguments by which good Father Akecliff was proving to her that the
decision was the best for both Malcolm and herself.

By and by the dawn began to appear, the air of the March night became
sharper, and in the distance the murmur and plash of the tide was heard.
Then, standing heavy and dark against the clear pale eastern sky, there
arose the dark mass of St. Ebba's monastery, the parent of Coldingham,
standing on the very verge of the cliff to which it has left the name of
St. Abb's Head, upon ground which has since been undermined by the waves,
and has