llowed and entreated her to stay and break
her fast, but she would accept nothing save a draught of milk, swallowed
hastily, and with signs of impatience as her sisters took their turn.

She walked quickly, rather as one guilty of an escapade, again
surprising her sisters, who fancied the liberty of a married princess
illimitable.

Jean even ventured to ask her why she went so fast, 'Would the King of
France be displeased?'

'He! Poor gude sire Charles! He heeds not what one does, good or bad;
no, not the murdering of his minion before his eyes,' said Margaret,
half laughing.

'Thy husband, would he be angered?' pressed on Jean.

'My husband? Oh no, it is not in the depth and greatness of is thoughts
to find fault with his poor worm,' said Margaret, a strange look, half
of exultation, half of pain, on her face. 'Ah! Jeanie, woman, none kens
in sooth how great and wise my Dauphin is, nor how far he sees beyond
all around him, so that he cannot choose but scorn them and make them
his tools. When he has the power, he will do more for this poor realm of
France than any king before him.'

'As our father would have done for Scotland,' said Eleanor.

'Then he tells thee of his plans?'

'Me!' said Margaret, with the suffering look returning. 'How should he
talk to me, the muckle uncouthie wife that I am, kenning nought but a
wheen ballads and romaunts--not even able to give him the heir for whom
he longs,' and she wrung her hands together, 'how can I be aught but a
pain and grief to him!'

'Nay, but thou lovest him?' said Jean, over simply.

'Lassie!' exclaimed Margaret hotly, 'what thinkest thou I am made of?
How should a wife not love her man, the wisest, canniest prince in
Christendom, too! Love him! I worship him, as the trouveres say, with
all my heart, and wad lay down my life if I could win one kind blush of
his eye; and yet--and yet--such a creature am I that I am ever wittingly
or unwittingly transgressing these weary laws, and garring him think me
a fool, or others report me such,' clenching her hands again.

'Madame de Ste. Petronelle?' asked Jean.

'She! Oh no! She is a true loyal Lindsay, heart and soul, dour and
wearisome; but she would guard me from every foe, and most of all, as
she is ever telling me, from mine ain self, that is my worst enemy. Only
she sets about it in such guise that, for very vexation, I am driven
farther! No, it is the Countess de Craylierre, who is forever spiting
me, and st