orth, in his castle-hall.'"

Marmion felt the taunt, and answered gravely: "My humble home would be
much honored if King James should visit its halls, but Nottingham has as
true archers as e'er drew bow, and Yorkshire men are stern and brave.

"'And many a banner will be torn,
And many a knight to earth be borne,
And many a sheaf of arrows spent,
Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent.'"

Scornfully the Monarch turned away, and commanded the gayeties to
proceed. He flung aside cloak and sword, and gallantly led Dame Heron in
the dance, as the minstrels, at the King's command, struck up "Blue
Bonnets o'er the Border."

[Illustration: SCOTT'S MONUMENT, EDINBURGH.]

CHAPTER VI.

Now we leave the royal revels, and return to Saint Hilda and her maids.
As they sailed back to Whitby, their galley was captured on the high
seas by the Scotch, and the ladies were held at Edinburgh until James
should decide their fate.

Soon, however, they were informed that they must prepare to journey to
England, under the escort of Lord Marmion. At this, terror seized the
heart of the Abbess and of Clara. The aged, saintly lady knew the fate
of Constance, and for this, feared Lord Marmion's wrath. She told her
beads, she implored heaven!

The Lady Clara knew the sword that hung from Marmion's belt had drawn
the blood of her lover, Ralph De Wilton! Unwittingly the King had given
these defenceless women into the care of the man they most dreaded. To
protest was hopeless. In the bustle of war, who would listen to the tale
of a woman and a nun?

The maids and the Abbess were assigned lodgings joining those of
Marmion, their guardian. While there, the unhappy, but alert, holy woman
caught sight of the Palmer. His dress made her feel that she would here
find a friend. Secretly she conveyed to him a message, saying she had a
secret to reveal immediately concerning the welfare of the church, and
of a sinner's soul.

With great secrecy she named as a meeting place, an open balcony, that
hung high above the street.

Night fell; the moon rose high among the clouds; the busy hum of the
city ceased; the din of war and warriors' roar was hushed. The music of
the cricket, the whirr of the owlets, might easily have been heard, when
the holy Dame and the Palmer met. The Abbess had chosen a solemn hour,
to disclose a solemn secret.

"O holy Palmer!" she began,--"for surely he must be holy whose feet have
trod the g