e army had made
post on the ridge that frowns over the Millfield Plain, and that brave
Surrey, with a force from the South, had marched into Northumberland and
taken camp.

At this, Marmion exclaimed:

"'A sorry thing to hide my head
In castle, like a fearful maid,
When such a field is near!
Needs must I see this battle-day:
Death to my fame if such a fray
Were fought, and Marmion away!
The Douglas, too, I wot not why,
Hath 'bated of his courtesy:
No longer in his halls I'll stay."

CHAPTER VII.

Each hour brought a different tale. Marmion fretted like the impatient
charger that "snuffs the battle from afar." It was true that Douglas had
changed in his demeanor, had grown cold and silent. The dejected Clare
sought retirement. Courteous she was to Lady Angus, shared in ceaseless
prayers for the safe return of Scotch liege and lord, but borne down
with sorrow, she loved best to find some lonely spot, turret, tower, or
parapet, where she might retire alone to listen to the wailing waters,
to hear the sea-bird's cry, to recall her life at the Convent of Whitby,
and to regret the loss of the loved garb of the nun. At the command of
her kinsman, the Benedictine dress, the hood and veil, so much in
harmony with her life, had been denied her, and she had been made to
assume the costume of the world.

Her sunny locks were again unbound, and rich garments were provided,
suited to her rank. Of the holy dress, the cross alone she was permitted
to wear,--a golden cross set with rubies; but in her hand she always
bore the loved breviary.

Pacing back and forth at evening, sick with sorrow, she came suddenly
upon a full suit of armor. It lay directly in her path--the targe, the
corselet, the helm, the pierced breastplate. She raised her eyes in
alarm, and before her stood De Wilton, but so changed it might have been
his ghost. The Palmer's dress was thrown aside, the dress of the knight
not resumed. He was neither king's noble, nor priest. Not until he had
been proven innocent of treason, and redubbed knight, could he honorably
wear his spurs.

Long was the interview held between the astonished, delighted Clare, and
the undisguised De Wilton. He began the story of his exile and travels,
taking up the tale from the moment when he lay senseless in the lists at
Cottiswold. The kind care of Austin, the beadsman, had restored him to
health and strength. He described t