“’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 the long journeys in Palmer’s dress, his return to Scotland, meeting Marmion at Norham Castle, the tilt on Gifford moor, and the interview with the Abbess, when he received from her the letters proving his innocence.

Already, at Tantallon, he had told his story to Douglas, who had known De Wilton’s family of old.  That night, Douglas was to make him again a belted knight, and at dawn, he would haste to Surrey’s camp to fight again for king and for country.  The story heard from De Wilton, the letters showing the treachery of Marmion, accounted for the cold disdain shown by Douglas to his guest.