‘Monseigneur and Madame both know better,’ she said.  ’This is but another menace.’

‘Peace, minion,’ said the Bishop of Therouenne, ’and listen to me.  If this young gentleman, after professing himself willing to wed you, now draws back, so much the worse for him.  But if you terrify him out of it with your humours, then will my brother St. Pol and the Duke of Burgundy soon be here, with no King of England to meddle; and by St. Adrian, Sir Boemond will be daunted by no airs, like Monsieur there.  A bride shall you be, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg, ere the week is out, if not to Monsieur de Glenuskie, to the Chevalier Boemond de Bourgogne.’

‘Look not at me,’ said Jaqueline.  ’I am weary of your contumacy.  All I shall do is to watch you well.  I’ve suspected for some days that you were concocting mischief with the little Montagu; but you’ll not escape again, as when I was fool enough to help you.’

The two stood a few paces apart, where they had been discovered; Esclairmonde’s eyes were closed, her hands clasped, as if in silent prayer for aid.

‘Girl—­your choice!’ said the Bishop, peremptorily.  ’Wedlock on the spot to this gentleman, or to Sir Boemond a week hence.’

Esclairmonde was very white.

’My will shall not consent to a present breach of vow to save a future one,’ she said, in a scarce audible voice.

A sudden thought darted into Malcolm’s mind.  With colour flooding his face to his very temples, he stepped nearer to her, and said, in a tremulous under-tone, ‘Lady, trust me.’

The Bishop withheld Jaqueline almost by force, so soon as he saw that the pair were whispering together, and that there was something of relaxation in Esclairmonde’s face as she looked up at him in silent interrogation.

He spoke low, but solemnly and imploringly.  ’Trust me with your plight, lady, and I will restore it when you are free.’

Hardly able to speak, she however murmured, ‘You will indeed do this?’

‘So help me Heaven!’ he said, and his eyes grew large and bright; he held his head with the majesty of his race.

‘Heaven has sent you,’ said Esclairmonde, with a long sigh, and holding out her hand to him, as though therewith she conferred a high-souled woman’s full trust.

And Malcolm took it with a strange pang of pain and exultation at the heart.  The trust was won, but the hope of earthly joy was gone for ever.

The Countess broke out with a shout of triumph:  ’There, there! they have come to reason at last.  There’s an end of her folly.’

Malcolm felt himself a man, and Esclairmonde’s protector, all at once, as he stood forth, still holding her hand.

‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ’this lady consents to intrust her troth to me, and be affianced to me’—­his chest heaved, but he still spoke firmly—­’on condition that no word be spoken of the matter, nor any completion of the rite take place until the mourning for King Henry be at an end;’ and, at a sort of shiver from Esclairmonde, he added:  ’Not for a year, by which time I shall be of full age.’