‘That’s more like it,’ said the brother, who acted as a kind of farming steward, and was a hearty, good-natured gossip.  ‘An’ what’s the name of ye?’

He gave his real Christian name; and added that he came from Glenuskie, where the good Tutor of Glenuskie had been kind enough to notice him.

‘Ay,’ said Brother Nicolas, ’he was a guid man to all towardly youths.  He died in this house, more’s the pity.’

‘Yea, Sir—­so I heard say,’ returned Malcolm.  ’He was a good friend to me!’ he added, to cover his heavy sigh.  ’And, Sir, how went it with the young laird and leddy?’

’For the young laird—­a feckless, ugsome, sickly wean he was, puir laddie—­a knight cam by, an’ behoved to take him to the King.  Nay, but if you’ve been at Parish—­if that’s what ye mean with your Lutetia—­ye’ll have seen him an’ the King.’

‘I saw the King,’ answered Malcolm; ‘but among the Englishry.’

‘A sorry sight enow!’ said the monk; ’but he’ll soon find his Scots heart again; and here we’ve got rid of the English leaven from the house, and be all sound and leal Scots here.’

‘And the lady?’ Malcolm ventured to ask.  ‘She had a winsome face.’

‘Ho! ho! what have young clerks to do wi’ winsome faces?’ laughed the Benedictine.

‘She was good to me,’ Malcolm could truly say.

‘They had her in St. Abbs yonder,’ said the monk.

‘Is she there?’ asked Malcolm.  ‘I would pay my duty and thanks to her.’

‘Now—­there I cannot say,’ replied Brother Nicolas.  ’My good Mother Abbess and our Prior are not the friends they were in Prior Akefield’s time; and there’s less coming and going between the houses.  There was a noise that Lord Malcolm had been slain, and I did hear that, thereupon, she had been claimed as a ward of the Crown.  But I cannot say.  If ye gang to St. Abbs the morn, ye may hear if she be there—­and at any rate get the dole.’

It was clear that the good brother knew no more, and Malcolm could only thank him for his condescension, and follow among the herdsmen into the well-known monastery court.

Here he availed himself of his avowed connection with Glenuskie, to beg to be shown good old Sir David Drummond’s grave.  A flat gray stone in the porch was pointed out to him; and beside this he knelt, until the monks flocked in for prayers—­which were but carelessly and hurriedly sung; and then followed supper.  It was all so natural to him, that it was with an effort that he recalled that his place was not at the high table, as Lord Malcolm Stewart, but that Malcolm, the nameless begging scholar, must be trencher-fellow with the servants and lay brethren.  He was the less concerned, that here there was less danger of recognition, and more freedom of conversation.