As James Kennedy entered the hall with Malcolm, there came from another door, marshalled by the seneschal in full feudal state, the Regent Duke of Albany himself, his wife, a daughter or two, two sons—­and Malcolm saw, with beating heart, Lilias herself, pale worn, sorrowful-looking, grievously altered, but still his own Lily.  Others followed, chiefly knights and attendants, but Malcolm saw no one but Lily.  She took her place dejectedly, and never raised her eyes towards him, even when, on the Regent’s question, ‘What have ye there, Jamie?’ Kennedy stood forth and answered that it was a scholar, a student, for whom he asked the hospitality of his kinsman.

‘He is welcome,’ said the Regent, a man of easy good-nature, whose chief misfortune was, that being of weak nature, he came between a wicked father and wickeder sons.  He was a handsome man, with much of the stately appearance of King James himself, and the same complexion; but it was that sort of likeness which was almost provoking, by seeming to detract from the majesty of the lineaments themselves, as seen in him who alone knew how to make them a mask for a great soul.  His two sons, Robert and Alexander, laughed as they saw Kennedy’s companion, and called out, ’So that’s the brotherhood of learning, is it, Jamie?—­forgathering with any beggar in the street!’

‘Yea,’ said Kennedy, nothing daunted, ’and finding him much better mannered than you!’

‘Ay!’ sighed Murdoch, feebly; ’when I grew up, it was at the Castles of Perth and Doune that we looked for the best manners.  Now—­’

‘We leave them to the lick-platters that have to live by them,’ said Alexander, rudely.

Kennedy, meanwhile, gave the young scholar in charge to a gray-headed retainer, who seemed one of the few who had any remains of good-breeding; and then offered to say Grace—­he being the nearest approach to an ecclesiastic present—­as the chaplain was gone to an Easter festivity at his Abbey.  Malcolm thus obtained a seat at the second table, and a tolerable share of supper; but he could hardly eat, from intense anxiety, and scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that he was out of sight of Lily.

By and by, a moment’s lull of the universal din enabled Malcolm to hear the Regent saying, ’Verily, there is a look of gentle nurture about the lad.  Look you, James, when the tables are drawn, you shall hold a disputation with him.  It will be sport to hear how you chop logic at your Universities yonder.’

Malcolm’s spirit sank.  Such disputations were perfectly ordinary work at both Oxford and Paris, and, usually, he was quite capable of sustaining his part in them; but his heart was so full, his mind so anxious, his condition so dangerous, that he felt as if he could by no means rally that alertness of argument, and readiness of quotation, that were requisite even in the merest tyro.  However, he made a great effort.  He secretly invoked the Light of Wisdom; tried to think himself back into the aisles of St. Mary’s Church, and to call up the key-notes of some of the stock arguments; hoping that, if the selection of the subject were left to Kennedy, he would hit on one of those most familiar at Oxford.