between sport and earnest, that Hal was so enamoured of his fair bride, that anon the conquest of France would be left to himself and his brother, Tom of Clarence; while James retorted by thrusts at Bedford’s own rusticity of garb, and by endeavouring to force on him a pair of shoes with points like ram’s horns, as a special passport to the favour of Dame Jac—­a lady who seemed to be the object of Duke John’s great distaste.

Suddenly a voice was heard in the gallery of the great old mansion where they were lodged.  ‘John!  John!  Here!—­Where is the Duke, I say?’ It was thick and husky, as with some terrible emotion; and the King and Duke had already started in dismay before the door was thrown open, and King Henry stood among them, his face of a burning red.

‘See here, John!’ he said, holding out a letter; and then, with an accent of wrathful anguish, and a terrible frown, he turned on James, exclaiming, ’I would send you to the Tower, Sir, did I think you had a hand in this!’

Malcolm trembled, and sidled nearer his prince; while James, with an equally fierce look, replied, ’Hold, Sir!  Send me where you will, but dare not dishonour my name!’ Then changing, as he saw the exceeding grief on Henry’s brow, and heard John’s smothered cry of dismay, ’For Heaven’s sake, Harry, what is it?’

‘This!’ said Henry, less loudly, less hotly, but still with an agony of indignation:  ’Thomas is dead—­and by the hand of two of your traitor Scots!’

‘Murdered!’ cried James, aghast.

‘Murdered by all honest laws of war, but on the battlefield,’ said Henry.  ’Your cousin of Buchan and old Douglas fell on my brave fellows at Beauge, when they were spent with travel to stop the robberies in Anjou.  They closed in with their pikes on my brave fellows, took Somerset prisoner, and for Thomas, while he was dealing with a knight named Swinton in front, the villain Buchan comes behind and cleaves his head in twain; and that is what you Scots call fighting!’

‘It was worthy of a son of Albany!’ said James.  ’Would that vengeance were in my power!’

‘Ay, you loved him!’ said Henry, grasping James’s hand, his passion softened into a burst of tears, as he wrung his prisoner’s hand.  ’Nay, who did not love him, my brave, free-hearted brother?  And that I—­I should have dallied here and left him to bear the brunt, and be cut off by you felon Scots!’ And he hid his face, struggling within an agony of heart-rending grief, which seemed to sway his whole tall, powerful frame as he leant against the high back of a chair; while John, together with James, was imploring him not to accuse himself, for his presence had been needful at home; and, to turn the tenor of his thought, James inquired whether there were any further disaster.

‘Not as yet,’ said Henry; ’there is not a man left in that heaven-abandoned crew who knows how to profit by what they have got! but I must back again ere the devil stir them up a man of wit!—­And you, Sir, can you take order with these heady Scots?’