“Ores viegne la Belle,”

meaning, “Let the fair Maid come, and we shall give her wool to spin.”  Next we heard, and were loth to believe it, that a new truce of fifteen days more had been made with Burgundy.  The Maid, indeed, said openly that she loved not the truce, and that she kept it only for the honour of the King, which was dearer to her than her life, as she proved in the end.

Then came marchings, this way and that, all about the Isle of France, Bedford leaving Paris to fight the King, and then refusing battle, though the Maid rode up to the English palisades, and smote them with her sword, defying the English to come out, if they were men.  So the English betook them back to Paris, after certain light skirmishes only.  Meanwhile some of his good towns that had been in the hands of the English yielded to the King, or rather to the Maid.  Among these the most notable was Compiegne, a city as great as Orleans.  Many a time it had been taken and retaken in the wars, but now the burgesses swore that they would rather all die, with their wives and children, than open their gates again to the English.  And this oath they kept well, as shall be seen in the end.

CHAPTER XIX—­HOW NORMAN LESLIE RODE AGAIN TO THE WARS

Tidings of these parleys, and marches, and surrenders of cities came to us at Tours, the King sending letters to his good towns by messengers.  One of these, the very Thomas Scott of whom I have before spoken, a man out of Rankelburn, in Ettrick Forest, brought a letter for me, which was from Randal Rutherford.

“Mess-John Urquhart writes for me, that am no clerk,” said Randal, “and, to spare his pains, as he writes for the most of us, I say no more than this:  come now, or come never, for the Maid will ride to see Paris in three days, or four, let the King follow or not as he will.”

There was no more but a cross marked opposite the name of Randal Rutherford, and the date of place and day, August the nineteenth, at Compiegne.

My face fired, for I felt it, when I had read this, and I made no more ado, but, covenanting with Thomas Scott to be with him when he rode forth at dawn, I went home, put my harness in order, and hired a horse from him that kept the hostelry of the “Hanging Sword,” whither also I sent my harness, for that I would sleep there.  This was all done in the late evening, secretly, and, after supper, I broke the matter to my master and Elliot.  Her face changed to a dead white, and she sat silent, while my master took the word, saying, in our country speech, that “he who will to Cupar, maun to Cupar,” and therewith he turned, and walked out and about in the garden.

We were alone, and now was the hardest of my work to do, to comfort Elliot, when, in faith, I sorely needed comfort myself.  But honour at once and necessity called me to ride, being now fit to bear harness, and foreseeing no other chance to gain booty, or even, perchance, my spurs.  Nor could I endure to be a malingerer.  She sat there, very white, her lip quivering, but her eyes brave and steadfast.