Her mother, a beautiful Walloon, had been heiress to wide domains in Hainault, her father to great estates in Flanders, all which were at present managed by the politic Bishop.  Like most of the statesman-secular-clergy, the Bishop hated nothing so much as the monastic orders, and had made no small haste to remove his fair niece from the convent at Dijon, where she had been educated, lest the Cistercians should become possessed of her lands.  He had one scheme for her marriage; but his brother, the Count, had wished to give her to his own second son, who was almost an infant; and the Duke of Burgundy had designs on her for his half-brother Boemond; and among these various disputants, Esclairmonde had never failed to find support against whichever proposal was forced upon her, until the coalition between the Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant becoming too strong, she had availed herself of Countess Jaqueline’s discontent to evade them both.

The family had, of course, been much angered, and had fully expected that her estates would go to some great English abbey, or to some English lord whose haughty reserve and insularity would be insupportable.  It was therefore a relief to Monseigneur de Therouenne to hear James’s designs; and when the King further added, that he would be willing to let the claims on the Hainault part of her estates be purchased by the Count de St. Pol, and those in Flanders by the Duke of Burgundy, the Bishop was delighted, and declared that, rather than such a negotiation should fail, he would himself advance the sum to his brother; but that the Duke of Burgundy’s consent was more doubtful, only could they not do without it?

And he honoured Malcolm with a few words of passing notice from time to time, as if he almost regarded him as a relation.  No doubt it would have been absurd to fly from such chances as these to Patrick Drummond and the opposite camp; and yet there were times when Malcolm felt as if he should get rid of a load on his heart if he were to break with all his present life, hurry to Patrick, confess the whole to him, and then—­hide his head in some hermitage, leaving his pledge unforfeited!

That, however, could not be.  He was bound to the King, and might not desert him, and it was not unpleasant to brood over the sacrifice of his own displeasure.

‘See,’ said Henry, in the evening, as he came into the refectory and walked up to James, ’I have found my signet.  It was left in the finger of my Spanish glove, which I had not worn since the beginning of winter.  Thanks to all who took vain pains to look for it.’

But Malcolm did not respond with his pleased look to the thanks.  He was not in charity with Henry, and crept out of hearing of him, while James was saying, ’You had best destroy one or the other, or they will make mischief.  Here, I’ll crush it with the pommel of my sword.’

‘Ay,’ said Henry, laughing, ’you’d like to shew off one of your sledge-hammer blows—­Sir Bras de Fer!  But, Master Scot, you shall not smash the English shield so easily.  This one hangs too loose to be safe; I shall keep it to serve me when we have fattened up at Paris, after the leanness of our siege.’