She hung back, and could be hardly dragged forward to the embattled gateway of the bridge by her brother—­who, as the guards, jealously cautious even in this time of peace, called out to him to stand, showed his ring bearing the royal arms, and desired to speak within the captain of the garrison, who was commanding in the name of the Earl of Northumberland, Governor of Berwick and Warden of the Marches, and who had entertained him on his way north, and would have been warned by Patrick of his probable return in this guise.

Instead of the stalwart form of the veteran sub-governor, however, a quick step came hurrying to the gateway, and the light figure of a young knight stood before him, with outstretched hands, crying:  ’Welcome to the good town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, dear comrade!’ And he added in a lower tone:  ’So you have succeeded in your quest—­if, as I trow, this fairest of clerks be your lady sister.  May I—­’

‘Hold!’ softly said Malcolm.  ’She is so shamefast that she cannot brook a word;’ and in fact Lilias had pulled her hood over her face, and shrunk behind him, at the first approach of the young gentleman.

‘We will to my mother,’ said Ralf, aloud.  ’She has always a soft corner in her heart for a young clerk or a wanderer.’

And so saying, without even looking at the disguised figure, he gave the pass-word, and holding Malcolm by the arm, led him, followed by Lilias, through the defences and into the court of the castle, then to a side-door, where, bounding up several steps at once of a stone stair, he opened a sort of anteroom door, and bade the two strangers wait there while he fetched his mother.

‘That is well!  Who would have looked to see him here!’ cried Malcolm, joyously.  ’What, you knew him not?  It was Ralf Percy, my dear old companion!’

‘Ralf Percy! he that was so bold and daring?’ cried Lilias.  ’Nay, but how can it be, he was as meek and shamefast—­’

‘As yourself,’ smiled Malcolm.  ’Ah, sister, you have much to learn of the ways of an English gentleman among ladies.’

Before many further words could be exchanged, there entered a fair and matronly dame in the widow’s veil she had worn ever since the fatal day of Shrewsbury—­that eager, loving, yet almost childish woman whom we know so well as Hotspur’s gentle Kate (only that unfortunately her name was Elizabeth); fondling, teasing, being fondled and teased in return, and then with all her pretty puerilities scorched away when she upbraids Northumberland with his fatal delay.  Could Malcolm and Lilias have known her as we do in Shakespeare, they would have been the more gratified by her welcome, whereas they only saw her kind face and the courtly sweep of her curtsey, as, going straight up to the disguised girl, blushing and trembling now more than ever, she said:  ’Poor child, come with me, and we will soon have you yourself again, ere any other eye see you;’ and then moved away again, holding Lily by the hand, while Ralf, who had followed close behind her, again grasped Malcolm’s hand.