MAY MARGA1J.T 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 JAMES J. MC BRIDE
 
 MAY MARGARET
 
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 Copyright, 1905, by 
 S. R. Crockett
 
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 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I Bread and Water— and Kitchen Thereto i 
 
 One Leg Green and One Leg Pink 6 
 
 Cour Cheverney 14 
 
 A Good Fight 22 
 
 Furry Ears 33 
 
 William Douglas Speaks 42 
 
 A Young Maid's Lovers So 
 
 Margaret of Margarets 58 
 
 The Garden at Amboise 64 
 
 La Belle des Belles 71 
 
 The Mists of Dee 79 
 
 What Maud Lindsay Taught Me 90 
 
 The Last Grains in the Sand-Glass 98 
 
 XIV Ave, Amor— Atque Vale! 106 
 
 XV The Great Heart of a Man 112 
 
 A Married Maid 118 
 
 The Cottage by the Three Thorns 125 
 
 The Penance of Jock the Penman 132 
 
 The Scent of the White Thorn 138 
 
 Instruction in Loving 146 
 
 Douglas Rides Late i57 
 
 The Douglas Bids Good-Bye 167 
 
 The First Stroke of Doom i7S 
 
 His Hour 182 
 
 XXV James Douglas, Benedict 187 
 
 XXVI The One Ewe Lamb I94 
 
 vii 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IV 
 
 V 
 
 VI 
 
 VII 
 
 VIII 
 
 IX 
 
 X 
 
 XI 
 
 XII 
 
 XIII 
 
 XVI 
 
 XVII 
 
 XVIII 
 
 XIX 
 
 XX 
 
 XXI 
 
 XXII 
 
 XXIII 
 
 XXIV 
 
 7,12 
 
 935
 
 vm 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII The White Face of Fate 201 
 
 XXVIII I See a Star 210 
 
 XXIX Dies Ir^ — Gloaming 216 
 
 XXX Dies Irje II. — With Garments Dyed in Blood 222 
 
 XXXI Dies Ir^ III. — The First Day of the Wrath 227 
 
 XXXII Dies Ir^ IV.— How the Sun Went Down 234 
 
 XXXIII Arkinholm 242 
 
 XXXIV A Maiden Left Alone 250 
 XXXV The Eagles Are Gathered Together 256 
 
 XXXVI The Young Man in Black 265 
 
 XXXVII Whom God Hath Touched 270 
 
 XXXVIII A Prince Among Hammermen 276 
 
 XXXIX Sholto Also is a McKim 288 
 
 XL Archibald the Grim 295 
 
 XLI In the Front of War 304 
 
 XLII Sholto Stands in the Breach 311 
 
 XLIII In the Night Season, One Cometh up 3U 
 
 XLIV The Woods of Birnam 327 
 
 XLV The Peace of Zimri 334 
 
 XLVI Jack Neville's Anne 342 
 
 XL VI I A Rare Salt Fellow 35 i 
 
 XLVI 1 1 Canon Law 359 
 
 XLIX Malise Does His Work 363 
 
 L The Worn Path 372
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " There was a curious constraint upon us " Frontispiece 
 
 " And again he bowed and kissed the hand 
 
 OF THE Lady Superior " Facing page lo 
 
 " I saw our ancient castle of Thrieve stand 
 
 UP out of THE morning MISTS " " " 80 
 
 " ' Child . . . you torment me past bear- 
 ing'" " " IS4 
 
 " It was the nightly amusement of the 
 soldiers ... to cluster along the ridge 
 and look down upon us " " " 284 
 
 '"Dear lady, no difficulty whatsoever 
 
 exists!'" " " 360
 
 The Memory of Her Beauty Lives "
 
 MAY MARGARET 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BREAD-AND- WATER — AND KITCHEN THERETO! 
 
 Oh, I was so tired — so weary. I could hear my jaw 
 crack, at the corners where the strings are, each time I 
 yawned. And not without reason. For I was nearly 
 eighteen and had been two years in the nunnery of the 
 holy St. Brigida of Cheverney. 
 
 Lord, Lord ! how I hated it — I, Margaret Douglas, who 
 had been the petted of great men and strong men ever 
 since I could remember — aye, and before ! I, who had 
 known Maud Lindsay (called the " Snarer of Hearts ") 
 in her best time, who had sworn, when no more than 
 thirteen, that I would outdo her — to end thus, to be 
 despatched like a bale of goods at sixteen years of age 
 out of Scotland! (Well, that I would not have minded 
 so greatly. 'Tis a dull sour place, wet above and boggy 
 below, with much damp mist between!) 
 
 But what irked me was that I, who before I could walk 
 had been called the Fair Maid of Galloway, should be let 
 grow fusty and frowsy as the Sister of Mercy who goes 
 from to door to door, begging for the poor — all because 
 I had a cousin who wanted to marry me and so keep 
 Galloway and the Highland estates in the family coffer — 
 bah! 
 
 Well, at any rate, I had just to bear it. Tinkle-tankle ! 
 Oh, yes, there went the weary bells, like cracked tin 
 mugs which the gipsy-folk peddle out of their asses' 
 saddlebags along with coarse cloth for " jupes," or 
 sleeved waistcoats, and at the bottom red earth for 
 marking sheep withal ! 
 
 At six o'clock in the morning, black roaring winter or
 
 2 MAY MARGARET 
 
 gracious June — out you must turn in this our Convent 
 
 of the Birch aye, though you be thrice a Princess 
 
 in your own right. And they would not let you have so 
 much as a drop of warm water in a pottery jar for the 
 foot of your bed (mightily comforting it is to lone 
 women!), nor even suffer you to sleep in your woollen 
 gonelle, which is to say gown, that hath a hood to it, 
 and, being turned head-and-heels, makes an admirable 
 nest for cold great-toes a-nights. I have suffered from 
 cold feet all my days. Indeed, if I had not, perhaps I 
 had been a happier woman.^ 
 
 Then tinkle-tankle all over again and prayers and read- 
 ing of the Scripture at nine. Never a bite or a sup till 
 half-past ten, when, while you feed in silence, they read 
 to you out of the Lives of the Saints — about how Sister 
 Brigida, afterwards martyred, established this holy order 
 of nuns and died in the hope of a better life. The which 
 I judged to be an espcrance noways over-sanguine! 
 For the Good God knows she would have had to travel 
 fast and far, that same holy Bridget, to find a worse life 
 than that rule conventual she established, and which, for 
 my sins, had been transported from the savage land of 
 Ireland (where it belonged) to the sweet and smiling 
 Touraine that lay outside these weary walls. But since 
 you cannot see a smile even thirty miles broad through 
 walls four feet thick, I might just as well have been on 
 the Bog of Allen. 
 
 So it went on. Tinkle-tank of bells — whirr of doves' 
 wings (we had them three times a week to evening refec- 
 tion — the wings oftener than the doves, so far as I was 
 concerned). Coo-roo-coo-roo! From high up in the 
 bell-tower the sound came. Then the buzz of flies and 
 wasps and angry red-bottomed bees trying to find their 
 way through the painted window-panes. Yes, oh yes, it 
 was peaceful, and hungrysome and chastening, and made 
 me wish to be a crow or a sparrow or a midge — I was not 
 at all particular — at any rate something that could fly 
 away into the blue beyond the confinement of these 
 
 * There is a pithy note here inserted by Le Sieur Philip Herault, 
 which, however, need not impede the Fair Maid's narrative.
 
 BREAD-AND-WATER 3 
 
 sorrowful walls, within which the Lady Superior forever 
 snored in her cell and Sister Eulalie yattered eternally 
 at one's tail, snivelling out threats of punishment if you 
 climbed a tree or so much as took a garden ladder to 
 look over the wall. Not that there was much to see, 
 when you did look over — only the wide spread of the 
 forest and the green fields — not in patches, as in Scot- 
 land, with heather and whin-bloom everywhere, but all 
 in cultivated squares, like a painted chess-board. There 
 were poor men, also, with legs blackened in the sun, 
 half-naked or even with no more than a clout about them, 
 that ran at a look, or shrieked for the clink of an iron 
 ring. 
 
 Once I threw over the wall to one of these poor 
 wretches my purple jupe (the colour never became me), 
 which was of warm cloth — also because the weather, 
 being August, made me to sweat when I wore it. 
 
 And for this, as well as for speaking to a man, Sister 
 Eulalie docked me of all food save bread-and-water for 
 four days. " Yet," said I, " Bridget of Kildare, the holy, 
 never had petticoat in her life to bless herself withal ! 
 So where is the harm?" 
 
 " You have looked upon a man — a mortal sin ! " said 
 she, turning up the sourish, plum-coloured tip of her 
 nose, which had a drop on it chilly as winter, even in the 
 summer heats, 
 
 " Well, people do not die of it. So did my mother 
 before me ! " quoth I, knowing well all the time that I was 
 not wise, yet being tempted, and my choler getting the 
 better of me. 
 
 " But he looked upon you," she cried, raising her voice 
 in order to wake the Superior, " the while you took 
 off " 
 
 " No, no," I said, willing to appease her if possible 
 before it was too late, " he was no man really, only a wild 
 savage, black as a Moor of Barbary. And, besides, I 
 went down the ladder backwards, and let my jupe fall to 
 the ground betwixt the wall and a gooseberry bush " 
 
 " Silence ! " commanded Sister Eulalie, raising her 
 hand, with one finger pointed to the zenith ; " silence or
 
 4 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I will take you indoors forthwith to Madame the 
 Superior! " 
 
 Then, being at the time but a girl, I pouted, and 
 answered back. 
 
 " Why, it is nothing," I said. " Did not the Scripture 
 which was read from the lectern in the refectory on 
 Wednesday tell of the never-to-be-sufficiently-reverenced 
 Judith who did more than that? Yes, much more, or she 
 is sore belied " 
 
 " Take from me, thou wicked one, six days' bread- 
 arid " 
 
 But at that very moment the great gate opened, and 
 through it I could see, with a train of churchmen behind 
 him — shaven, shorn, clad in white and scarlet and green, 
 with a peaked cap all glittering with gold upon his head, 
 who but Laurence McKim, my old playmate who had 
 helped to save me (though I had forgotten much of 
 the details) from the terrible Sieur de Retz, at Machecoul. 
 Also, who used to kiss me — I remember that. Yes, it is 
 true, my memory only shows in patches, but the patches 
 are mostly bright ones. 
 
 Well, who will blame if I broke away from Sister 
 Eulalie, crying " Larry, Larry ! " 
 
 Half crying too — or perhaps a little more than half. 
 And so would anyone — yes, anyone ! That is, anyone 
 who had been as long as I in the convent-prison of St. 
 Brigida of Cheverney. 
 
 I flung myself upon him. He was riding a white mule 
 oh, finer, much finer than that of the Bishop of 
 Evreaux. And I was so agile from being fed like a 
 greyhound, and with being so very glad to see him, that 
 I would have kissed him if I could. Yes, truly, what is 
 the use of being a princess else ! But, as it was, I 
 could only get my arm half about his waist, before Sister 
 Eulalie was upon me. 
 
 He bent down to disengage me gently, murmuring in 
 Scots, " Wait a little while ! " And then he stretched 
 out two fingers over my head and said in a voice full of 
 the music which first made my uncle take him to Dulce 
 Cor as a chorister, "Bless you, my child!"
 
 BREAD-AND-WATER 5 
 
 As one stricken by palsy, Sister Eulalie fell back, 
 marvelling at the great ecclesiast and his princely 
 retinue. And (best of all) Larry, my Larry gave her 
 his ring to kiss. It was good to see. Also he queried 
 with his eye if I loved her — if she had been good to me. 
 But I shook my head and frowned till he understood, 
 and nodded, meaning thereby that he had come to do 
 some little regulating of accounts. 
 
 " I have been to Rome, sister," he said, " the point of 
 my right shoe and the four iron shoes of my beast have 
 been blessed by the Holy Father. If there be sin upon 
 you, bend down and kiss them also." 
 
 And while Sister Eulalie was, for her soul's good, 
 embracing of the beast's near front hoof (and doing it 
 gingerly, too, for the mule had a spirit of its own), 
 Larry whispered to me, " These behind there do not 
 matter ! " At the same time he waved his hand towards 
 his followers. They all with one accord turned their 
 heads from us in the direction of the garden gate. 
 
 He then pushed out his foot in the silver stirrup for a 
 mounting step. 
 
 " Now ! " he whispered. 
 
 And in a moment, with the help of his hand, I was up 
 like a bird. And it is past telling how good it was. 
 For, judge ye, it was two years since I had been kissed — 
 by a man, that is. And others do not really count, as I 
 have seen. Well, in a moment I was down again and 
 toying demurely with my rosary, before the white mule 
 and Sister Eulalie had agreed about the salutation of the 
 last shoe of blessed iron. Larry had his people well 
 trained. For nobody laughed. Indeed, what more 
 natural than that I should embrace one of my own folk 
 after two years. Yet what the young man's manners at 
 Rome must have been, to make them as biddable, it is, 
 as I tell him, better only guessing. 
 
 Ah, it was a good world after all — that which God had 
 made; and has a way of improving suddenly when it is 
 at its black worst.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ONE LEG GREEN AND ONE LEG PINK 
 
 For, after all, Laurence was a good deal older than I. 
 And that makes a difference. Besides, he had known 
 me from the time that Maud Lindsay sent me to play 
 with him, that she might have the more time (and the 
 better) in which to torment his brother Sholto with her 
 wilfulnesses. 
 
 That was, of course, before they were married and had 
 five children. Some time before. 
 
 But all of that may be read in the history, that is titled 
 after the chief of our house, " The Black Douglas." 
 But that is writ solemnly and of set purpose ; also straight 
 on, as a book should be, while this which for my 
 pleasure I am writing contains just the things that a 
 woman has done and thought and heard and seen ever 
 since she was a girl, and is of little value save to herself 
 and to make the winter nights pass. 
 
 And so Laurence McKim was an abbot, and, indeed, 
 might have been a bishop had he wished it. But he was 
 not given that way, having enough knowledge of him- 
 self to know that he was not worthy. That he was a 
 real Lord Abbot I knew. For had not I myself made 
 him so — or, rather, my cousins William and James, who 
 acted for me, and did not cross me in aught, save only in 
 sending me to this abominable convent! 
 
 But that is always the way with men. They give us a 
 thousand things we do not want ; they refuse us the one 
 thing we do. 
 
 I wonder, indeed, how they would have liked it them- 
 selves. William would have spitted the porteress in a 
 week, I know, and broke open the great spiked door. 
 But James, who was ever ready with his answer, had in 
 after-times the effrontery to tell me that he would have
 
 ONE LEG GREEN AND ONE LEG PINK 7 
 
 liked it, contenting himself always well where women 
 were. 
 
 Bah! At any rate, I am not come to that yet. Then 
 I was glad enough to see Larry. Yes, glad with a great 
 gladness that no man can tell. And he did not even 
 damp me when he out with a great folded parchment, 
 all done in purple and black, with the seal of St. Peter 
 hanging to it, almost as big as the great censor of Treves 
 which only a six-foot man can swing. 
 
 And then, last of all, there came out the Lady Superior, 
 whom we maids called the Bald Cat. I mean that I did — 
 I, and two French girls who, for various kittenishnesses 
 wrought in overstrait homes, had been sent to the Sign 
 of the Bald Cat to repent themselves of their sins. The 
 Lady Superior's other name was Marie Noel de St. 
 Verrier, and she had (I remarked it myself, but not 
 overtlv to Sister Eulalie) as much discernment of the 
 good things of life or the honest well-meaning thoughts 
 of men and women, as a sow hath of the perfumes in a 
 flower garden. She had but one table in her decalogue — 
 that at which she did continually over-eat herself. But 
 one article in her credo, that all was right which was 
 done within the convent of St. Brigida of Cheverney, and 
 all wrong that was done outside of it. 
 
 Well — there was more done in St. Brigida than was 
 told to Madame Noel de St. Verrier — otherwise and 
 more exactly the Bald Cat. 
 
 But let it be understood that Laurence, Venerable Prior 
 of the Abbey of Holy Devorgil, called Duke Cor by Sol- 
 way Side, did not in the least misbecome his errand. 
 Troth, sirs, I wot not ! William, my cousin, now Earl of 
 Douglas, would not have sent him else. He was, albeit, 
 a young and personable prelate, also well to look upon — 
 a thing which always had its effect with the Bald Cat — 
 that is, in a man. In girls she could not abide it. She 
 cut their lovelocks to the bristle with her own hand, 
 and added an extra six inches to their poke bonnets if 
 their eyes sparkled. But not to mine. For though she 
 had been bidden to be strict with me in the matter of 
 discipline, yet for all that, I was still a Princess in my
 
 8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 own country, and the daughter of one Duke of Touraine 
 and the sister of another. 
 
 But the Bull— the Papal Bull ! 
 
 The Bald Cat took it, fumbling meanwhile for the pieces 
 of Venice glass set together in an oval frame with water 
 between them, by means of which it pleased her to think 
 that she could read. But all the glasses in the world — no, 
 not Agrippa's ball of crystal itself, could have taught 
 her to read that Papal Bull. It was in Latin, and so 
 after turning it this way and that, she gave it back to 
 the Abbot Laurence, who now stood before her, tall and 
 young and fair to look upon. 
 
 " Read it, if you please, your learned Reverency ! " she 
 said, softly for her. 
 
 But Laurence, with a proud gesture, which amounted 
 almost to contempt, handed it to the almoner of the 
 Convent, Father Pierre Bartentane, called Gigot from 
 his shape — this, by us ill-behaved girls. 
 
 " Let the Lady Abbess hear what says the Holy 
 Father ! " he said. " As I am come to carry off her fair- 
 est flower, I wish her to understand that I do not mis- 
 construe my warrant ! " 
 
 I leaped towards Larry, and would have hugged him 
 in my arms. 
 
 " Am I indeed quit of this for ever and a day ? " I 
 cried in our own Scots, which I knew that none of the 
 others could understand. 
 
 " Am I to go away with you? Tell me quick! " 
 
 " Aye," said Laurence, turning away his ej'es, " you are 
 to go with me. But — I am to take you to marry your 
 cousin William — my Lord Earl of Douglas." 
 
 " The Man of Iron ! " I said. 
 
 And I think I made a wry face and shrugged my 
 shoulders — for I was but young and knew no better. " I 
 had rather it had been yourself I was to wed, Larry," I 
 said. " And that in spite of your clerkery ! " 
 
 His face reddened till it became almost scarlet. But 
 he did not look at me as he replied. 
 
 " My clerkhood would not stand in my way, God wot — 
 if that were all," he answered, " but my lady, I do not
 
 ONE LEG GREEN AND ONE LEG PINK 9 
 
 forget that I am but a poor man's son, and my princess's 
 very humble servant." 
 
 Now, all this about young Laurence McKim being 
 Abbot of beautiful Dulce Cor, and yet no whit a monk 
 (save that he could sing like an angel), may sound 
 strange to ears accustomed to authority episcopal and 
 papal, to monasteries French and Italian. But in 
 Galloway we Douglases minded not the King of Scots 
 at all, wet day or dry day, and the Pope only when we 
 had need of him — generally to give us leave to marry 
 within the prescribed degrees, for the sake of the 
 Douglas properties, family tree, and such-like. At other 
 times we of the Southern House did much as we liked, 
 in the Church as in the State, our yea being yea, and 
 our nay, nay. 
 
 Now, the Douglases of the Red grew great, and are to* 
 this day great and high, by reason of truckling and 
 fawning on the King and the Stewarts. But the 
 Douglases of the Black — never ! All except my Lord 
 James, that is, and he never could help trying to please 
 all that came his way, man and woman, gentle and 
 simple. For he was ruddy as young David, the shepherd 
 boy that became a king, tall, too, like a god ; and my 
 heart — went after him. Ah ! but enough of this. The 
 time to tell these things is not yet. All the same, James 
 was always at heart, as in his person, a Douglas of the 
 Red. For me, I am Black of the Black. 
 
 It was, of course, impossible that all the great train of 
 honour and of defence which William Douglas, my 
 cousin, had given to the Abbot Laurence to travel to 
 Rome withal should find lodging within the walls of the 
 convent of St. Brigida. Indeed, as these (barring the 
 churchmen) were exclusively soldiers, and dashing^ 
 blades most of them, it was perhaps as well, or certain 
 variations in the Rule of that most excellent founder 
 might have been introduced. 
 
 So it fell out exceedingly a propos. While the Bald 
 Cat was hesitating what she should do, hemming and 
 hawing hither and thither, trying to grant and not to 
 grant at the same time, as was her bald-cattish way^
 
 do MAY MARGARET 
 
 there appeared from the midst of the retinue a man in 
 an ample " pelicon," or pelisse, longer than was then in 
 vogue, but with a rich under-garnishing of fur. This 
 garment had a wide rolling collar, all covered over 
 with the Bloody Heart of the Douglases, and a great 
 " bar sinister " of threaded gold crossed the mantle from 
 shoulder to its deepest fold, as if it had been a heraldic 
 shield hung upon an altar. 
 
 The newcomer was a man of about fifty, quickly grey- 
 ing, and with a mouth that pouted continually like that 
 of a pettish, changeable woman. His long hose were 
 of silk, in what I afterwards found was the height of the 
 fashion at Paris — one leg and thigh being covered with 
 pale blush rose-colour and the other tucked out in clear 
 greenish white, like that which one sometimes sees 
 behind a windy sunset, far in the deeps of the sky. 
 
 The man was indeed a marvel to behold, and at the 
 sight of him the High Lady Superior ordered all her 
 pcnsionnaircs, especially the two kittenish French girls, 
 back to their cells. But in the circumstances, of course, 
 she was forced to permit me to remain. I should not 
 have obeyed in any case. I would have shaken the Papal 
 Bull in her face. 
 
 " My lady," he said, " I am Paul Herault de Douglas, 
 Sieur de Cheverney. Pemiit me, Madame the Superior, 
 to kiss your fair and devoted hand ! " 
 
 The haughty expression which had distinguished the 
 Mother Superior swiftly gave place to another — one of 
 almost fearful anticipation. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " then you are our over-lord of Cour 
 Cheverney, the Seignior and civil protector of this 
 blessed house of religion?" 
 
 " I fear I have but ill done my duty," said the Sieur 
 Paul, smiling and pouting. " I have wasted my time, 
 lingering so long in Paris, in the train of the King, 
 helping to drive out the English, and also employed in 
 other ways. I have somewhat neglected my property 
 of Cheverney — more especially in so far as concerns my 
 duty to you, and to this noble and beautiful establish- 
 ment ! "
 
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 ONE LEG GREEN AND ONE LEG PINK ii 
 
 And again he bowed and kissed the hand of the Lady 
 Superior. 
 
 " A beautiful hand and one more fit for a king's court 
 than ! " 
 
 He stopped, and believe it who will (the sisters in the 
 convent would not) the Bald Cat lifted her forefinger 
 and waggled it at him, right well pleased, smiling the 
 while like a fox at a barnyard pullet. 
 
 " Ah, naughty," she murmured coaxingly, " these are 
 indeed the manners of a court. But in Touraine we are 
 accustomed to plainer things, are we not, sister Mar- 
 garet ? " 
 
 And she turned to me as she spoke. But I had suffered 
 too much already, and was in no mood to be gracious at 
 the eleventh hour. 
 
 " Indeed," said I, " I am no sister, either of yours or 
 of the Order of St. Bridget. Call in Sister Eulalie 
 with her bread-and-water, if you like — she will tell you. 
 I am on my way to be married to the greatest lord in 
 all Scotland, and, besides, I am a princess in my own 
 right ! " 
 
 It was not, perhaps, very ladylike, though I have heard 
 worse things said by much greater and wiser people. 
 But then no more can bread-and-water for four days be 
 called " ladylike." If girls of eighteen are to be treated 
 like galley-knaves — God wot, somebody has to pay for it 
 in the end. 
 
 Yet I was no little ashamed when the Lady Superior 
 took my ill-nature with great quietude, passing it over 
 as the mere naughtiness of a child, as yet irresponsible — 
 and so (I grant it) showing herself of the better 
 breeding. 
 
 Then the Sieur Paul, advancing the rose-blush leg out 
 of his armorial mantle (or as we women say pelisse), 
 invited me to consider his Castle of Cour Cheverney my 
 home till such time as I should be ready to set out upon my 
 journey to Scotland, there to wed with my cousin 
 William — my Lord High Buckram-and-Iron, as I had 
 already named him in my heart. 
 
 Indeed, the phrase, which I thought happily invented.
 
 12 MAY MARGARET 
 
 passed my lips that very night after we had departed for 
 Cour Cheverney. I was speaking- to Laurence at the 
 time. But to my surprise and vexation he rebuked me 
 for it, saying that WilHam of Avondale was worth all 
 the rest of the family put together — all, that is, who 
 had been left on the earth after the Black Dinner which 
 Chancellor Crichton, the fox, and Tutor Livingston, the 
 Queen Mother's fat spaniel, had given my brothers 
 William and David within the Castle of Edinburgh. 
 
 And at this rebuke I shrugged my shoulders and 
 pouted, like the spoilt child I was at that time. God wot, 
 I learned to behave better afterwards. 
 
 " Well, since it must be — so must it be ! " I said sigh- 
 ing, "but (I say it twice) I had rather have wedded 
 with yourself, Larry ! " 
 
 He turned on me, white this time, not red — yes, blue- 
 white as the little shadows that sunshine makes behind 
 snow-wreaths. (Oh, I love to see a man moved like 
 that.) 
 
 "For God's sake, girl, have ye no pity?" he cried, 
 putting his hand to his brow — a gesture which his father 
 also had when perplexed — " if ye say the like again, I will 
 1 will ! " 
 
 "Aye, and what will ye do then?" said I, mocking his 
 Galloway accent, which showed itself whenever he was 
 excited. "Will ye refuse me your reverence's blessing? 
 Na, surely never ! Or aiblins would ye smite a poor lass, 
 that never did ye harm, with the Greater Excom- 
 munication ? " 
 
 Larry turned away without speaking, and that made me 
 a little sorry. But ah, the inward happiness to be among 
 men again after two years ! Yet even then I did not 
 know the power which had come to me during these 
 years, nor yet the good that all the greyhound fare of 
 the convent had done me. In a word, I was just 
 beginning to learn what I could do with the hearts of 
 men. 
 
 And there is nothing like that to a woman ! In her 
 heart, carefully covered over, maybe — to be dug for deep 
 and long, but still there — indisputable, unobtrusive,
 
 ONE LEG GREEN AND ONE LEG PINK 13 
 
 there is the same desire to everyone of womankind. 
 Bah — they tell you different, some of them, but they lie. 
 To be beautiful and to turn men between their fingers 
 this way and that, as a potter doth a vessel, moulding 
 it to his thought. That is the Thing Desired of tke Heart 
 — the princesshood, the queen's sceptre. All else, as I, 
 who have tried all, do know — housewifery, maternity, 
 charity, the life conventual, the chatter of a court, the 
 mistressing of a great house — are, as the folk say in 
 Galloway, but a " do-no-better " ! And, indeed, among 
 such men as I have known — Douglases of the Black and 
 of the Red, Stewarts with the bitter, murderous Bruce 
 blood in them — what better can a woman do? 
 
 Well, it is past for me now, and yet I can warm my 
 heart at the fires of the past — yea, to this very day I chew 
 the pleasant cud of memory. It was not all dust and 
 ashes, as the priests say ; it has not all turned to apples 
 of Sodom, and the taste is not as of bitter ashes in my 
 mouth. Still, even in old age, I judge that this is the 
 second best thing which can happen to a woman — that 
 she should have been beautiful in her youth, or, at least, 
 by some quirk or trick of tongue or face or manner, 
 witching, and capable of making herself desired. 
 
 I say that is the second best thing in a woman's life. 
 The absolute best, the gold centre of all, is that during 
 her love time she should have known one man good, 
 and true, and great. Then only can she wholly forget 
 self in another, which is a woman's heaven of heavens.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 COUR CHEVERNEY 
 
 So to Cour Cheverney we went, the fat-faced goodman 
 with the pouting- Hps and the unsteady Florentine eyes 
 leading the way. The fields, how fine they smelt — 
 hawthorn, red and white, single-flower and double- 
 flower, on every tree ! The hedgerows — as in the Gallo- 
 way of my childhood, there are hedgerows in Touraine 
 — full of red pimpernel and blue hyacinth, and with the 
 yellow broom they named the kings after peeping over 
 everywhere, while stone-chats, ox-eyes, and other small 
 birds went swaying on the thin fishing-rod branches. 
 
 Ah, it was greatly good ! Better still, to see the white 
 convent walls that had held me so long sink behind the 
 tall trees, which shut in also Sister Eulalie and her 
 bread-and-water. To Cour Cheverney — yes, we were 
 going. At the risk of I know not what dread penalty, I 
 had looked across at the tall tower, a clifif of mason- 
 work, higher than Thrieve by a score of feet, though 
 not so massive and square in shape, from the perilous 
 top of the gardener's ladder. 
 
 Now I was to see it nearer at hand. The Abbot Lau- 
 rence, in the pride of his ambassadorial office, rode 
 beside the Mother Superior, while the Sieur Paul smiled 
 over his shoulder at them both. It may be well under- 
 stood that I was on the other side of Laurence on my 
 pony, Varlet. Now Varlet was specially wicked and 
 restive, because he had been most insufficiently exercised 
 by Monsieur the Almoner of the Convent. For the 
 Abbe Berre, our good father confessor, was not a little 
 afraid of Varlet's hoofs and teeth. But as for me, I had 
 no fear, and I specially wished to know all that Larry 
 had to tell, before we arrived at Cour Cheverney. For I 
 did not know how we might be lodged there, nor what 
 
 14
 
 COUR CHEVERNEY 15 
 
 chance there would be of my having speech with my 
 ancient playmate in that great place. 
 
 " Tell me first how all goes at home," I bade him ; 
 " they have settled you as Abbot comfortably at Sweet- 
 heart Abbey — so much I know. None shall vex you 
 there. So at least I bade them, and so Cousin Will 
 promised ! " 
 
 For I, too, could make myself great upon occasion. 
 
 " Oh, well enough," he said, a little indifferently. 
 Then, recollecting who had given him his preferment, 
 he added quickly, " And indeed I am grateful, since no 
 better may be. But the sword and not the psalm-book 
 was my proper calling." 
 
 " Time was when you were of the contrary opinion," 
 I said ; " tell me — for once I will confess you — who is 
 she?" 
 
 But he denied. There was nothing and no one. 
 
 " Nevertheless," said he, " a man may sometimes lift 
 his eyes and see the moon ! " I 
 
 " Yes," I retorted on him, fast as words can follow; 
 words, " true, but only a baby will cry for it ! " 1 
 
 " Then I am, I fear me, a gross pagan," he said as 
 swiftly, " for I worship her ! " j 
 
 " That is bad," I said, " and most inconsistent in a man 
 who must spend his life in swaddling and wet-nursing 
 two-score such sturdy Endymions as the fathers of 
 Dulce Cor. How do you manage it? The Slave of the 
 Lamp could not serve them all ! " 
 
 " Oh, easily enough," Laurence made answer ; " I am 
 (let us say) Abbot of Sweetheart. So far, well — but 
 again better, I might have been the captain of a company, 
 a soldier with m'en-at-arms under him, like Sholto, my 
 brother — Sir Sholto, if you please, with his little 
 regiment of five children ! Still there remains to me 
 the Abbey of Sweetheart. From chapel to refectory, 
 from dormitory to pantler's cellarage, I conceive it as a 
 barracks. The soldiers therein observe the Order of 
 Citeaux, and, indeed, not St. Bernard himself could be 
 firmer or stricter — in all, that is, which concerns the keep- 
 ing of that Rule by others. But for myself — well, there
 
 i6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 are monks who, as it were, are eunuchs for the Kingdom's 
 sake. But for myself — no ! I am only one set in 
 authority over monks. You complain of bread-and- 
 water at St. Brigida's, but at Sweetheart, my dear lady, 
 I can do no more and better, and no man raise his voice 
 to pipe a " What dost thou ? " 
 
 I changed the subject, for the grey towers of Cour 
 Cheverney grew nearer apace. 
 
 " And what of William and James — and the lads ? 
 Are they at Thrieve? Tell me!" 
 
 For I could not bring myself to speak of my cousin 
 William, as Earl of Douglas — at least not yet, still less 
 as my husband ! 
 
 Laurence gave a little hitch to his mule's bridle. Of 
 white leathern thongs, it was, curiously plaited. Then he 
 bent over to the side away from me, as if something 
 there claimed his attention. Ever since his arrival he 
 had had these strange habits, I had not observed them in 
 him before ; but perhaps that was because I was growing 
 older, and so noticed more. So I thought, at any rate. 
 
 Then Larry pointed to the soaring keep and the grey 
 flanking towers of the Cour Cheverney.^ 
 
 " Yonder," he said, with a little bitter smile which I 
 understood not then ; " they are both yonder, my Lord 
 William and my Lord James.. Do you think that a young 
 wooer hot upon his love-making, and the brother, the 
 friend of the bridegroom, he who is to stand by and see 
 his jov, will be far away when the bride is brought 
 home?" 
 
 Then a sudden terror seized me. 
 
 *' I will not be married like this, here and now," I 
 cried ; " signed for, taken from custody, guarded, 
 delivered, and the note acquitted — I, Margaret Douglas, 
 that am Princess of Galloway, and but eighteen years of 
 age ! " 
 
 And without a word more I set spurs in Varlet, and 
 
 ' Let none go to look for them ! The present Chateau of 
 Cheverney is altogether modern — Versailles in a nutshell, while 
 ■every trace of the ancient strength has passed away.
 
 COUR CHEVERNEY 17 
 
 turned him about towards the woods. The King was at 
 Amboise — Charles, the King of France, I mean. He 
 would do me justice. He would make me a maid-of- 
 honour in his court. That would be easy. There was 
 great need of such. I had heard the Bald Cat say so 
 more than once — Sister Eulalie too ! 
 
 Then what a dance I led that cavalcade. I laugh now 
 when I think of it. Off his saddle Larry could have 
 caught me easily, having the gift of the fleet foot. Aye, 
 I will wager if he had been in training, and in his hose 
 and jerkin, he could have winded even Varlet over a long 
 course. But, as it was, he sat there grinning impotently 
 on a churchman's mule. He was full of the good beef 
 and wine of Devorgilla's Abbey — though indeed neither 
 showed in his profile, fine as that of a graven statue. 
 Worst of all, he was swathed in bandages ecclesiastical, 
 cope and soutane and mantle, or whatever these half-men 
 please to call them. 
 
 As for me, I made a good start, and went through the 
 cavalcade like an arrow from a bow. 
 
 Inwardly laughing, I could hear the din of pursuit thin 
 out and grow silent behind me, as I urged Varlet onward 
 faster and always faster. It is easy to get away from a 
 lot of monks and a few knights and esquires heavily clad 
 in armour — that is, with a good horse between one's 
 knees and a well-pointed spur of silver on either heel. 
 
 Amboise it was I was bound for — nothing less. I did 
 not know the way to Amboise very exactly, but I had 
 heard that it lay away to the west, down the valley, and 
 someone had told me that by hard riding one could reach 
 it by nightfall. The king would be glad to see me — of 
 that I made no doubt. And in so much, at least, I made 
 no mistake. 
 
 But as I galloped on my spirits rose at leaving Will of 
 Avondale, my cousin, behind, together with the hateful 
 thought of being dragged from a convent only to be 
 married. I was not really dragged, but no matter — 
 that was the way I liked to think about it then. 
 
 And I thought also, that if I could only have gone back 
 to play with Larry about the braes of Boreland, crossing
 
 i8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 over in a boat from the Thrieve when it pleased us. I 
 should have been perfectly happy. I did not want to be 
 married, at least not so soon, and have done with girl- 
 hood before I had ever tasted it, and — and — well, not to 
 have my own choosing of a husband, as Maud Lindsay 
 had when she married Sholto. Even if I could have had 
 the pick of the Avondale brothers, all set out in a row — 
 William, James, Archibald, Hugh, and little John — that 
 would not have seemed so bad. At least, it would have 
 been fun to see them. Then I might not have run off 
 like this. But to marry a sober-sides like William 
 Douglas, whom everyone (of the Douglas faction) said 
 was the best and wisest person in the world, and who 
 looked as if he stuffed himself with smithy filings, wore 
 buckram next his skin, and went to bed in complete 
 armour with his head pillowed on the family tree! Ciel! 
 How I gritted my teeth, set my heels into Varlet, and 
 longed for the towers of Amboise to rise above the dwarf 
 aspens and pollard poplars by the brook-sides, which seam 
 all sweet Touraine as the Garden of France slopes gently 
 to the Loire — like some gracious woman lying asleep, 
 and smiling in a pleasant dream. 
 
 But the valley, which at first had been but as a dimple on 
 a smooth fair skin — deepened into a lirk between two 
 hills, narrowed into a gorge, and then — in a moment I 
 came upon the little river (called the Cosson), which for 
 a long distance runs a race with the Loire ere it decides 
 to join forces with it. Had I mounted the brae again 
 and kept the crown of the land, I had gotten easily 
 enough to Ambroise (though the way was far), but in 
 my ears I seemed to hear the shouting of the enemy 
 behind me — of my pursuers, I mean. And there, on the 
 other hand, was the water lying green and deep beneath 
 me. 
 
 Howsomever I was on the point of riding Varlet at it on 
 the chance that he could swim (and, indeed, the feat itself 
 is no great matter), when all of a sudden there burst a 
 young man out of some green bracken and elderberry 
 bushes by the bank of the river. 
 
 He was a tall, ruddy youth of weight and brawn, with
 
 COUR CHEVERNEY 19 
 
 eyes constantly laughing-, and as he came, methought I 
 caught a glimpse of something white — the flutter of a 
 neckerchief or a kilted petticoat behke, in the thicket out 
 of which he came. 
 
 He ran alongside Varlet for a step or two, calling names 
 to him (speaking all the while like one who has a way 
 with horses and women). Then with a short, sharp 
 grasp at the bridle, he brought him up all panting upon 
 the very brink of the river. 
 
 Then the splendid young man took off his bonnet, which 
 was of blue, light and clear, and had a white band and 
 tassel. A white plume of some foreign bird was set in 
 the side. 
 
 " I am happy, most happy to serve you, most noble 
 young lady ! " he said in French that was a little tashed 
 with disuse, yet which had obviously proved sufficient for 
 its owner's purposes, as witness that flutter of jupe among 
 the bracken. But as for me, I answered him in Scots. 
 For I knew him at the first glint. They do not breed 
 such acreages of flesh and bone, nor yet cover them with 
 such milk-white skin, in the land of France. 
 
 " Jamie, lad, my guid cozin," I cried, " gang back an' 
 finish oot your half-cut rig! Or ye will keep a grudge 
 again puir wee Marget a' the days o' your life ! " 
 
 He stood still, fastened with embarrassment, and then 
 threw up his hands with a long whistle. 
 
 "The Fair Maid o' Galloway!" he said, as if stiff- 
 stricken. " Certes, lass, but ye are grown indeed — and 
 bonny as the day. Gie your kinsman a kiss for stop- 
 ping that reckless galloper o' yours at the peril o' his 
 neck ! " 
 
 But though at another time — well — I had been glad 
 enough to kiss Larry (and he not my cousin, but a plain 
 blacksmith's son), I refused him. 
 
 " Na, na, Jamie Douglas," I cried daffingly. " Gang 
 back yonder where ye cam frae. Ye will conquest mair 
 than the braw French tongue, I am thinkin' ! Fish and 
 cranes and wild fowl bide in the marshes, I hae heard, and 
 I ken ye were aye a braw sportsman. But as for the 
 cozinly kiss — let me gie ye ae advice. And that is:
 
 20 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Never ye mix the white wine and the black, lad ! They 
 gang na weel thegither, Jamie, my coz ! " 
 
 And with that I turned and left him, standing " finger in 
 his mouth," as we say in Scotland. I even heard him 
 mutter, " The besom ! Hath she learned the like o' that 
 in a convent of nuns ? " 
 
 Then because James never wasted anything (his one 
 virtue!) I judge that he took my advice. For he went 
 slowly back towards the thicket whence he had come, 
 with his head bent meditatively upon the ground. 
 
 But ere he went out of sight, I stood up in my stirrups 
 and called out to him, " Tell me, cozin, where left you 
 William ? " 
 
 " What William? " said he, growling rather than speak- 
 ing over his shoulder. 
 
 " Why," cried I, " since when was there more than one 
 William — Will Douglas, that was once Will of Avondale, 
 and — my affianced husband ? " 
 
 I fancy I made him wince at that, even as Larry had 
 done. And I meant to. I always knew which men of 
 those who came near me — that is, three out of four — 
 Avould not like to hear of my marrying anyone else. 
 And so, in spite of flags of truce fluttering from among 
 elder thickets, I knew ver\^ well it was with James. 
 
 " How should I ken w^here he bides," he growled. " I 
 have not a string tied to our Will's tail ! " 
 
 " No, nor to your own ! " I called back to him ; " you 
 rake the country ovemiuch, James ! " 
 
 In which I had him at a vantage, for he answered me 
 no more, seeming (as we say both in Scots and French) 
 sore " fashed " with me for my free handling of his pec- 
 cadilloes. 
 
 But I turned my horse's head and would have ridden 
 after him. 
 
 " Where is Will? " I cried. " Tell me— or " 
 
 I pointed -with my hand to the boskage, turning at the 
 same time my horse's head. 
 
 " You are a shameless little vixen," he cried (I am not 
 sure that he did not say " villain "). " I know not where 
 Will is — he is not at Cour Cheverney, but where he may
 
 COUR CHEVERNEY 21 
 
 be found, by St. Brice, I know not — making himself 
 musty over parchments, and chilling of his blood by 
 drinking cold well-water, I warrant him." 
 
 " Ah, James," I answered him, as I turned away to meet 
 Larry, who, meantime, was in a perfect fume of anger, 
 and the Sieur Paul, wholly out of breath, " I am not sure 
 that elderberry wine, taken in quantity and by the way- 
 side, is so muckle better for the health. It sours upon 
 the stomach, my good cozin James ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 
 
 Now, ever since I could run alone I have always tried to 
 find out everything for myself, and to put my spoon into 
 every dish, the like of which I had never seen before. 
 So, having easily passed off my escapade upon the frisk- 
 iness of Varlet, and his having had no exercise for weeks 
 at the convent, only Larry, who did not matter at all, 
 understanding, I was resolved to make the most of our 
 stay at Cour Cheverney. 
 
 I had seen greater things before, of course ; for mine 
 own home of Castle Thrieve yields to none in all the 
 kingdoms where I have been, and I could recall, though 
 dimly, those great days when my dear brother William 
 held his tourney on the mead of Glenlochar, the one that 
 lasted three days — ah, there never was aught finer than 
 that in France — no, nor yet in Italy. 
 
 But, then, at that time I was a little girl, scarce fit to hold 
 the train of the Queen of Beauty, and Maud Lindsay it 
 was who had all the honours and all the eye-glancings of 
 the younger men. But now that has changed, and I 
 felt for the first time, I know not how, that I could hold 
 my own with a king's daughter. 
 
 Moreover, Cour Cheverney was still empty of my bride- 
 groom. That was its chief joy. I had an unexpected 
 respite. As Margaret of Galloway I could laugh at Will 
 of Avondale, my cousin, at his books and parchments, 
 the great schemes in his head, and the little outcome there 
 had been of them ; but as my bridegroom, my husband, 
 my master, the Earl of Douglas, the Duke of Touraine, I 
 was not so sure that cousin Will would be such a laughing 
 matter. 
 
 So, for the present, Cour Cheverney, even with the 
 presence of the Lady Superior, was to me highly desir- 
 
 22
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 23 
 
 able: a means of furthering my education, and, by 
 incident, that of several other people as well. 
 
 And my chief joy and safety, in thus completing of my 
 education, was that everyone knew that I was so soon to 
 be married — by high pontifical dispensation. Papal Bull, 
 holy cord, and four pounds of wax thereto attached — not 
 to speak, as it were, of bell, book, and candle. So they 
 might sigh, the men of them, that is — but no one could 
 think (no, not for a moment) that I meant any harm. 
 Indeed, I never did, and said so frequently when the harm 
 came. 
 
 Now Cour Cheverney was of itself a pleasant place. 
 The Sieur Paul, a rich man, had recently had it put in 
 repair. The chambers he had decorated with tapestry 
 from Paris. The higher windows were widened, and 
 balconies thrust out from the thickness of the wall. The 
 courtyard was set about with a bordering of flowers. 
 Bravest of all was a great Judas tree, with purple 
 blossoms close set upon its branches, which cast a shade 
 along the left side of the Court, opposite to the great hall 
 and the men's apartments. I asked the Sieur Paul to 
 have a bench put there, and I went often to that place 
 of a sunny afternoon with my broidery — to be quiet and 
 think. 
 
 But the strange thing was that I scarcely got five 
 minutes of meditation, and as for the solitude which I had 
 come there to seek — why, first came one and then another, 
 my faith, past believing ! The place was like a fair. 
 
 There was Laurence, who, being a prelate, or, at least, 
 having the powers of one, could not go a-hunting. Yet, 
 because I said once, to try him, that he was of no more 
 use than to bide at home with the maids, he took to 
 fishing, and made infinite work with his tackle, sitting 
 beside me on that same seat. I never heard whether he 
 landed anything — from the river, I mean. At the seat he 
 certainly did not. So I mourned with him over his ill 
 success, and when James Douglas came down in yet 
 another new purple vest, with gold buttons and long 
 sleeves of silk, I told him of the little progress that Larry 
 was making in the art of fishing with the angle, inno-
 
 24 MAY MARGARET 
 
 cently inquiring if he did not think that with a rod of 
 elder and a busking of white jupon, our fisherman might 
 try the banks of the Closson with better success. 
 
 " These French troutlets are shy. They have been tried 
 so often before," I said. " You can ask my Lord James 
 as to the bait he is wont to use ! " 
 
 Then Larry, knowing that James and I had some secret 
 between us, would grow all of a sulk, and, bundling his 
 things together, take leave of us upon the instant. At 
 which James, making a little face behind his back, would 
 sit down beside me, while the Sieur Paul went a-prome- 
 nading along the other side of the court with the Bald Cat 
 upon his arm. She had discovered that on the maternal 
 side he could claim to be a cousin ten times removed (if 
 not more) of her family. And as he was also kin to the 
 great, and possessed a castle like Cour Cheverney, the 
 wise Mother Superior had no objections to the alliance, 
 in spite of the " bar sinister " which, like an oriflamme, he 
 flaunted athwart his back. 
 
 It was one of the most frequent of our ploys to dance in 
 the courtyard of an evening. James could not dance 
 well. He was too big of bone, and too fair. Only dark 
 men dance well. But he would snatch angrily at the 
 strings of his doublet and kick at the house dogs as they 
 slunk uneasily along the selvage of the flagged square, 
 apprehensive of so many heels all going to a measure. 
 Then he would affirm loudly that, thank heaven, only 
 fools and cropped poodles could dance, that as for himself 
 the " deil may care, but he, James Douglas, cared no 
 jot ! " 
 
 All which was, as one might say, meat to the hungry. 
 And specially to me who had been two long years in a 
 convent, with Sister Eulalie tugging all the time at the 
 tail of one's gown ! Well, I have heard speak a great 
 deal of Paradise. And it may all be true. But at 
 eighteen one does not hunger after such doubtful 
 exchanges. Cour Cheverney and the dance beneath the 
 Judas tree were good enough for me. 
 
 Then Larry, who had a vast amount of music in his 
 fingers as well as in his toes, and could play any instru-
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 25 
 
 « 
 
 ment from an organ to a five-stringed guiterne or a mouth 
 flute — by sheer wit, as it were and without learning, used 
 to play for us. At first it was all solemn-sounding tunes 
 on the great harp — after which, perhaps, low sweet 
 harmonies on the psalterion. Then, as he warmed to his 
 work, I, who knew him and saw the ichor mounting, 
 would hand him a viol silently and hush the company 
 with my hand. For, if left alone, they were bound to 
 hear a marvellous thing. 
 
 Then would he sing, accompanying himself, like the 
 carolling lark on the first day of May, in such a voice as 
 never was heard save in the sky, till he would bring the 
 very tears to our eyes, and set us to the sobbing for no 
 reason at all. Songs of lost love he would sing, of 
 desolate low shores and maids yet more desolate. Sadder 
 and sadder the ballad would grow, till, with a sudden 
 fling of the elbow through his embroidered robe, Larry 
 would dash into some mirthful lilt of old Scottish song, 
 all marriage-making and happiness, with white-mutched 
 crones nodding heads at their gossip, and goodmen 
 chaffering in the market-place. 
 
 As he played he grew fixed and lost, this daft Larry 
 of ours, whom fate and the Douglases had made an abbot, 
 and the ambassador of another man's wooing. And 
 though there was a shaven patch the size of a clipped 
 ducat on his crown, I wot well the curls clustered so 
 fair and maidenly about his brow, that, had he not worn 
 breeches (or whatever holy men wear underneath their 
 soutanes) the Bald Cat would have had them shorn by 
 the roots in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 Then, of course, at Cour Chevemey, there were other 
 exploits. Great brawny James was all for the tourney- 
 ing, and (also of course) at that, among the country lords 
 and Knights-of-the-Green-Fields, easily bore the gree. 
 But Bevis Roland, the renegade Englishman, as easily 
 beat him at the archery, which at least was exceedingly 
 good for our brisk Jamie's soul. But again at riding and 
 hunting and also at the horse-leaping, my Lord James 
 Douglas could give a long start to all the company — 
 an it were not Larry, who, being a clerk on a white mule,
 
 26 MAY MARGARET 
 
 a cross on his breast, and a mitre on his head, could not 
 for very shame, compete with him. But he stood behind 
 me, gritting his teeth and groaning in his spirit. 
 
 " I could beat him," he said, " 'fore the Lord I could 
 beat him at all but the jousting. And as for that bag- 
 swagging Englisher, Bevis Roland, I could shoot three 
 in the white to his one, for sixty golden crowns ! If I 
 could not, may the devil change me into a kailstock. 
 Yet here I must stand like a draff-sack set upright. God 
 rest my soul for it in the day of need ! It is much to put 
 up with for the sake of religion ! 
 
 Then, the devil he had imprecated entering into me, I 
 encouraged him to cast his robe, his cope and soutane, 
 and to it in his hose and shirt. And by my fey, the mad 
 wight would have done it in a twinkling. He had the 
 heavy mantle half off his shoulder, when suddenly he 
 caught sight of the great golden cross upon it, all 
 wrought in thread as thick as wire. 
 
 Then some thought of his calling, as I hope, or shame of 
 the people about him — as I fear — caused Larry to halt, 
 and with a sigh he drew his cope again about him. But 
 when I had egged him on a little further (the devil or one 
 of his imps still possessing me), he turned upon me and 
 said in Scots, " Mistress Meg, art a naughty wench ! 
 And if thou dost not mend thy manners, wilt come to no 
 good ! I ken what means thy trokings under the Judas 
 tree yonder, thy botched broiderings and sudden eye- 
 liftings, thy seats set in the shade of an afternoon " 
 
 " Concerning which, good lad," I retorted, " you, holy 
 Father Larry, of a certainty ought to know, for you sit 
 there more than any ! Aye, and hold thread for the wind- 
 ing, too, between these same thrice-blessed abbatical 
 fingers! Pax vobiscum! Retro me! Requiescat in 
 pace! " 
 
 And that being all my stock of Latin, I made to bless 
 him backwards in sport, which angered him curiously. 
 
 " Ah, that I were your father," he murmured, low and 
 bitter in mine ear, " or your mother, aye — or even the 
 Abbess of St. Brigida two days agone ! There are some 
 rules of that Order which would suit you ! "
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 27 
 
 " Well, what would happen then, most reverend prior 
 of the bare chin ? " I demanded. 
 
 Larry said nothing in words, but his fingers itched 
 visibly to box my ears — or for aught I know, more and 
 worse. 
 
 But in the midst of these occupations and the new 
 joyance of freedom which had come to me, the Sieur Paul 
 promised other entertainment. He was, I think, some 
 little piqued that our big James had so easily borne his 
 point against the gentlemen of Touraine. So said he one 
 morning, when we were all at gossip under the Judas 
 tree, " Messire James, my good Lord, there are none of 
 your mettle here, but over yonder at Loches with the 
 Dauphin there are one or two knights of another web — 
 La Hire and the younger Dunois — good lances and stout 
 hearts. How will you like it if I send for them, make a 
 fete day at Cour Cheverney, and see if you can break a 
 lance with them as deftly as with us poor laggard oafs of 
 the Provinces? " 
 
 " Faith, I would like it greatly," said James, " I ask no 
 better!" 
 
 And to me, turning his head, he said in Scots, "Cousin 
 Marget, ye will see me whammle them ! " Which is the 
 same as to say that he would make them all bite the dust. 
 
 For that was our James, root and branch of him — ready, 
 self-confident, never blate, everyway large, hectoring, 
 easy of manner, quick as a touch to draw on a gentleman, 
 swinge a burgher, or drink pewter for pewter with a 
 beggar. He never dreamed that he could fail in any- 
 thing. Nor for that matter (to tell the truth), did I ! 
 
 Well, they came. And I sat on a fine crimson-draped 
 balcony which had been fastened out on struts from two 
 lower windows of the keep. For (having none other) 
 the Sieur Paul had perforce to make me Queen of 
 Beauty, and as for James, he thought, as usual, that he 
 had naught else to do but lift the jewel — a black diamond 
 circled all about with points of brilliants and sapphires — 
 which certainly would have become me excellently. So 
 I hoped he would win. 
 
 The company arrived. There were knights on splendid
 
 28 MAY MARGARET 
 
 horses, the like of which I have never seen in Scotland 
 (except the noble black, which had belonged to William, 
 my dear young brother, who was so treacherously slain at 
 Edinburgh by Chancellor Livingston and the sneaking 
 gutter-hound Crichton. 
 
 There was Dunois, the younger, a tall, dark man, quiet 
 and lissom, a velvety glitter in the eyes of him like a 
 wandering Egyptian, with La Hire, a smart, grey-headed 
 man of fifty, stout-backed, and with a long upper lip, also 
 with little to say for himself. To them add the Count des 
 Baux and Henri de Cayades, light, alert men of the 
 South, Provengal through all their veins, both born within 
 sight of the castle of good Roi Rene, and both as full of 
 talk and apt to love as a willow bole is of sap in the 
 springtime. 
 
 Ultimately to these were added a slight, brown man with 
 shifty eyes, with an ill-kept steel capote on his head, and, 
 believe it who will, a rosary about his neck like the Bald 
 Cat herself; and, last of all, a tall, dark man, of whom, 
 however, I caught but one glimpse disappearing into the 
 stables to arm himself, for lie had ridden over light, his 
 armament having been sent from Loches with a groom. 
 
 There were banners hung from all the windows of 
 Cour Cheverney and the air of a fete day everywhere. 
 The very grooms and varlets of the stable were alert and 
 active, with ribbons in their caps and fresh straws in their 
 mouths. 
 
 Outside the newly set-up barriers there was a great 
 press of the commons, with spearmen to tread upon their 
 bare toes with mail-clad feet, and in case of need to 
 stamp out a due and respectful space behind the barriers 
 with the butts of their lances. 
 
 Of our house party there came first, of course, James 
 Douglas, my cousin, who must always gallant it in the 
 forefront. Then came the Sieur Paul, most like an 
 apple dumpling done in steel plate and a helmet with 
 plumes, but yet, so they affirmed, able to swing a good 
 sword and grip a stout lance in his day. One of these 
 last only he was to break. Then there was one who, 
 though amongst the party of Cour Cheverney, and fight-
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 29 
 
 ing in a borrowed suit of plate with the " bar sinister " 
 of Herault de Douglas, had requested that his name 
 should not be made known. 
 
 We of Cour Cheverney, being for the most part clerks 
 and squires, had hard work to muster man for man. 
 And, indeed, even with the young man of the Golden Bar, 
 we were two men short, till there rode up another, the 
 dark man I had seen disappearing in the stables. 
 Through his banner-bearer he declared his readiness to 
 fight upon the side of Cour Cheverney — which, when he 
 had ranged himself with James, the Sieur Paul, and the 
 young man of the Bar Sinister, gave us four to their four. 
 
 It was a good fight. Dunois and James broke four 
 lances each and still held it even, which was little to the 
 liking or expectation of either at the first shock. The 
 Sieur Paul " keeled " over and lay like an egg of Pasch, 
 fallen on his back, feebly swaying his arms and calling 
 to all and sundry to hasten — that he was being choked 
 in his armour. He had encountered La Hire. And 
 though that stout-backed Samaritan tried to save him all 
 he could, the shock of meeting so famous a lance was 
 doubtless severe. Bar Sinister and our Succouring 
 Knight lent us from the other side, had both conquered 
 their men, without even breaking their own lances, and 
 the grooms were catching the runaway horses and setting 
 the armed men back in the saddle. Towers of glistening 
 metal they looked from my high bank of crimson cloth, 
 and being men of the Midi, they spat out curses at their 
 ill-fortune — the Count des Baux blaming De Cayades for 
 riding across him, and De Cayades telling Des Baux of 
 various places more or less discomfortable, to which an 
 it pleased him he could immediately ride. Whereupon 
 Des Baux said they could settle the matter elsewhere. 
 
 Crash went the arms again, and La Hire, having 
 opposed himself to the Succouring Knight who had rein- 
 forced the party of Cour Cheverney, overbore him and 
 he went heavily to the ground. On the other hand James 
 succeeded this time with Dunois, and his spear breaking, 
 the brave young Frenchman was soon on the ground, 
 cr)ang with a loud voice, " Praise to St. Denis that my
 
 30 MAY MARGARET 
 
 father is not here to see ! " Upon which, James erected 
 his lance as if to conquer Dunois were the simplest thing 
 in the world, and rode again to the top of the lists. The 
 Count des Baux and Henri de Cayades had rushed 
 together upon the Knight of the Bar Sinister, but he, 
 lightly reining his steed, had let them both pass him and 
 crash heavily into each other like two ships in a strong 
 sea, manoeuvring too narrowly for the fairway. 
 
 A shout arose at his dexterity, and the little shifty-eyed 
 man rushed into the arena and spoke some words to the 
 fallen knights, which seemed to be ill-enough taken. 
 
 At last La Hire and James Douglas came to it. They 
 had met once before, and James, solely through self- 
 confidence and lack of caution, had been overthrown. 
 But this time our James made no mistakes. The prize 
 was too high — a ring, a bird, and a kiss from the Queen 
 of Beauty — as it is writ in the poem of chivalry : 
 
 " Un cygne qui el pre sera, 
 Et si vons di qu'il baisera 
 La pucelle de Landcmore " 
 
 La Hire went down before the Douglas brawn and beef 
 and bone. Porridge to breakfast and Martinmas cow to 
 dinner for some score of years had done their w^ork. 
 Truth to tell. La Hire came at it with wonderful finesse, 
 but the weight of man and horse bore him down. After 
 this neither Henri de Cayades nor the Count des Baux 
 was ready for the fray against the conqueror of La Hire 
 and the young Dunois. The Knight of the Bar Sinister 
 had mysteriously disappeared, and James rode round the 
 lists like one vaunting himself, as indeed he never could 
 help doing all his life, specially under the eyes of women. 
 He had taken his new lance, with the pennon which had 
 been carefully kept rolled until now by his standard 
 bearer, and, with a bow in my direction, he gave it to 
 the wind. The " transfixed heart " of the Douglases 
 flapped out bravely, together with the red and gold on his 
 horse's trappings. He set his visor up, and as I told him 
 afterwards, no cock on his own midden-head strutted 
 ever more proudly than James Douglas that day.
 
 A GOOD FIGHT 31 
 
 Oh, yes ; and I liked him for it. It was a great deal to 
 me to know that he loved me, and had done all that for 
 my sake. 
 
 But when it came the turn of the victor to receive the 
 chaplet, the swan, and the kiss, James had his headgear 
 removed in his tent and came forth presently, looking tall 
 and personable in a close-fitting suit with a golden tab- 
 ard back and front. Then, according to custom, the 
 beaten men had to unhelm also and see him receive the 
 prize. 
 
 The Sieur Paul led them on, smiling and bowing to all 
 about. He had his head wrapped up in a napkin as if 
 for a deadly wound, but the good-humoured ironic cheer- 
 ing of the populace told that they understood other of it. 
 Then came La Hire and Dunois, looking as if they had 
 swallowed each a tankard of vinegar in lieu of good red 
 wine. Lastly, the two men of the Midi, laughing, 
 chattering, and jesting with an air which said plainly that 
 it would be their turn next time. There was one other, 
 the Succouring Knight, who had taken the side of Cour 
 Cheverney, and after winning once had gone down before 
 La Hire. He came up a little late, and at the very time 
 when I was occupied in setting the chaplet of laurel on 
 the head of the victor. Then, tossing the swan among 
 the commons to be scrambled for, James bent over and 
 took his legal kiss from my lips in the fashion prescribed 
 and established by a hundred courts of love. 
 
 Perhaps he was unwontedly long about it. For the 
 next thing I knew was the tall, dark Succouring Knight, 
 he who had obstinately kept his visor down even when 
 he stood among the vanquished, laying his hand upon 
 my arm. 
 
 " Margaret ! " he said quietly. 
 
 And then I knew him for my cousin William, the man 
 with whom I was to wed. I shuddered and caught my 
 breath — as I do now, even as I write. 
 
 " And one for me ! " be said. " I have come far to 
 get it." 
 
 Now I know not what it was that made me perverse 
 that moment. A kiss was nothing, yet I would not.
 
 32 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " No," I said, " it is not your right here in this place, 
 but James's ! " 
 
 I think he sighed. 
 
 " Tiien a kiss by favour?" he said. 
 
 " Nay," I answered, " you must win a tournament 
 first ! " 
 
 " I will win all Scotland for you," he said. " As for this 
 cracking of lances — it is but hammer-and-anvil play ! " 
 
 " Ah, but then you cannot do it," I retorted upon him, 
 " and James can ! " 
 
 And the victor of the combat stood preening himself 
 behind his brother, and, I doubt not, trowing himself the 
 greatest and the strongest man in Christendom. 
 
 But William Douglas went away softly without speak- 
 ing another word.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FURRY EARS 
 
 Ah, these days at Cour Cheverney ! How I loved the 
 valley of the Loire and the little feeding rivers which 
 would have been great ones anywhere else, but which 
 shrank to brooklets in the presence of that mighty water 
 going shining down the valley like a procession. 
 
 And then, seeing that she could do no more, and, it may 
 be, jealous for the good name of her convent — fearful 
 also of what the kittenish minettes of whom she had been 
 put in charge might have done in her absence, the Lady 
 Superior took her departure. 
 
 I could have danced ! Indeed, I did — borrowing a pike 
 from a yeoman of the Sieur Paul's guard, sticking it in 
 the ground and tying ribbons to it as for a May-pole, till 
 the very men in the lodge 'neath the portcullis laughed, 
 and even William Douglas deigned to smile from the 
 window of the library. 
 
 But I must tell about the shabby little man with the ill- 
 brushed clothes and the side-dagger, or coupe-gorge, in 
 his belt. I hated him at first, yet withal there was a 
 curious fascination about him. 
 
 Not that, indeed, which a man may have for a woman, 
 but something disgustful and hardly full human. I 
 think, if I had been married to such a thing I should have 
 been tempted to use his coupe-gorge upon himself — 
 when he was asleep. Then the very way he had of 
 looking at me made me uncomfortable. And he looked 
 long and often. 
 
 One day we sat in the pleasant court. The Judas Tree 
 began to throw down its blossoms. A vagrant wind 
 sprang up, making a pleasant biding sound among the 
 leaves above. The little man — " ill-put-on " as we say — 
 was not long in coming across to me. It appeared that 
 he had something particular to say. 
 
 33
 
 34 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " By your leave I will present myself," he said, " since 
 there is none that will do the work for me. I am called 
 Louis de Valois — concerning whom, from his insigniii- 
 cance, you may not have heard ! " 
 
 " De Valois," said I, somewhat astonished ; " why, then, 
 you are of the Royal House? " 
 
 " His Majesty's poor relation," he said carelessly, 
 " some kin to royalty — I forget what — if anyone ever 
 knew ! " 
 
 "What are you doing here?" I asked him, for it was 
 not my way to beat about the bush. " The King has 
 surely not sent you also on a mission to Rome ? " 
 
 A bitter smile wreathed his lips at some thought of his 
 own. 
 
 " No," he said slowly, dragging the words as if by 
 force out of him, " nor does he go there himself — though 
 he has much need, aye — all the way upon his knees." 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 " It is not for little girls out of convents to be told what 
 I mean," he said somewhat rudely, yet as if speaking 
 unwillingly. But I had the word for him. 
 
 " You mean because he has so badly brought up his 
 son, the Dauphin — whom all the world speaks ill of? 
 Or because of ?" 
 
 " Tell me, does all the world speak ill of the Dauphin ? " 
 said the little man with the yellow-brown eyes, looking 
 up sharply at me. 
 
 " My faith," I said, " I am in France. I cannot abuse 
 the king's son to his own cousin. All cousins, you know, 
 love one another. But. true it is that I have heard in the 
 convent that the Dauphin is a bad man, and that he was 
 right cruel to my kinswoman and countrywoman, 
 Margaret of Scotland." 
 
 " As for me," he answered, " I do not believe it. I have, 
 indeed, no great opinion of the man myself, but betwixt 
 a man and a woman wedded, who can judge from the 
 outside of the wall? " 
 
 " Well," I answered, " there may be something in that. 
 I myself have heard that she hath a fondness for poets I 
 Now the Dauphin is certainly no poet."
 
 FURRY EARS 35 
 
 The yellow eyes glimmered with cat-like streaks, like 
 melting snow on a mountain top. The king's poor rela- 
 tion made a chuckling, hollow noise in his throat. He 
 had a sense of humour, a thing highly undesirable in 
 poor relations. 
 
 " Ah, belike," he said, " but, at any rate, it is not a 
 predilection which you share, my dear young lady ? " 
 
 " Oh, poets ! " I said to him, " they are doubtless very 
 well in their place " 
 
 " And that place is ? " 
 
 " Below the salt and in company with the Merry- 
 Andrew ! " 
 
 He laughed, and then said, half meditatively, " And you 
 are from the land of the Scots. I wish I had known in 
 time, then I would not have married the daughter of a 
 poet ! " 
 
 " Your father-in-law was one ? " I demanded, really 
 careless whether he answered me or no. 
 
 " He was," he answered, " writing English — well or 
 ill I know not. It is a poor trade. Poets die young ! " 
 
 He thought a while, and then said, " Your father, he 
 was, I judge, no verse maker, nor any great scholar? " 
 
 " He could sign his name if you gave him time," I 
 said. " He was the Earl of Douglas and Duke of 
 Touraine ! " 
 
 " Ah, that is better," he said, his light cat's eyes glinting 
 rapidly over my face, and taking in the least detail of 
 my dress, almost like a jealous woman who thinks you 
 may prove prettier than she, " you have certainly most 
 just views upon poetry and poets. I trust you think 
 better of priests and religion ? " 
 
 '* Have I not come direct from a convent?" I asked 
 him, smiling as demurely as I could, " and, besides, has 
 not the Pope sent a Bull all the way from Rome to 
 enable me to marry a man I have scarce looked upon all 
 my days? Have I not, therefore, cause to think well 
 of holy men ? " 
 
 " Religion has ever been my safeguard," he said shaking 
 his head gravely at my tone, " particularly this part of the 
 blessed goad wherewith St. Joseph pricked the ass on the
 
 S6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 night of the flight into Eg}'pt. It is a reHc beyond price 
 and very efficacious. I had it from the shrine of St. 
 Marthe in Provence ! " 
 
 And he took out of his cap a piece of worm-eaten wood, 
 pointed with iron. The cap was certainly curious in 
 itself, having a peak almost like a mountebank's, with 
 little furry pockets at the sides (though it was summer) 
 exactly as if the wearer had no ears at all! He 
 continued : 
 
 " The cure of St. Marthe had it from a pilgrim, who gat 
 it directly from a wanderer on the beach at Askelon ; " 
 he continued, " it has averted evil from me more than 
 once and brought great harm to my enemies — being (by 
 a most curious device) made hollow, and so arranged as 
 to contain a precious powder ! " 
 
 We were talking thus when William Douglas came up 
 and saluted the little man with more deference than I had 
 ever seen him pay to anyone in all my life — which, to 
 tell the truth, was not much. Then came James and 
 bowed himself to the ground. But that also meant little. 
 For such was our brave Jamie's way, being, as he said, a 
 younger son with his way to make in the world. 
 
 But Laurence stood apart and appeared to meditate. 
 There was an awkward pause. Then the furry-eared 
 little man, who had called himself the king's poor relation, 
 turned sharp upon William Douglas. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " if you have no objections. I will 
 take your bride here and the Pope's Bull along with her. 
 You can have mine in exchange. She is a king's 
 daughter." 
 
 William Douglas surveyed the speaker with the same 
 gaze, quiet and steady, with which he took in all the 
 world. 
 
 " Prince," he answered, " if this be a jest, it is a poor 
 one, and on a subject upon which, as all the world knows, 
 it is ill jesting with a Douglas. We rude Scots do not 
 understand the game as it is played in the palaces and 
 chateaux of France. An evil might therefore easily 
 befall." 
 
 " Ah," said the little man sharply, " you should go to
 
 FURRY EARS 37 
 
 Amboise and my father would teach you right will- 
 ingly." 
 
 " Is he a poet, too?" I asked, wishing to put a better 
 face on the matter, " as you told me your father-in-law 
 was?" 
 
 At this I saw them all start, and James gave a sort of 
 gasp of apprehension. I knew I had said something I 
 ought not. But what it was — or why they were aghast, 
 I declare I knew no more than the Bald Cat — who was 
 by this time snoring in her cell at St. Brigida's. 
 
 But the furry-eared man only smiled indulgently, and 
 patted the back of my hand, which I instantly snatched 
 away from him. 
 
 " I have had a most interesting conversation with this 
 little lady," he said, " I have not felt the time go so fast 
 for many a day. Nay truly, dear lady, my father is no 
 poet, any more than was thine. Yet he carries about him 
 rather more of the raw material of poets' rhymings than 
 is quite convenient for the world and for me ! " 
 
 And at this the Sieur Paul laughed with much good 
 humour as at a jest which he alone understood. But the 
 little man with the unwashen face turned upon him 
 with his hand on his dagger, 
 
 " Sir," he said, " I am in your house, but had it been 
 elsewhere I should have set this a hand's-breadth deep in 
 your belly for daring to laugh at the King of France ! " 
 
 I think I felt much sympathy for the small pottle- 
 shaped man who, from a simple desire to please, had 
 crossed the chance tempers of this little impish moldiwort. 
 
 " The Dauphin of France ! " I cried aloud. " My faith, 
 and I took you for the King's cellarman out for the day, 
 and blinking in the sunshine ! " 
 
 " But I told you," said he, not at all losing his temper, 
 " that my name was Louis de Valois. Do the 'maidens of 
 Scotland never put two and two together ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " I cried, resolved that at least he should not 
 intimidate me — not if he were the Grand Bashaw of all 
 the Turks, "at home our cat is named Badrons de 
 Douglas, our goat Billy de Douglas. Eight and twenty 
 Crummie Douglases come to Thrieve every Martinmas to
 
 38 MAY MARGARET 
 
 fill the beef tub for the men-at-arms. There are pecks 
 and pecks of Border Douglases, and Ettrick Douglases, 
 and Highland Douglases, and Angus Douglases, and Dal- 
 keith Douglases, There be Douglases of the Red and 
 of the Black — and surely I may be held excused if I 
 knew not that there might not be another Louis de Valois 
 in the world besides the son of the King of France ! " 
 
 I had very nearly added " And such a king's son ! " But 
 I could see James shaping his lips to warn me to have a 
 care, while Will looked on, hard and cold as ever. I 
 thought that he disapproved of my flippancy, and that 
 only made me the more reckless. I would show him that 
 it was somewhat too soon to put on the airs of a husband. 
 
 " Will," said I, " marriage begins with love-making. 
 Love-making begins with writing verses. If I am to 
 marry you — if you expect me to love you, go make me 
 some ! James there can turn them oflf by the barrelful — 
 in French or in Scots — carols, ballads, rhymes royal or 
 sermons in verse — he has them all at his finger-ends ! " 
 
 But Will, my cousin, only smiled tolerantly. 
 
 " There is other work in the world than stringing 
 rhymes ! " he said. " The Dauphin and I have two lands 
 to win from the Old to the New." 
 
 There was always something of the preaching friar 
 about William, which I resented. It sounded like the 
 Almoner of St. Brigida's on Holy Thursday. 
 
 So I caught him up sharply. *' Aye, Will, is it indeed 
 so? Then let me tell you and his Highness the Dauphin 
 one thing — nay, two. There is one thing, very old, that 
 no one of you shall ever win, and that is a woman's love ! 
 Also, one thing, very new, which neither one of you shall 
 ever experience — the love of young children, thrusting 
 their faces into your beards and shouting at your 
 incoming ! "" 
 
 " So?" said William Douglas, his face firm and a little 
 more hard than before. " Well, I can but do my duty. 
 But I will try for the other things too," 
 
 And he turned away, leaving me with a question 
 pricking at my heart. 
 
 Then came James, in his dark blue velvet and laced
 
 FURRY EARS 39 
 
 doublet, looking like a great blonde god who had strayed 
 out of some old-time temple. He had heard that which 
 had passed ; for he leaned over the great black oak settle 
 and touched my hair gently with his fingers. He had all 
 sorts of ways like that, yet so done that one could not 
 take offence. 
 
 " Will is wrong," he said ; " but you must forgive him. 
 He is all set on this new-fangled setting of things right 
 in Scotland. He threeps it down our throats that we are 
 all barbarians, and I dare say he speaks truth. He says 
 Scotland — highland, lowland, and borderland — needs one 
 strong man to put down the raiding and rieving and 
 thieving. Furthermore, that James Stewart is not that 
 man. You can guess who is — in my brother Will'^ 
 esteem ! " 
 
 I gazed at him in utter surprise. He nodded softly, and 
 like one who makes an assured confidence. 
 
 " William Douglas zuoiild make himself king — king of 
 Scotland! " 
 
 James smiled, and continued to stroke my hair, gently 
 and abstractedly (for the others had gone away, and we 
 were now alone). I did not reprove him; I could not. 
 
 " I think so," he murmured. " And you will forgive 
 him, therefore, if he has small time for love and the light 
 concerns of a woman. These may well be left to a 
 younger brother to console him for his meagre portion. 
 God knows, we have little enough to concern ourselves 
 with, poor fellows — save to be barbarians and crack 
 each other's crowns." 
 
 But I was not attending to James very much. I was 
 thinking, and with a kind of pride, too — the first I had 
 ever felt in the man who was to be my husband, 
 
 " To be king of the Scots," I thought, and from James's 
 consternation, I judge that I spoke aloud, " cousin Will 
 to make himself the king — to be greater than all ! That 
 is to be a man and a true Douglas of the Black. Faith, I 
 would marry him now, without Bull or dispensation, 
 without Pope, priest, or marriage-robe — aye, over the 
 tongs if need were ! " 
 
 After that James was silent for a long time. Above,
 
 40 MAY MARGARET 
 
 there was a constant movement of leaves, and the cawing 
 of jackdaws nesting- high up in the crevices of the old 
 towers of Cour Cheverney. I could feel my cousin's 
 breath on my neck. It made me vaguely uneasy, yet 
 somehow I was not able to stir. I did not know I could 
 feel like that. I suppose no woman does till she is 
 tried. 
 
 " Yes," he murmured in my ear, " you will marry him, 
 Margaret. But will you love him? Are you sure of 
 that ? " 
 
 I tried to turn him ofif the subject. 
 
 " Ah," I said, smiling up at him over my shoulder, 
 " that is quite another thing. Surely, when Will is to be 
 a king and I am already a princess, love is a super- 
 fluity, a work of — what is it the priests call it — superero- 
 gation? Indeed, to begin with, rather an impertinence 
 than otherwise. Yet after all " 
 
 " Well ? " said James, erect and waiting for my con- 
 clusion. 
 
 "Love may come — after]" I said. For indeed, so 
 Sister EulaHe had told me, and the girls at St. Brigida's 
 swore to me that their mothers loved their fathers, and 
 this last was certainly a matter to give one on the thresh- 
 old of marriage a certain confidence. Will, at least, 
 after the dark and " fier " Douglas type, was a handsome 
 man. 
 
 Then James bent down, and, though I could not see him, 
 I could feel his presence near me — another strange thing. 
 
 " Nay, little one," he murmured in my ear, " I know 
 you ! You will love neither the would-be king of Scots, 
 nor yet William, eighth Earl of Douglas, nor yet your 
 cousin Will. You are both of you too Douglas in the 
 bone. One day you will love — yes — but not my 
 brother ! " 
 
 " Since when have you put on the robe of prophecy, 
 good Master Jacob?" I asked him sharply. " Is it that 
 you would supplant your brother, or take away his 
 birthright, without even the customary equivalent of a 
 mess of pottage? " 
 
 James Douglas laughed.
 
 FURRY EARS 41 
 
 " They have taught you your Scripture well at the con- 
 vent, I can see," he said. " I knew you would misunder- 
 stand me. I was prepared for it. But you will see! 
 Behold, I will try my hand at prophecy again. Will 
 intends to bring the realm of Scotland under his hand. 
 King Jamie-of-the-Fiery-Face is a Stewart, and will die 
 the ill death of all that brood; but he is also a Bruce — 
 that is to say, a murderer from the first. In three years, 
 if I took the king's side in the strife that is bound to 
 come, I, poor despised James Douglas, could be Earl of 
 Douglas in my brother's place. But, by God's truth, I 
 am no Jacob, no supplanter, as you have called me. 
 You will see : there shall not one stand to it more 
 staunchly in the Douglas quarrel than your poor stupid 
 Cousin James, who can only sit a horse, drive a spear, 
 and (he hesitated a moment before adding) make love to 
 the woman he loves with all his heart, without thought or 
 care for peoples, nations, kingships, principalities, or 
 powers, in the heaven above, the earth beneath, or the 
 waters under the earth." 
 
 I think I drew a long breath. I felt light as a feather, 
 his lips on the nape of my neck, and, looking upward 
 with a start and a shudder as if someone had trod upon 
 my grave, I saw William Douglas silently pacing the 
 rampart above us, his arms folded on his breast, and a 
 stern expression on his face. 
 
 Had he seen, or was he only debating in his mind the 
 chances of his great and final cast — the dicer's throw 
 which was to make or mar — the project which was to him 
 more than love, more than life, and a thousand times 
 more than Margaret Douglas? 
 
 I could not tell.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS SPEAKS 
 
 Until one day by the little brook which they call the 
 river of Cheverney, William Douglas had never spoken 
 to me of our marriage. But ere we were set out from the 
 castle I knew it was coming. There had been breakfast 
 as usual in the great hall, and much chatter among the 
 ambassador's suite of the wonders they had seen at 
 Rome — Laurence alone brooding apart in silence or only 
 responding in monosyllables when I spoke to him. 
 
 But that I wondered not at. For I had a sense of the 
 stage at which the young man found himself. And (it 
 is not a shameful confession for an old woman to make, 
 who has gotten through the world with perhaps more 
 credit than she has deserved) I was glad of it, and in my 
 heart I laughed at his sulks. Of James, who sat and 
 watched me (like a hungry cat, as I told him), I was not 
 so sure. One was never quite sure what James might 
 . not do where a woman was concerned. I think even 
 then, I was more than a little afraid of his power over 
 me. I liked the days when he went a-hunting, and yet 
 they were lonely days too. 
 
 As for William he had sat talking with the Dauphin, 
 whose shifty eyes, webbed with a spider's criss-cross of 
 fire, like hot metal caked and cracking in the cooling, 
 dwelt ever and anon upon me. How I hated snakes and 
 Dauphins ! Ugh ! And still do hate ! 
 
 Nevertheless, through all the hither and thither of their 
 talk concerning Absolute Right, and the Supremacy of 
 one man — the Strong Man, the man with mind, the man 
 who could use all weapons and was ready to employ them 
 — there came to me in wafts and glimpses, through I 
 know not what senses (for a woman has at least a dozen, 
 as compared with men's ordinary five), the knowledge, 
 
 42
 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS SPEAKS 43 
 
 net and fixed, tliat to-day, before it should be the stroke 
 of noon, ere the earliest flowers should droop and close, 
 I should see through a glass darkly into the soul of 
 William Douglas, the man who was to be my husband. 
 
 And, indeed, that was all I succeeded in obtaining — 
 then, or for many years after. I see more clearly now. 
 But such seeing comes to women, for the most part, 
 when it is too late. 
 
 It was in this fashion that he asked me to walk with him. 
 How differently would James have done it! Even Lau- 
 rence, poor fellow ! 
 
 " Dear Cousin Margaret," he began, coming over to me 
 before all the others (figure what his upbringing must 
 have been when, at four-and-twenty — and to all appear- 
 ance of mind and body ten years older — William Douglas 
 could yet show himself so inept!). Why, a scholar 
 from a priests' day-school had done better — that is, if it 
 had been a French school. I remember — but no, I had 
 b^gun to tell of my going out to walk in the fields with 
 my cousin William. 
 
 August in Galloway, May in Touraine, These are to 
 me the height of earthly beauty, and whatever bliss can 
 proceed from flowers and woods, from sun-speckled 
 riverine paths and breadths of heather lands, across which 
 great whale-backed cloud-shadows drift, lumberingly yet 
 silently, as if they, too, were labouring wains drawn by 
 the white celestial oxen. 
 
 It was Laurence, I think, and partly, also, my own 
 liking, which taught me to observe things like that, but 
 mostly — honour to whom honour ! — it was Laurence. 
 Not in the least Maud Lindsay, who, indeed, cared more 
 to lift her eyelashes at a well-favoured man than to look 
 upon all the sunsets which had ever been painted athwart 
 the west. Nor yet did I learn the trick from Sholto, 
 who never had a thought except for Maud Lindsay — that 
 is, till the children came, when he became a nursery 
 packhorse, and went on all fours. James Douglas only 
 admired such things because I did, and William not at 
 all, whether or no. 
 
 Nevertheless, we went our way, he and I, I, at least, in
 
 44 MAY MARGARET 
 
 no wise keen, nor expecting much pleasure therefrom. 
 So we went by a pretty woodland path within the 
 enclosure of the Sieur Paul, which I had discovered (and 
 in part trodden) during the days I had already spent in 
 Cour Cheverney. Sometimes I took with me Larry, in 
 guise of adviser spiritual, but more often James, my 
 younger cousin. For you see, William was always too 
 busy talking politics with the Dauphin. Indeed, Louis 
 de Valois seemed to have come hither from Loches for no 
 other purpose. 
 
 But this day, as I walked by Will's side, I glanced up 
 at his grave, dark-bearded face — the face of a man of 
 forty at the least — and the weight of care that I saw there 
 seemed to communicate itself at once to my heart and 
 my heels. I had on pretty shoes, the same which James, 
 with a forethought beyond most young men, had brought 
 me from Paris. He told me how he had kept one of my 
 old ones all the while as a gage, wearing it on his helm 
 in time of fighting, and in his breast at other seasons. 
 Whereat I retorted upon him that it was well these 
 French shoes had no heels like those of Scotland. Never- 
 theless, in spite of his sentiment, I suspect some hidden 
 troking with a handmaiden or servant at the convent. For 
 why — otherwise he could never have hit on the right size 
 and shape. Pmt he did and I loved him for it. Or, at least, 
 I felt it was one of the little things that most of all touch 
 a girl's heart, and which not even the bravest or the 
 wisest, or the best of lovers can afford to mislippen. And 
 he who walked by my side was all three. Yet for all that 
 I longed to kilt my coats and run for it, just because he 
 would not look at me and had brought me naught from 
 Paris. 
 
 But I can tell you Will Douglas's first words took me 
 by surprise. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " I am to marry you. It is 
 arranged. The family comes first. Neither of us can 
 help it, yet, true it is, in this you have greatly the 
 advantage of me." 
 
 " How so? " said I, thinking it to be some matter of my 
 principality, for which I care nothing, all Galloway and
 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS SPEAKS 45 
 
 Ettrick thereto never having done me as much good as 
 an orange of Italy ! 
 
 " Because you do not love me, and — I, William Douglas, 
 have the ill-fortune to love you." 
 
 If he had struck me I could not have started back from 
 him in greater amazement. 
 
 Surely it was not William Douglas who spoke thus. 
 But even then he did not look once at me. Faith of my 
 heart, what fools these wise men be ! 
 
 Here was I, a young girl, ready to be loved — nay, 
 plainly eager — and had this solenm dolt only possessed a 
 tithe of James's readiness, all might have been different. 
 We had stopped at the place I had chosen beforehand — • 
 yes, and tested. It was a certain sweet privacy of leaves, 
 with a stream running by over clean-shining pebbles, and 
 a green bank to sit upon. I was certainly giving the man 
 all the chances. But poor Will, though such a don at 
 statecraft, had no more craft in the matter of women 
 than the armour of Archibald the Grim set up in the 
 entrance hall of Thrieve. 
 
 Now the place had a hundred advantages. Bees of all 
 sorts were humming about. Glossy purple bees, big as 
 hay-wains, blundered and boomed. Business-like honey- 
 bees attended to the matter in hand, like the merchants 
 of St. Giles — furred all over, too, with the golden dust of 
 pollen. Moreover there were little black bees, which 
 appeared always to fly backward, starting angrily with 
 their weapons out like touchy braggards. Then round 
 woolly bees of the size of acorns, and with the rearward 
 part all a fiery red, hustled the others or got up private 
 quarrels on their own accounts among the flowers. 
 
 There were so many things Will could have said in such 
 a place, and I sat near him on purpose. 
 
 Laurence would have sung a ballad to touch your heart, 
 and that so delicately, the birds would have stopped to 
 listen, and with so accurate and right an ear that the hum 
 of the bees, the ripple of the water, the hush and tremor 
 of the leaves would all have mingled in a fitting accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Others, I doubt not, would have done after their kind,
 
 46 IMAY MARGARET 
 
 sitting thus alone with a young- girl, and, as it were, with 
 the marriage lines in their pocket. Even silence might 
 then ('tis conceivable) have been golden. 
 
 But what did William Douglas do? This. 
 
 Imprimis — he betook himself a foot or two further away 
 from me. I think he meant to give me room to sit at my 
 ease, and began to speak of his hopes and projects. I did 
 not know then that was the greatest compliment he could 
 have paid me. 
 
 Yet he never so much as took my hand — though, well, 
 my hand was there for the taking. Of course it was ! 
 Since I was to marry him, I thought I might as well 
 make the best of it. Afterwards in Italy I knew a woman 
 who would have had a man knifed for less than Will's 
 present neglect. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " I have brought you here (Oh, 
 but had he?) to show you what I have planned for my 
 future and yours. You bring me as your dower almost a 
 third part of Scotland. I myself possess another third, 
 with about the same proportion of brave hearts to follow 
 our banner from Galloway in the south on through Doug- 
 lasdale and Marches, northward to Darnaway and 
 Murray." 
 
 I nodded, saying only, " Have a care, William, my 
 brother had the like, and yet — in the flower of his age — 
 the cruel slew him treacherously in the Castle of Edin- 
 burgh ! " 
 
 " I remember well," he said. " God rest his soul for a 
 good lad ! But then he was young, and I am old " 
 
 At that I laughed aloud. 
 
 " At twenty-four years ! Verily a patriarch among 
 men ! " 
 
 " Yes," he answered me, his dark face never once light- 
 ing up, " it is true that I am old. I it was who roused the 
 Douglases after my cousin's — your brother's murder. I 
 have lived hard and in haste ever since — not as the young 
 live but as men do who have one business in life, and 
 know not when death may be let loose upon them." 
 
 " Then you mean to revenge my brother's death — and 
 little David's ? " I asked eagerly.
 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS SPEAKS 47 
 
 " Yes, of a certainty, that," he said, " vengeance is a 
 part of it. It shall be done. I shall square accounts 
 with Crichton and Livingston. But, as it were, on the 
 
 way." 
 
 " The way to what? " 
 
 " To the kingdom," he said quietly, " the kingdom and 
 the power ! " 
 
 " You would rebel and kill the King ! " I cried, somewhat 
 affrighted at the sound of the words — as was indeed no 
 marvel, seeing that I had just come from listening to 
 nothing more deadly than the all-day cooing of the doves 
 at St. Brigida's. 
 
 " By no means," he answered, " though 'tis disputable 
 if I have not at least as good a claim to the throne of Scot- 
 land as any Stewart that ever stepped. But let that pass. 
 No, I count not on rebellion. But all the same, rule I 
 must. I shall put down the fox and the sleek poodle — 
 both of them. I will take the King and give him a palace 
 and a garden and (according to his desires) playthings. 
 None of that race is fit to rule. They should have been 
 morris-dancers. God so intended it. No, I will be James 
 Stewart's chancellor, his tutor, his Mayor of the Palace. 
 And then of that realm of Scotland I will make a new 
 thing. Or, by St. Bride of Douglas, I shall die before 
 my time ! " 
 
 " And why could not my brother Wilham do all this," I 
 said ; " he also was brave ! " 
 
 " I told you," he answered without hesitation, " your 
 brother was too young. He let himself be entrapped. 
 And besides, he had the mistfortune to love a bad woman. 
 / — love yoii." 
 
 Then I took his hand of my own accord, for no woman 
 can listen to words like these without a lump in the throat 
 — that is, from a man true and great. 
 
 " And I will try to be a good wife," I said. Very 
 softly, but I think he heard. 
 
 At that moment he might have done much with me — 
 perhaps all. I might have been his, soul and body. But 
 William Douglas had not, as we say in Scots, " the airt 
 o't," which is everything (or almost) in the making of
 
 48 AIAY MARGARET 
 
 love. And so he went back, like a man reassured, to 
 his weary politics. 
 
 " I have talked the matter all over with the Dauphin," 
 he said, his eyes growing dreamy and opaque to the 
 world, " he is in exactly the other case. There is in his 
 kingdom One, great almost as the Douglas in Scotland. 
 The Duke of Burgundy is his Mayor of the Palace, or 
 desires to be. Him he joined for a time, even against 
 his father, that he might learn the secrets of the enemy. 
 For though he has great ideas, that young Louis de Val- 
 ois, there are lacking to him as much fidelity and con- 
 stancy as pertain to a tom-cat of the city tiles. But all 
 the same he has more thoughts in his head, this slippery 
 Dauphin, than all the men and women I have met and 
 talked with in any country. He teaches me much — also, 
 perhaps, I bim. Each sees in the other what he has to 
 contend against. Both learn from the enemy. For this 
 Dauphin Louis will yet gather to him all the realm of 
 France. See if he does not — and be hated as no man in 
 France has been hated before in the doing of it. 
 
 " But, on the other hand, I, William of Douglas, shall 
 do what the Duke of Burgundy might have done with a 
 weaker sovereign. I shall remain a subject, and yet be 
 the king. From the east sea to the west sea I shall stay 
 the robber and the plunderer. The Highland folk will be 
 held in leash. I will make the writ with the king's name 
 upon it run from Kirkmaiden to Cape \\Vath. In truth 
 and not alone in proverb, the bracken-bush shall keep the 
 cow." 
 
 He paused a while as if meditating. It was, indeed, 
 strange talk for a young girl to hear, and I remember with 
 a smile that only a few days agone. Sister Eulalic had 
 been threatening me with four days' bread-and-water if I 
 disobeyed her. And now the talk I heard was of the dis- 
 comfiture of princes, and I sat speaking familiarly with 
 men who felt themselves able to hold nations in the 
 hollow of their hands. 
 
 Only I wished William Douglas had been a little more 
 human about it. Faith of my body, I would rather have 
 been listening to that muckle cuif James vaunt himself
 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS SPEAKS 49 
 
 about the girls who had given him their favours to wear 
 upon his helm. 
 
 " Scotland is not a kingdom," Will went on. " it is not 
 subject to one King, but to many. Every pretty lordling 
 does that which is right in his own eyes — hangs on his 
 own gallows-tree, drowns in his own well, burns on his 
 own woodpile, and if the king dares to say ' Yea ' or 
 * Nay,' he will be upon his back in a trice with a pack of 
 old charters as musty and useless as a cadger's ballants, 
 chattering like a magpie all the time. 
 
 " Now, with Galloway mine, and Clydesdale and 
 Annandale and the Borders mine, together with the North 
 from Darnaway to Loch Ness, with the King in my hands 
 and the heads of the traitors where such heads should be, 
 what shall hinder but that I shall say to each lord of a 
 peel tower, to each chief of clan or sept — Do justice, and, 
 if you can, love mercy. But at least, attend to the first! 
 For if you do not, by St. Bride, your head I will remove 
 instead, and set it with the others. For be assured, my 
 lords, for once in the land of the Scots you have to do 
 with a man of his word ! " 
 
 And as I listened to Will, I knew that I was to have a 
 iua>i for my husband, and I daresay many women would 
 have loved him as indeed he deserved. But not I. There 
 is in me, somewhere, a spring, like that of a secret drawer, 
 which if a man touch, I will serve him on bended knee 
 all the days of my life and go through fire and water for 
 him ! But if not — not. 
 
 And Will, alas for us both ! had not the secret. He felt 
 not the need. For even as he went on talking, his voice 
 filled and shook, and — I could see that he had utterly 
 forgotten my existence. His purpose and work were all 
 to him. 
 
 It is the last thing a woman can bear. She would 
 rather be crucified.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A YOUNG maid's LOVERS 
 
 Well, at any rate, that was over. I knew what I had 
 to expect. WilHam had said that he loved me. It was 
 possible. Nevertheless the signs were lacking — all, at 
 least that I cared about. 
 
 Similarly, it is said to rain sometimes, about once in 
 seven years, in that desert where (travellers say) the 
 pyramids of Egypt look out across a world of sand. But 
 — for me, I prefer a somewhat more human climate. I 
 was fated to marry my cousin Will. He was fated to 
 regenerate Scotland or die in the attempt. Well, so be 
 it! To Egypt I would go. But that would not hinder 
 me from yearning all the same for a land where the gentle 
 rain and the humane dew kept green at once the herb 
 and the heart of woman. 
 
 In the meantime I was glad to keep out of William's 
 way. A lifetime of the prophet Ezekiel must have been 
 trying to any woman, and surely every allowance is to 
 be made for the imperfections of his wife. Will saw 
 visions and dreamed dreams, but — I never came into 
 them. I was not even a pawn in the game, though my 
 principality of Galloway was pushed this way and that 
 upon the board. It was hard to bear, and as often as I 
 could I escaped to the bench under the Judas tree — or, 
 better still, to the green bank above the running brook 
 which I had wasted on William, and to which he never 
 returned. 
 
 I think I liked the hours best when Laurence made mill- 
 wheels with a knife, and the pair of us stole off a-tiptoe 
 to set them running in the little stream which turned aside 
 towards the Closson, stealing away from the ken of 
 ungentle men, even as we from wars and rumours of 
 war. 
 
 50
 
 A YOUNG MAID'S LOVERS 51 
 
 Then I was truly happy, happier, indeed, than I was 
 with James, who constantly made me uneasy with his 
 reckless ways — making love, as it were, almost under 
 the very eyes of his brother, in the belief that, as he said, 
 " If you want our Will to notice anything-, you must call 
 him to a halt with a naked sword at his breast, and then 
 say, ' My lord, dinner waits ! ' " 
 
 But as for me, I had my idea that William Douglas saw 
 more than our feather-headed Jamie gave him credit for. 
 
 So as I say, I was happier with Laurence. Then it was 
 that I became again a little girl as when I used to cry 
 for Maud Lindsay to play with me. Only she never 
 would bide long enough, but would be for ever running 
 up to the knowe-top to spy out for Sholto or some other 
 young man. Nevertheless I had a great yearning to 
 see her again, and bade Laurence tell me all that he 
 knew about her. Which, indeed, was little more than 
 that they all dwelt at Thrieve, where Sholto was captain 
 of the guard and, as ever, the Earl's right hand man. He 
 did not even know the names of Maud's five children — 
 but thought that three were girls and the rest boys — or 
 else the other way about. 
 
 Now, by St. Jack of Dover, is there a woman in the 
 world that would have been in the same uncertainty? 
 Aye, would she not have known them, each one by head- 
 mark, their names and ages and dispositions. But men 
 are like that all the world over. It is part of the burden 
 laid on them when they went forth of that Gate before 
 which the sword of fire waves every way. 
 
 Laurence used to take off his monastic habit at the 
 entrance of the glade, and in his laced black shoes and 
 hosen, his silken pantaloons to the knee, and tight-fitting 
 blouse buttoned to the neck, he looked (in spite of his 
 abbatical dignity) scarce older than the page-boy who 
 played impish tricks about the Mains of Thrieve, and 
 was whipped for it by Dominie Gilston, my brother's 
 house-chaplain — the same who afterwards married Mary 
 the cook and now keeps a change-house and place of 
 entertainment for travellers in the market-square of 
 Dumfries.
 
 52 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Then he would tell me tales of the adventures he had in 
 France, when Maud Lindsay and I were stolen away by 
 the thrice-accursed De Retz, how Sholto, his father, and 
 my Lord James had gone to seek for me, because Will 
 could not be spared out of Scotland, which at the time 
 was all in an uproar after the murder of my two 
 brothers, William and David, in the Castle of Edinburgh. 
 
 He told me, too, of the Lady Sybilla, whose beauty had 
 led my brother to his doom. She had been sorry, he said, 
 when it was too late, and she herself had been made to 
 experience a far deeper and more abiding woe in being 
 yet alive somewhere in this same land of France. 
 
 " Ah, that I could meet her," I cried, clenching my 
 hand ; " would I not set a knife in her heart, the traitress 
 and murderess ! " 
 
 At which Larry shook his head and said gently, 
 " Margaret, it is not possible for any human being to 
 judge another, least of all a woman a woman. She was 
 sorely used, poor thing, and it will hurt none if it please 
 God to be good to her in the days to come ! May not you 
 also do likewise without any great hurt ? " 
 
 For there was about Laurence McKim in these days a 
 sweet and pitiful boyishness, and that in spite of his 
 honours more than semi-ecclesiastic. At first I thought 
 that his dissatisfaction with the position was assumed, 
 and upon occasion would venture to rally him upon it. 
 
 " You are no right priest," I said, to try him ; " but 
 only a tulchan abbot, to draw tithe milk for us Douglases 
 — a lay prior ! \\'\\o ever heard of such a thing ? Why, 
 man, you should join the king's bodyguard, and I warrant 
 that in a year you would be an officer ; or, better still, our 
 William hath great projects on hand, and will need good 
 men. Come back with us to Thricve. After James and 
 Sholto, I warrant you there would be no knight like you 
 in all the kingdom ! " 
 
 " No?" he queried, pleased with my saying that; then, 
 with a quick look. " I thank you, Mistress. At least, I 
 came out of the fight the other day without any dis- 
 honour — though, as for me, I get neither kiss nor 
 Christian goose ! 
 
 >>
 
 A YOUNG MAID'S LOVERS 55 
 
 " You were not at the tourneying? " I cried in astonish- 
 ment, for indeed the idea had never crossed my mind. 
 He smiled softly. 
 
 " I wore the Douglas Heart, for my heart is Douglas," 
 he said, " but with the Sieur Paul's Bar Sinister, to 
 show that I had no right to it. But it is a secret which I 
 trust only to you. For. as most men think, it is noways- 
 seemly that an Abbot of Dulce Cor should ride a tourney 
 in a borrowed coat." 
 
 And with that he would fall to the whittling of his wind- 
 mills and watermills again, cutting them out with a knife 
 as daintily as cabinet work, or the China art of inlay. 
 But, in spite of this, there was a curious constraint upon 
 us — all the time that we were not playing like two 
 children with puppets and fal-lals. The which was the 
 more remarkable that often then we would talk of the 
 most serious subjects, yet always freely and without 
 reserve. 
 
 For instance, Larry would tell me, going on all the time 
 with his enginry, how Chancellor Crichton was the worst 
 and falsest man in all the world, and how, from being a 
 small country laird, without power and without apparent 
 parts, he had raised himself to be the richest and most 
 influential man in Scotland. 
 
 "But the Earl William?" I queried, surprised, "what 
 of him?" 
 
 Laurence nodded, a little sadly as I thought. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " I have not forgotten. There is 
 no one like him. But he goes to work too straight- 
 forwardly to take a serpent in his grasp. A Douglas of 
 the Black is no match for a Crichton, unless he first 
 catch the serpent between the prongs of a forked stick, 
 and then grind his head under heel ! If William Douglas 
 were to take my advice, he would gather together all the 
 south, besiege Crichton the Fox in his own castle, having 
 taken him and it, hang him high over the topmost battle- 
 ment, and set the place on fire. It were a fine counter 
 roast to the Black Dinner of Edinburgh ! " 
 
 I could not but laugh. 
 
 " Certes that is very well said for a man of peace,
 
 54 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Laurence," I cried, teasing- him. " Assuredly if that was 
 the way you spoke to the Pope in Rome, it is a great 
 marvel that his holiness did not make you a cardinal ! " 
 
 But he gave little heed to my words, thinking solely of 
 the terrible days when my two brothers were put down 
 before all Scotland. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you were then too young to remember. 
 But we — we that were of the Douglases, who saw them 
 ride gaily through that gate, with the Black Bull already 
 killed for their funeral feast, we have neither forgotten 
 nor forgiven — be we knight or knave, cottar or church- 
 man, abbot or archer ! " 
 
 " No," said I, " forgotten I have not — no, nor ever will! 
 But you think there is danger that Will, my cousin, may 
 tread the same road. Why then do you not warn him ? " 
 
 " Warn Will of Avondale ! " he laughed a little bitterly, 
 " as well warn the tide-race in the narrows of Solway ! 
 When William Douglas is set on a thing he will turn 
 neither for flood nor fire — not for God nor man nor 
 devil ! " 
 
 " Could a woman turn him, think you ? " I said, more for 
 the sake of saying something than because I meant aught 
 of serious import. Yet he took the question mightily 
 soberly. 
 
 An expression of the most tender sympathy and gentle- 
 ness came over all his face — sweet and gracious and yet 
 somehow very pitiful. 
 
 " I fear not you, little one ! " he said, as if half to him- 
 self. " Yes, I fear greatly." 
 
 And I suppose that I ought to have been angr>' with 
 him to address me thus. But it was with him as with 
 Jamie, though in another way. Simply I could not be 
 angry with him. The thing was not in my heart. 
 
 Yet it was all different. For Laurence never meant but 
 to be the best and the dearest of comrades. But James 
 — well, ever since I knew him, James could not help 
 making love to mistress or maid. lie must fulfil his 
 metier, which was that of cadet of a great house. And 
 to tell the truth, the thing was no trouble to him — so far, 
 at least, as I was concerned.
 
 A YOUNG MAID'S LOVERS 55 
 
 Ah, if men would only permit women to be the simple 
 comrades to them that they wish to be, how easy and how 
 wholesome the world would become! 
 
 Also, saith the Wise Man over my shoulder, how short- 
 lived ! But of that I did not consider then. 
 
 All the same, there are few things dearer to the heart of 
 a woman than the love, simple and inexigent as the 
 budding of a flower, which grows up in the heart of a 
 boy or of one who will all his life remain a boy. Of 
 which last was Laurence McKim. For Larry, older than 
 I in years, yet never reached his majority, though I have 
 seen the white hair fall thick upon his shoulders, and but 
 for a pair of pruning shears he might have been able to 
 tuck his beard into his girdle. 
 
 So I leave it to any who have such memories, to bethink 
 them whether sometimes the heart within — or what part 
 soever of a woman is able to call up, to the soul that 
 dwells behind dimmed eyes and wrinkled skin, the^ very 
 touch of lips velvet-soft and rose-sweet, the thrill of 
 beloved voices long lost to the outward ear, the swift 
 welcoming smile upon faces unseen for thirty years — 
 does not linger upon such days in the greenwood, tuned 
 to the ripple of waters and the hum of bees, when by my 
 side wandered young Laurence who loved me (albeit a 
 clerk), with the purest and most unselfish love which 
 man gives to woman. Yes, I will say it, it is the best 
 and purest, that which seeks not its own. But, in all 
 fairness let this be added — it is seldom the kind of love 
 which pleases a woman best or moves her most. 
 
 When he had fitted his last cog and pinion, it was 
 wonderful to note how Larry would leap up and cry, " It 
 is done ! Let us go together and see it grind the corn ! " 
 
 And so, hand in hand,' we would depart, and (by the 
 love wherewith I have loved those dearest to me I swear 
 it!) never once did he even press my hand, though 
 possibly in my excitement I may have pressed his. I do 
 not know. At any rate, there were elements of pleasure 
 about us somewhere, invisible, like the fairies about a 
 spring. 
 
 We would run, I say, to the little stream, and, choosing
 
 56 MAY MARGARET 
 
 a place where the trickle descended easily but not too 
 forcefully, we would arrange the uprights, and set the 
 mill-wheel a-going. Sometimes, also, Larry would carve 
 most cunningly contrived little buckets out of hard wood, 
 the which he fastened to a wheel, while he showed me 
 how to direct a little stream along a banked-up canal so 
 that it would run freely, and make what he called an 
 " overshot " wheel. This, he said, was the best sort, and 
 saved a great deal of water ; but as the water was not 
 ours, at any rate, and there was plenty of it, I did not see 
 the mighty saving. 
 
 It was pretty to watch him. hastening this way and that, 
 getting his hose wet, his curling hair all of a tangle, his 
 eyes bright, and his cheeks red as those of any young 
 maid waiting at the trysting tree. 
 
 I could not help saying to him, though perhaps I ought 
 not, " Larry, you are certainly a most distracting boy. 
 'Tis a world's pity you are a monk ! " 
 
 " I am no monk," he cried indignantly. " If I were a 
 monk, would I be here playing with a madcap girl ? " 
 
 " I do not know," I answered him ; " there are other and 
 worse things that you might do. And as to being a mad- 
 cap girl, / never was a holy abbot with a cure of souls, 
 with carp and trout, dace and jack, all in mew for Sun- 
 day's dinner ! Nor yet did / ever put on another man's 
 coat and ride a-tourneying with a Pope's Bull in my 
 pocket ! Madcap, indeed ! Who may be the madcap 
 now ? " 
 
 Of course, I only shammed anger, as is the best way 
 with boys — that is, if you want to find out what is in their 
 hearts (which, of course, you ought not to do). With 
 elder and more experienced men, the old-fashioned 
 dropping of salt-water from the eyes is still without a 
 rival. But with boys, and, they say, with those upon the 
 return to a second childhood, anger is a woman's best 
 weapon. 
 
 At any rate upon this occasion it was more than enough. 
 Never moorland whaup stricken to the heart by the 
 winged shaft of the archer from behind his decoy bush 
 fell more cleanly than did my poor Laurence.
 
 A YOUNG MAID'S LOVERS 57 
 
 " Do not be angry," he pleaded piteously. " Indeed I 
 meant no ill. I could not. For I love you — yes, I, who 
 am but a blacksmith's son and half a clerk besides — dare 
 to love you ! So that my heart is like to be broke because 
 I see you about to marry a man without loving him, and " 
 (here he paused a long time as if still afraid of my 
 anger), " loving another man without being able to marry 
 him ! " 
 
 I sprang to my feet, and then indeed I was angry, as 
 anyone may well believe. 
 
 " You mean James Douglas ! " I cried, taking a step 
 back from him. 
 
 Then he answered very gently — wondrously so indeed 
 for a son of Malise McKim. " God forgive me, I would 
 that I could say that I meant mysel ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MARGARET OF MARGARETS 
 
 At that I was wroth and with reason. For who could 
 have dreamed of such a thing — except, as I said, one 
 blinded by monkish ignorance or childish jealousy. Yes, 
 I was very angry, and I am glad to pass quickly from the 
 cruel words I spoke to my comrade. 
 
 But the truth is, that perhaps it was true that I had been 
 as the ostrich, which (says Leo Africanus) hides its head 
 in a heap of sand to escape the hunter. But it was, 
 indeed, small wonder that I was angry. For nothing 
 touches a woman more than to be reproved for that 
 which, till that moment, she thinks no one but herself 
 has perceived. 
 
 " I see it all now," I said, clenching (I am sure, for I 
 always do so) my hands by my side with the arms stiff. 
 " You have learned your lesson well, Sir Priest. William 
 Douglas has set you to spy upon me, has he? Well, go 
 back to him ! Carry your tale ! There is not much to 
 tell. Faith o' my body, I wish there had been more. 
 'Tis not the first time that you have been ambassador for 
 your patron. Who knows but he may have some further 
 advancement to give you ! " 
 
 It was still with the utmost gentleness that Laurence 
 listened, which was the more surprising, considering 
 what a spitfire he had been in earlier days, the days when 
 Sholto and he had flung themselves each on the other like 
 wild cats till separated by their father's waist strap and 
 arm of power, as hath been told elsewhere. 
 
 " No," he said, " William Douglas is, indeed, my master 
 and the head of my clan. But you know, Margaret, yes, 
 as well as I, that he has asked nothing, and I have told 
 him nothing. Yet is my heart sore for you, my dear, 
 my dear ! " 
 
 58
 
 MARGARET OF MARGARETS 59 
 
 " You forget to whom you speak ! " I said, trying to 
 build the dyke thus. But he would none of it. I had 
 played too long at blindman's-buff with him to stand of 
 a sudden upon my princesshood. 
 
 " I do not forget," he said, " I remember — everything. 
 I am the Abbot of Duke Cor, yet I call you ' my dear.' 
 You yourself it was gave me the office, yet you are ' my 
 dear.' I am the son of your father's armourer — a 
 blacksmith, if you will. Yet, for all that, and even 
 because of all that, you are (I say it again) ' My dear — 
 my dear — my dear ! ' " 
 
 I continued to look at him without speaking, yet no 
 longer angrily, but with a sort of warmth about the heart 
 which, if not love's self, was yet his cousin german. At any 
 rate this was better than Sister Eulalie and the Bald Cat. 
 
 Laurence went on, still holding the little mill-wheel 
 between his fingers — I think I see him yet. He kept 
 nervously turning it this way and that, adjusting a 
 bucket held in place with its wooden pin, and firming the 
 axle with care and skill. Yet with the most sorely pained 
 expression on his face, and something like a film of 
 unshed tears behind his eyes. He was sorry for himself, 
 yet he seemed, somehow, tenfold sorrier for me. And 
 indeed, the thought of this dear young lad, who had 
 never loved but me really, helped me many a time in 
 after hours, that of themselves were naught but the 
 blackness of pitchy darkness. It might have been better 
 if I could have followed my impulse of the morrow — but 
 it is false that a woman can do with herself as she will. 
 Nevertheless, it was in nowise his fault. For all that 
 Larry did and said was so sweet and simple and 
 undemanding. 
 
 Not at all like — like that other. Yet, perhaps, if Lau- 
 rence had asked more he might have saved me much, who 
 can tell? 
 
 " Ah," he continued, '' if only you loved as I would have 
 you love — how safe that would keep you. It is (I, who 
 am half a monk, know it — have seen it) a terrible thing 
 for a woman to marry a man she does not love, whom 
 she never can love ! "
 
 6o MAY MARGARET 
 
 " And, pray, Sir Abbot," I cried, " who are you to 
 judge of the Hkes and disHkes, loves and hates, marryings 
 and givings in marriage of Margaret of Douglas and 
 Galloway? Your breviary and the lives of the holy saints 
 Trophimus and Kentigern would suit you better ! Or, 
 perhaps that of St. Anthony might teach the danger of 
 championing damosels in distress." 
 
 But all this was thrown away upon the fixity of 
 Laurence McKim's purpose, and changed nothing of the 
 sweet and gentle melancholy with which he spoke. 
 There was no passion in his words or in his speech, as 
 there would have been in James Douglas's — but all pure 
 and child-tender, at times almost maternal. Where 
 had the lad learned the secret? Within and without he 
 was wholly different from the rough-colted boy who had 
 gone forth with my uncle, the Abbot, to learn singing 
 at Sweetheart on the eve of the great tournament on the 
 Lochar braes. 
 
 " It is true," he said, " you have every right to flout me. 
 But, all the same, you will never love William Douglas. 
 And, being the girl you are, the last daughter of your 
 race, a Douglas of the Douglases, you must have someone 
 to love. If that one be not a good man — ah, then I see 
 clouds black and terrible rise up before us. And I risk 
 all — your favour. Earl William's favour, my place and 
 rank, which I owe to you — so that when the storm comes 
 you may know that there is one who will love you truly 
 and surely — even as, if they had lived, your brothers 
 would — and in the same fashion." 
 
 Then I think that Laurence saw I was not scornful any 
 more, for the tone of his voice grew more cheerful — 
 not glad or amorous, or even hopeful, but as of one who 
 feels neither himself nor his motives any longer mis- 
 understood. 
 
 " Half a priest — yes," he said, still with the tone of 
 gentle melancholy which sat so well on him. " But, 
 thank God, not a whole monk. Do not forget that I have 
 been longer alone within that fair abbot's house at the 
 New Abbey, within sound of the vesper bells, than you in 
 the convent of St. Brigida. Yes, and I have been much
 
 MARGARET OF MARGARETS 6i 
 
 lonelier, for I was not meant to be a holy man, according 
 to the acceptation of the Orders. Yet I obey — that is, 
 as far as in me is. But my heart is apart from this 
 thing. To be kindly to all, helpful to as many as possible, 
 to do evil to none, to carry no ill tale and to listen to none. 
 Such things as these I read in four booklets called ' the 
 Holy Gospels.' But that is noways religion according 
 to the Church and the Orders. To pray so often, to eat 
 meat on this day and fish on that, to fast till noon on 
 chicken-broth, to click so many beads, to sing so many 
 hymns, to declare all men outcast and condemned, going 
 before into judgment, unless they can prove themselves 
 properly ear-marked sheep of the churchly pasture, 
 lambs of the monkish fold ! " 
 
 " Laurence," I broke in hastily, " in such a case were it 
 not better to cast your abbotship to the winds, to bend 
 bow or lay spear in rest as a knight or yeoman? Nay, to 
 cut wood and draw water like a villein, rather than to 
 abide, practising the things in which you do not believe, 
 chanting songs without a meaning, carrying forth sacra- 
 ments to mock dying lips? " 
 
 He appeared to consider a while. 
 
 " There is somewhat in what you say, though, in fact, I 
 do none of these things," thus he answered me. '* Also, 
 there is an obverse to the coin. In the first place, at least, 
 I can make of Dulce Cor a clean place as compared with 
 other foundations, a harbourage of peace and right 
 living, a centre of help and kindly brotherhood. For 
 not the Grand Bashaw of the Turks has more absolute 
 power than I in the Cistercian abbey of Sweetheart — so 
 long, that is, as I have the Douglases at my back." 
 
 I shook my head in my turn. 
 
 " You are keeping something behind that," I said. 
 *' Larry, you cannot deceive me. You, a soldier and a 
 brave lad to drive a spear, handsome and young. You 
 should not be content to rule in a monastery, when you 
 could as easily lead five hundred men, all clad in mail, 
 into the shock and turmoil of battle. No, Larry lad, 
 you ever liked your drink heady. Tell me the true 
 reason why you have come down to curds and whey ! "
 
 62 MAY MARGARET 
 
 He thought a while and then said, " It is true — there is 
 more behind." 
 
 " Tell it me, then ! " said I. 
 
 And I laid my hand upon his arm, looking at him. 
 For one could not help being gracious with Laurence. 
 At least I could not. He never presumed even once — 
 perhaps I should add, "Alas " ! 
 
 " I have little to live for," he said, " leave me this. I 
 would rather a thousand times spend my life in a cell, 
 than take away the one hope which I hold in the deep 
 places of my heart." 
 
 "And that hope is?" 
 
 " That one day the White House of the Sisters of Dulce 
 Cor may be a refuge for you — at the storm-breaking, in 
 the day which shall come — yes, surely ! " 
 
 " But am I not to be the wife of William Douglas, 
 Earl of Galloway and Duke of Touraine? What need 
 shall I have of refuges and convents? I had done with 
 such on the day I left Cour Chevemey yonder ! " 
 
 " Ah, wait," he made answer, gently as ever, " the great 
 house stands high and the winds bear sore upon it. 
 The tides run strong beneath. But mine is but a little 
 dwelling, set in a green howe, with only a streamlet that 
 runs thereby. And — I am content. At least it shall be 
 kept in readiness for you." 
 
 " Then you think that William will not succeed in his 
 great schemes for Scotland — or that he will perish in 
 the doing of them?" 
 
 " As to that, there is none who can tell," Laurence 
 answered. " either William of Douglas will be the first 
 man in the land or — his head will go the way of those 
 other two — his cousins ! " 
 
 " Then," said I, " there is one other of the race who will 
 stand by the chief, and the name of her — Margaret 
 Douglas." 
 
 Laurence smiled, yet with something so strange, so far 
 away and sweet in his smile, that I asked him what he 
 meant. For it seemed that I had not yet snatched the 
 whole heart out of the mystery he propounded. 
 
 But he would only say, " My Margaret of Margarets,
 
 MARGARET OF MARGARETS 63 
 
 it is the rule of the Master of All that days run to weeks, 
 that weeks being summed, make the months, and the 
 returning months count the years and the lifetime. That 
 is a long time for a woman of the Douglas race to do 
 without being loved. As for the love with which I love 
 you — it is (I promise you) as the well-water in the Abbey 
 precinct, under the great oak, cool, clear, and — savour- 
 less. But you Douglases, man and woman of you, 
 drink of love as one who quenches his thirst in strong 
 wine, goblet after goblet. So it was with your brother, 
 and so it will be with you ! " 
 " Bah," said I, " you preach too much, Laurence McKim ! 
 And all your texts are taken from the Song of Solomon — 
 which even clerks ought to read only on high days and 
 holidays. I agree not with your conclusions. I deny 
 your premises. I will none of your reproof. Set up 
 your mill-wheel in the linn, and let us be going!"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE GARDEN AT AMBOISE 
 
 It was the Dauphin who conducted us to Amboise — why, 
 I did not at the time know. And such a way as it proved 
 from Cour Cheverney, past telHng of — all along the green 
 river banks, the blossoms of the fruit trees blushing in 
 the sunshine, a pink haze of blown petals, like a morning 
 mist, pearling all across the orchards of Touraine — a 
 sweet thing to see, that high day and holiday of the year. 
 
 This time we rode quietly and steadily ; for Varlet had 
 been exercised of late, and — I had no need to run away 
 from three men who, each according to his possible, loved 
 me, or at least told me that he did. With these about me, 
 I cared little even for the shifty, baleful, yellowish eye 
 of the Dauphin Louis. For (as I thought then), 
 William was his equal in statecraft; James certainly 
 could have cut him in twelve, like the Levite's concubine, 
 with as many strokes of his sword ; and as for Larry, 
 Louis de Valois was afraid that, in his quality of Abbot, 
 he would ban him with bell, book, and candle. 
 
 So I rode and held myself safe, not knowing of the 
 depth of the creature's guile, and the cruelties which even 
 then were fermenting like yeast in his brain. 
 
 As usual, William Douglas and the Dauphin bode 
 together — hard at it, now in fierce debate, now in hushed 
 conference, the miles padding unheeded between their 
 horses' hoofs, and the fair landscape lying all unregarded. 
 
 A little behind, Laurence rode with one or two of his 
 ambassador's suite about him, on his white mule; and, 
 save for the wistful eyes he turned upon me whenever I 
 looked his way, one might have thought him happy 
 enough. But, since I knew that by the turn of a finger 
 I could bring him to my side, I stayed with James, who, 
 as usual, was the gayest of all that company. 
 I think, too, that I was a little revengeful, because of 
 
 64
 
 THE GARDEN AT AMBOISE 65 
 
 what Laurence had taken it upon him to say in the wood 
 the day we set the water-mills whirling. After all, 
 though I liked Laurence McKim, and he was of the 
 pleasant of the earth, he had no right to dictate to me 
 what I should say or with whom I should speak. 
 
 At any rate, he should learn his lesson, and then, when I 
 had need — why, I could always call him back as one 
 whistles to heel a well-trained dog. So, and because of 
 these things, I rode with James. There were besides 
 several good Scottish knights with us, but, their kindred 
 ignorance of French shutting them in like a cage, they 
 had little to say even to each other — nothing at all to me. 
 
 Now, in all that bright land of Touraine, there is no 
 castle (and there are many) so beautiful for situation as 
 that of Amboise. I, who am now an old woman and 
 have lived in these latter days to see vast changes, have 
 seen no vaster change anywhere than in the architecture 
 of the houses in which great folk live. 
 
 Now (they tell me) Amboise glistens with round tower 
 and embayed window like a piece of jewellery new coft in 
 St. Mark's Square at Venice. Then, as I mind it, though 
 the residence of the gayest Court in the world, with the 
 King and all his folk flaunting in gold and colours, the 
 castle itself had little of splendour, being an ancient keep 
 with courtyard and flanking towers — not near so fine, 
 indeed, as Cour Cheverney, albeit very much larger. 
 Thick walls, great towers, with low doors therein — no 
 entrance gate half so splendid as that of Thrieve — 
 mighty wastes of masonry, doubtless good against sun and 
 archery, but with slotted windows which made the lower 
 stories like a vault, while to the upper the staircases were 
 so narrow and difficult that scarce two could ascend at 
 one time abreast, all of them after the old fashion, too, 
 twisting and turning in the thickness of the wall. 
 
 But as to the setting of this wilderness of stone and lime, 
 never had I seen such a place. 
 
 From the great terrace, lo! all fertile Touraine, the 
 Garden of France — which is to say, of the world. 
 Yonder was the green of the river banks, shining emerant 
 through a lawny drift of peach blossom, the clearer hue
 
 66 MAY MARGARET 
 
 of almond, the white wax of cherry and apple — on and 
 on till the distance turned into a land of dream, or some 
 Avalon lost among the clouds of sunset. Beneath, the 
 Loire swung past in a great circle, almost bending back 
 upon itself, and blue as only a river of France can be 
 under the sky of May and (iaul. 
 
 In the outer courts and gardens were many courtiers, 
 who saluted the Dauphin with deep reverences. But 
 Louis, striding through the press of them in his apparel 
 of dusty black, his buckleless belt tied with whip-cord, his 
 spurs uncleaned, and narrow-brimmed steel cap which 
 many a gay arquebusier would have scorned to wear, 
 never so much as acknowledged one of their greetings. 
 He passed through a gate which led out of a courtyard 
 into a garden, never pausing till, at a certain iron port, 
 a man in armour stood on guard. 
 
 " None must pass within ! " the sentry grumbled, frown- 
 ing and grounding his pike with an air of authority. 
 
 But it was fine to see how the Dauphin set him aside, as 
 if he had been a wooden puppet. 
 
 " I go to my father," he said ; " let me pass this 
 instant ! " 
 
 And then with an officiousness mightily impressive there 
 came one who, by his chain of office, was a sort of major- 
 domo or chief steward, and he stood before Louis of 
 Valois in all the bravery of gold-worked tabard and 
 silver-hilted sword, the latter shaped like a toothpick and 
 of as much use. He had on his head a broad flat bonnet 
 of purple velvet, which he doffed as he bowed low before 
 his master's son. James, amused and yet no little 
 amazed, regarded him as if he had been a green frog 
 swelling himself to croak. 
 
 "The King takes the air," the major-domo said; "will 
 it inconvenience His Highness the Dauphin to wait a 
 moment while his servant announces him to the King?" 
 
 " It would inconvence me exceedingly," said the 
 Dauphin, with a sneer, " only the Dauphin of France has 
 no idea of being preceded into his father's presence by — 
 let us say with as little offence as possible — Sir Pandarus 
 of Troy ! "
 
 THE GARDEN AT AMBOISE 67 
 
 And with that he opened the door with his own hand, 
 and I could see within as through a crevice in a wall. 
 
 It was a fine enclosure, laid out with green paths and 
 shady with noble trees, having little fountains that 
 babbled all about. The place was full as it could hold 
 of the lilies of the Virgin, orange and straw-colour and 
 white, jetting up from the green and nodding graciously 
 in the breeze. 
 
 James Douglas had stood aside for me to enter first, as 
 my right was. But William Douglas came and caught 
 me by the wrist when I had already set my foot on the 
 threshold. He gripped me almost fiercely, and indeed, 
 even hurt my wrist. 
 
 He drew back with some rudeness, saying only, " Let 
 the Dauphin go find his father first. It is ill coming 
 between such a son and such a father ! " 
 
 Then I sulked a little and pouted, holding out my hand, 
 as a child does with a hurt. Of this William Douglas 
 took no notice at all, but only stood with his back to the 
 garden door. Then came James up, and, taking my wrist 
 between his fingers, pretended to chafe it, murmuring 
 many jesting bairnlinesses — yet with some of the accom- 
 paniments of real tenderness as well. Laurence, in deep 
 dudgeon at something, gnawed at his under lip and 
 gloomed at me from afar. 
 
 So I could not help laughing at him. I laughed indeed 
 so that, leaving James, I went up to him and said, " If 
 it pleases his Reverency, the Abbot of Dulce Cor, to girn 
 at me like a sheep's head in the tongs, perhaps he would 
 like to " swage the ill himself ! " 
 
 And I held out the arm and wrist to him, knowing well 
 that in his heart his desire was to kiss it, and that he 
 dared not before so many. It is good to be able to tease 
 a man thus in safety, and yet nobody know of it. 
 
 " What was the cause of the misfortune ? " he said, 
 suddenly rallying a little as I made to leave him again. 
 
 " Methinks," said I, " it was only a certain Bull, that 
 hath taken it upon him to show his horns a little too 
 soon ! " 
 
 It seemed as if neither William nor Laurence took mv
 
 68 MAY MARGARET 
 
 meaning, for both remained fixed and with grave coun- 
 tenances. But with his head thrown back my great out- 
 spoken James shouted a laugh to the skies, which the 
 Dauphin must have heard in the garden. 
 
 " She is a very vixen-reynard, this one," he said. 
 " She nips shrewdly. Will, my lad, she means the Pope's 
 Bull that you have gotten to marry her ! And she twits 
 you that you are not married yet, and have no authority 
 over her impishness !" 
 
 " Ah ! " said William calmly, without appearing to have 
 heard the explanation of the sorry jest (all jests are sorry 
 when explicated), "here is the Dauphin. Doubtless he 
 comes to bring us to the king, his father." 
 
 Now, when I thought of the king of France, Charles, 
 seventh of that name, I took him for a sovereign of power 
 and inches, making men obey him as did Will, my 
 cousin, or able to drive a lance with any man, like James. 
 So I was ill prepared for that which indeed I saw — a man 
 of the middle height, fleshy and otiose, with red-rimmed 
 smallish eyes, full of good humour and slow laughters, 
 which, though most silent, shook him like a jelly. He 
 was walking in a certain alley, the widest of all, under the 
 sparse sprinkling shadow of high lilac bushes. He held 
 by the hand the most beautiful lady and the sweetest to 
 look upon that eyes ever beheld. And I, Margaret 
 Douglas, that have been made mickle of all my life, in 
 mine own country and elsewhere, may, in such a matter, 
 be trusted to tell the truth. 
 
 And as the men all uncovered except Laurence (who, 
 being a clerk, only bowed deeply), the king broke into 
 a volley of thick, guttural speech, very rapidly spoken — 
 which, though my ears had been attuned to nothing but 
 French for years, it was still difficult for me to make 
 out. 
 
 Charles extended his right hand to be kissed, and one 
 by one all bent and kissed the plump fingers — white, 
 scented, and spanned with rings, like those of any Court 
 dame. But I, having nothing to ask of him and nothing 
 to fear, with great gravity gave him my hand to kiss (an 
 it liked him), whereat he laughed, and the lady by his
 
 THE GARDEN AT AMBOISE 69 
 
 side, whose hand he had held all the while, smiled, and 
 nodded at me approvingly. 
 
 " Do it ! " she bade the King-. " If I mistake not, it is 
 a privilege which more than one of these gentlemen 
 present will envy you ! " 
 
 " Indeed, nay ! " I cried. " Why, no more than five 
 minutes ago I offered it to two of them, and " 
 
 But the King, with his hat off, was kissing my hand, 
 while the Dauphin, in whose eyes I caught death and 
 murder, stood glaring at the beautiful lady at his father's 
 side as if he would like to kill her upon the spot. 
 
 Then Charles VII. presented us all to her — myself, the 
 Earl of Douglas, my Lord James, his brother, and that 
 holy ecclesiast in partibus, Laurence, Abbot of Dulce 
 Cor. 
 
 " The Lady Agnes Sorel ! " said the King of France, 
 with manifest pride, " sometime Demoiselle de Fromen- 
 tau, now Comtesse de Penthievre, and above all " (here he 
 smiled), "Dame de Beaute." 
 
 I took my eyes just long enough off that radiant face, 
 full of gentleness and pity, as well as extraordinary 
 beauty, to observe the effect she produced upon my com- 
 panions. As for me, I had the grace to feel but a school- 
 girl beside her. Indeed, I have never been jealous of a 
 woman in my life. It is not my way — nor, indeed, my 
 need. So, I said to myself, " I am but a girl, it is true — 
 but I will grow older. This Dame de Beaute is a woman 
 and will grow old." 
 
 The which, alas ! she never did, dying to the roar of the 
 wind through the Northern woods she had helped the 
 King to reconquer — the Seine running below brimful, 
 past the ancient abbey of Jumieges, where dwelt the 
 Dauphin of France — this same Louis de Valois, who is 
 sore belied if he knew not in what manner she died. 
 
 Well, be that as it may, William stood stock-still, silent, 
 stern, gloomy as a fir wood in November. He made her 
 the reverence which he never refused to any woman, old 
 or young, sinner or saint. And I said to myself, " Here, 
 surely, is the man that will never be touched by the power 
 of woman. Even now, he is thinking of his plans and
 
 70 
 
 MAY MARGARET 
 
 plottings ! " The which, doubtkss, should have been a 
 great comfort to me ! 
 
 But, as usual, James made up for all. He knelt on one 
 knee and kissed the hand of the Dame de Beaute with 
 such lingering courtesy and lover-like fervour that he 
 well-nigh made me laugh. 
 
 Then the King, taking Will suddenly by the arm, per- 
 haps in dudgeon at James's forwardness, marched him 
 off, the Dauphin accompanying them — probably more to 
 listen to their conversation than to attend upon his father 
 from any idea of filial obedience. 
 
 We were, therefore, left a party of three. For Laurence 
 and his monks had withdrawn themselves to another part 
 of the garden. It was a festal day, indeed, for our 
 gallant James — with two women, both young and one of 
 them beautiful, to squire here and there among the 
 hawthorn and daffodillies. 
 
 He found time, however, while the lady turned to give 
 some directions to her maids, to communicate to me, 
 the name by which Agnes Sorel will be known to the 
 end of time. 
 
 " La Belle des Belles! " he whispered, with his finger 
 on his lip. Yet, knowing James as I did, I think he 
 meant the lady to hear. For James could only be 
 James to the world's end.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "la belle des belles'' 
 
 " Who may she be, that is so beautiful ? " I asked of 
 James. 
 
 *' She is our Queen's ward — her favourite, and has given 
 much good counsel to the King in matters concerning 
 which the Queen is incapable," said James calmly, 
 " specially, that is, as to fighting the English, and 
 expelling them from the country. Have you not heard 
 what she said to the King when it was foretold by his 
 own soothsayer that she should live to do service to a 
 great and victorious sovereign. ' Then let me go to the 
 court of the King of England,' said she, rising to take 
 her leave, ' that I may serve him ! For as for His 
 Majesty of France, he cares for naught save hunting 
 and pleasure. I but lose my time and hinder the ful- 
 filling of my destiny by remaining longer here ! ' Which 
 when the King heard that, he was stung to the heart, and 
 forthwith girded on his armour and did valiantly in many 
 battles. Then Agnes Sorel retired for five years to her 
 country seat, where she had been brought up as a young 
 girl. But of late the Queen, seeing that the King again 
 drew slack to oppose the English, went in person to fetch 
 her back to the court, which many thought she was 
 foolish for doing. But here comes Her Majesty the 
 Queen in person." 
 
 And across the green alleys, as it were from the side 
 curtains of the garden, about which cropped hedges of 
 yew were drawn in a sort of narrow labyrinth, there came 
 a gracious lady, sedate and grave of aspect, yet without 
 obvious melancholy. 
 
 Marie of Anjou, Queen of France, was still in the 
 flower of her age, well able to attend to the affairs domes- 
 tic of a court which had no fixed seat. But, for the rest, 
 
 71
 
 ^2 MAY MARGARET 
 
 she had no influence with the King, who, when she 
 reproached him that the EngHsh were not expelled from 
 Guyenne, replied that he knew very well that she only 
 wanted to get the fish for Fridays better and cheaper 
 from Bordeaux ! So after one or two attempts she left 
 the whole governance of the King, in such matters, to her 
 young ward, the lady Agnes, whose title of Dame de 
 Beaute constitutes by no means the greatest of her claims 
 to be remembered. 
 
 James Douglas bent the knee to the Queen of France, 
 but, as I judged, with something less of fervour than he 
 had showed when he kissed the hand of Mistress Sorel. 
 
 " And who may this be ? " she said with her motherly 
 serenity, looking long at me, and then turning to 
 Mademoiselle Sorel for information. 
 
 The Dame de Beaute lowered her eyes and smiled, but, 
 for reasons which I appreciate better now than then, she 
 left James to make the introduction. 
 
 " A princess in your own right, my dear ? " said the 
 queen, " and to marry your cousin by the special per- 
 mission of His Holiness the Pope — you are a happy 
 woman, or ought to be. Indeed, if this be the cousin — 
 (she turned towards the Lord James as he spoke, but 
 Agnes Sorel quickly interrupted) — ** Permit me to set 
 Your Majesty right," she murmured; "that tall, dark 
 man over there is the Earl of Douglas ; he who talks to 
 the King and the Dauphin concerning state affairs in 
 the alcove yonder." 
 
 The Queen looked at the three men, of whom one was 
 her husband and the other her son. These two were 
 bending towards William Douglas and listening eagerly, 
 as Will, with his usual self-absorption, laid down the law 
 on some subject of importance to himself. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " I would it had not been so — for your 
 sake, that is, my little lady. No woman can halter these 
 men of many and great ideas. When you wed, my 
 princess, see that you keep the smile ready on your lips 
 even when the tears lag not far behind. Lock the sad- 
 ness up, but let the hearth-fire be lit, and (if God be 
 good to you) the children playing about the door when
 
 "LA BELLE DES BELLES" 73 
 
 your husband rides back through the outer gate. For the 
 ideas of such a man drive him fast and far — yea, against 
 his will. His very greatness compels him to go on and 
 yet on. Stop he cannot. His task will never be done. 
 Kingdoms unknown, foes unproved, there are to conquer. 
 New horizons open continually before him, and — I dis- 
 cern clearly the gloom of fate unfulfilled on his face ! If 
 he die in his bed, thi? husband whom you have chosen, I 
 am cheated of my foresight — I, a woman who have 
 suffered much, tell you so! A gloomy prophecy — yet it 
 is better that the heart should be forewarned." 
 
 Then she turned to James, who had been listening with 
 an amazed expression to the Queen's words, for indeed 
 he loved not sad talk at any time. " And the great 
 blonde cousin here," she added, "is he yet'wedded?" 
 
 James laughed softly and a little scornfully. 
 
 " Nay," he said ; " those I would have will none of me. 
 And as for the others " 
 
 At this point, even as he shrugged his shoulders, 
 Mademoiselle Sorel turned her eyes upon him. There 
 was a smile in them — a smile which, for some reason, 
 discomfited our good James no little. 
 
 "May I walk with you, little one?" she said, gently 
 touching me on the shoulder with her hand. " I think 
 the Queen has something to say to my Lord James of 
 Douglas ! " 
 
 They walked away together, while we followed them, 
 silent till we had entered upon the alleys of green shade, 
 in which the Queen's head-dress (of the fashion of twenty 
 years ago, winged above like a sea swallow and with a 
 falling frill of white muslin to cover the neck below) 
 reminded me of my mother in the old days at Thrieve — 
 as she was wont to stand in the embrasure of the tower, 
 looking eastward for the home-coming of the " boys," 
 who would never grow to be men. 
 
 The Queen and James soon passed out of sight. I was 
 left alone with Agnes Sorel. For a time she did not speak, 
 pacing gently along with her eyes abased upon the tall 
 Easter Hlies, which, in the light wind, swayed like her 
 own slender body.
 
 74 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Little maid," she said, " I am well-nigh twice as old 
 as you — and no longer a girl. I have seen much, and, 
 they say, have profited thereby. They call me still ' La 
 Belle des Belles ! ' These nicknames stick long. They 
 ought rather to call me the wisest of those who once were 
 fair. The profit may have been great, but it has also been 
 bitter. Bear with me ! " 
 
 " You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen ! " 
 The words came from me I hardly know how. But I 
 meant them — yes, as if I, too, had been her lover. 
 
 She sighed, and looked about her a little wistfully. 
 
 " I have never thought much of that," she said gently. 
 
 " Nay," I answered, feeling somehow more at ease with 
 her, " others were, I doubt not, ready enough to do that 
 for you ! " 
 
 She poised a finger at me with an expression half arch, 
 half melancholy. 
 
 " Little flatterer," she said, " do they teach even the 
 maids to utter love glosings in their cradles in Scotland? 
 Or have the Sisters taught you the trick at St. Brigida's 
 along with the abacus and broidering frame ? " 
 
 " Neither," I said. *' I speak the truth as I think it ! " 
 
 " Ah, wait, little lady," she said. " In two years you 
 will be as a bird-of-paradise to my barn-door fowl. You 
 gain every day in beauty. Wit you have already, as is 
 abundantly manifest. What you want is wisdom. That 
 is all I now possess. In everything else I am far upon 
 the return ! " 
 
 " Not so, my Lady of Beauty," I answered her. " You 
 will never cease to be as young and beautiful as I see vou 
 now ! " 
 
 (And when I spoke I knew not how true the words 
 vere to prove.) 
 
 But she only smiled sadly and answered me in a proverb 
 of her country, as, indeed, she had a habit of doing. 
 
 "Adieu, baskets," she said, "vintage is done!" 
 
 Then gently and sweetly, as she did everything, she 
 looked at me. 
 
 " But, my dear," she continued, " it is not so with you. 
 Your baskets are of the finest silver and they are worthy
 
 "LA BELLE DES BELLES" 75 
 
 to be filled with apples of gold. But will they be? Ah " 
 (here she sighed), " it is not good for a woman to be too 
 beautiful — or what is the same thing, to have the name 
 for it." 
 
 " But I am not," I said, awkwardly enough — blushing 
 too, I doubt. For had not James told me that very thing 
 two hours agone as we rode to Amboise? Not that I 
 heeded James much, for he was always cataloguing my 
 charms like a bill of accompt ! But Larry — well, Larry 
 spoke the truth even when it hurt. Only Will, my 
 cousin, cared nothing for the matter one way or other. 
 Indeed, I doubt if ever he remarked my face more than 
 the spangles on the wungs of the summer butterflies that 
 fluttered by, balancing themselves like thistledown in the 
 light wind. So it is small wonder that I blushed because 
 La Belle des Belles said this thing. 
 
 Whereupon immediately she took my arm and bent over 
 me, most loverlike. 
 
 " Princess," she said, " there is a proverb — ' Buy peace 
 and a house ready built ! ' That is my advice. Love 
 your husband and none other man. He is, they say, both 
 a good man and a wise — a little hard, maybe, but yet to 
 the wife who keeps the home-fires bright, a husband has 
 a nose of wax. Nine times out of ten, she can make of 
 him what she will. So at least we say in Touraine, 
 and I judge it is a true word. There is, of course, the 
 tenth ! " 
 
 " But I can never love my cousin Will," I cried, " no, not 
 if he were to be twenty years my husband ! " 
 
 Agnes Sorel rested her hand a little more heavily on my 
 shoulder as she replied, " Yes, you will love him — only 
 pray God it may not be too late ! " 
 
 I looked about me. Will was, as I expected, deep in 
 talk with the King, and the Dauphin was sitting by, 
 watching them out of those twinkling pupils of his eyes, 
 which closed and opened again ever so little, like a cat's 
 in the sun. 
 
 But James, walking with the Queen, was at the moment 
 looking over his shoulder at me, and actually had the 
 audacity to make that pouting movement of the lips which
 
 ye MAY MARGARET 
 
 the French call petite moue. He would rather have been 
 with us, he meant to say ; and he did it so openly that I 
 was frightened lest the King or other might see him. 
 
 "The Lord James is your husband's brother?" said 
 Agnes Sorel, with (I thought) more of meaning in her 
 tone than was necessary. 
 
 " One of five ! " I answered ; " the eldest after the Earl ! " 
 
 " He follows you ? " she continued, as if it were a matter 
 of public knowledge. 
 
 " Nay," answered I, with some little heat, " he saved me 
 from the dungeons of the Marechal de Retz at Machecoul, 
 and on that account I have seen more of him than of my 
 other cousins, who besides are much younger. Will, 
 whom for the sake of the House I must marry, I have 
 scarce seen at all." 
 
 " Ah," she said, after a pause, " then you love this James. 
 I am sorry. Such round-the-corner affection as this is 
 poor capital to begin house-keeping on ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I love him not — no, nor any man in the world," 
 I cried with much hotness of speech. " I would give all 
 I possess to rid me of the whole wearyful teasing crew. 
 And of all things that tease, my cousins are the worst — 
 excepting Will, that is, who takes no notice of any- 
 thing." 
 
 " And that," here the Dame de Beaute smiled, " you 
 being a woman, like worst of all!" 
 
 " Nay," said I, returning to the main question, " you 
 do James a great wrong. He loves me, indeed, but he 
 would as lief say so before his brother as to myself, and 
 as for William — if he did, why he would only continue 
 to expound Rights Royal and Rights Seigneurial, Privi- 
 lege and Prerogative, Domaines and Feodalities, while 
 James made verses upon my eyelashes or told over for the 
 fiftieth time the rings upon my fingers ! " 
 
 The brows of the Dame de Beaute were drawn into 
 a frown. The line of finnness showed plain between 
 them. 
 
 " I must speak with William, Earl of Douglas," she 
 murmured; "this marches worse than I thought." 
 
 " You shall not," 1 cried, snatching away from her.
 
 "LA BELLE DES BELLES" 77 
 
 " What right have you to take so much upon you ? "What 
 am I to you — aye, or what is William Douglas either? 
 Pray grind your own corn with the water out of your 
 own mill-dam, Mistress Agnes Sorel ! " 
 
 The Dame de Beaute was no ways put down by my 
 rudeness ; indeed, since I had spoken as a baby, she 
 treated me as one. 
 
 " To-day explains Yesterday, and To-morrow the Day 
 After," she said; "but we must wait the Last Day of 
 All to know everything! Then you also will know that 
 I was right. Though now my words anger you, and are 
 out of tune to your ear, believe that I know that which is 
 best for you. Have I not bought that knowledge with a 
 great price? Let your heart follow your hand, and, as 
 you love God, draw yourself apart from the Lord James, 
 your cousin ! He is a light man. He hath the wandering 
 eye. He will make no woman happy ! " 
 
 " You shall not speak against James," I cried, yet more 
 angrily than before. " I have known him from a child. 
 He saved me from death — aye, worse, from the Altar of 
 Evil itself at Machecoul. He can drive a lance with any 
 man in France. It is not given you to say to a woman's 
 heart, ' Stay here, or go there.' When you were young as 
 I, could you do as much with your own? " 
 
 The Dame de Beaute bowed her head, and I think a tear 
 fell upon her hand. 
 
 " God help me, that could I not ! " she murmured ; " but 
 my failure only makes me the wiser physician for others. 
 May the Mother Mary, in her mercy, keep your feet from 
 the way mine have walked in ! " 
 
 I took her hand, and would have answered more gently, 
 for there were tears also in my eyes. But at that moment 
 William, my cousin, came up, and, putting his hand on 
 my arm, almost dragged me away, making no apology, 
 saying neither By-y'r-leave nor yet Fare-ye-well ! " 
 
 " The King desires to see you ! " He said the words 
 roughly. " Come ! " 
 
 Then, as was natural, I flew into a yet greater anger, and 
 said to him, " Do you think, sirrah, that this is the way to 
 make a young maid love you ? "
 
 78 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " I did not ask you to love me," he retorted upon me ; 
 " only to obey me! " 
 
 "Do as he bids; he is right!" murmured Agnes Sorel 
 softly, as she turned away, her eyes upon the green 
 untrodden grass and the nodding lilies of Our Lady.
 
 . CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MISTS OF DEE 
 
 I CONFESS It was with a marvellous gladness that I saw 
 our ancient castle of Thrieve stand up out of the morn- 
 ing mists, as we rode up Deeside from the little port of 
 Kirkcudbright, where we had landed. I was once more 
 in the land and among the people who were mine own. I 
 could scarce repress my joy. When I leaped on the 
 quay, I declare I could have kissed the many decent 
 town's folk, who, with sundry of the neighbouring gen- 
 trice, had come down to welcome me. It was sweet to 
 hear their honest Scots tongue again, though oftentimes 
 I could hardly keep from answering back in French. 
 
 But Thrieve ! To see it once more and know it mine — 
 yes, mine, even though I must fulfil my word and give 
 it (with myself) to another, and he a man whom I could 
 not love. 
 
 But I did not think of that then — Thrieve and Maud 
 Lindsay and Sholto ! These were before me, and my 
 heart beat fast to see the valley opening out, and the 
 white haze lifting from the water-meadows. For though 
 we had left it full summer in Touraine, we came to Gallo- 
 way to find it little more than the breaking out of the 
 spring-time on the white-thorns on the braes. 
 
 And (so I kept saying to myself) Maud could tell me 
 what I must do — Maud would understand all. She would 
 not preach like the others. She would know that the best 
 way to make a young maid think of any man is constantly 
 to abuse him to her behind his back. So they had done 
 with James Douglas — all but William, that is — who, I 
 believe, had as much idea of being jealous of his stable- 
 knave. 
 
 But there was Laurence — whose angers, however, 
 because of what I believe was in his heart towards me, 
 
 79
 
 8o MAY MARGARET 
 
 I could understand and forgive. But every day there 
 was this one and that — each with a tale to bear of my 
 Lord James and his wild doings — concerning maids of 
 honour and such like. Last of all, and worst of all, there 
 was Agnes Sorel, who had had so many bitter things to 
 say of one concerning whom she knew nothing. Even 
 the Sieur Paul (no white angel himself) could not let the 
 poor lad go from Cour Cheverney without a blow in 
 the by-going, perhaps thinking to curry favour with me. 
 
 " You are marrying the right brother," he said ; " you 
 will sleep the easier for it ! My Lord Quicksilver here 
 would be always out at the hay-making ! " 
 
 But I answered him back that it was all upon the turn of 
 a coin which of my cousins I wedded — that they were all 
 five of them brave men, right Douglases, and true Scots. 
 The which words, being sorry for afterwards, caused me 
 upon taking of my leave, to hold up my cheek for the 
 Sieur Paul to kiss — saying that it was an ancient Scots 
 custom, the first time that one had tasted of a good man's 
 hospitality. And Messire Paul had the grace to reply, 
 " I thank you, my lady Princess, for your great conde- 
 scendence. By St. Denis, if I had been a younger man, 
 and somewhat slimmer of my body, I should have broken 
 a lance with these lads myself for the honour of your 
 hand — though, indeed, as to the matter of your vow 
 I am no Scot, but only a true Douglas in name and in 
 heart ! " 
 
 "■ Well," I said, " for that good and brave saying I will 
 give you back your kiss — which is more than I have ever 
 given to any of these very poor young men, riding upon 
 horses ! " 
 
 For I knew how envious James was for the like, and of 
 course it pleased me to think that he would hear and see. 
 Which, indeed, he did, and grilled within him — not speak- 
 ing a word for the better part of a day, as we took our 
 way down the water-side towards the port of Nantes, 
 where we were to embark in the little ship which was to 
 bring us safe to Scotland. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 But it is of Thrieve and my home-coming that 1 have to
 
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 THE MISTS OF DEE 8i 
 
 speak. One thing- there was which appeared strange to 
 me. Already WilHam had taken all under his care. It 
 was " my castle," " my men," " my lands," " my fiefs " — 
 till I was moved to say, " Not so fast, my dear Lord of 
 Douglas and Avondale — here you are only my cousin 
 Will, come on a visit to MY castle. Do not, in the press 
 of your plans, forget that poor little Margaret is still 
 the chatelaine of Thrieve ! " 
 
 Never did you see a man more taken aback. 
 
 " Betrothed or married— it is the same thing," he said. 
 " Besides, have I not faithfully administered your estates 
 for you all the time you have spent in France ? " 
 
 " Yes, surely, Will," said I, in the tone that never failed 
 to make him nettled, " it is of that I would speak. You 
 were doubtless a good ' doer,' an excellent steward. But 
 now that I am once more in my province and principality 
 — why, I am proud to be able to entertain my Lord of 
 Avondale, his brother, the Lord James, and the Abbot of 
 Dulce Cor for as long as they will deign to remain with 
 me. 
 
 But in spite of myself, I could not keep my gravity at 
 the dismay on his face, and I had perforce to laugh, 
 which spoilt all. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " there is much to do — little time 
 to do it in. Let us make all secure. Before we enter 
 Thrieve, I would have you appoint a day for our wedding 
 and forewarn a priest " 
 
 " Not Larry, then," I cried. " He will never tie you 
 firmly enough to the estates you wish so much to marry. 
 Galloway itself might slip off the thread, with only such 
 an apprentice at the parson work as Laurence McKim to 
 tie the knot. And that, you know, would break your 
 heart, WilHam." 
 
 At which James laughed, till he chanced to observe the 
 expression in his brother's eyes. But for that I cared 
 nothing. Will might be as angrisome as a wullcat of the 
 Forest of Buchan — he would not fright me. 
 
 " Listen, Cousin Will," I said. " There has come to me 
 in the night a proposal which, if you accept, will end all 
 your anxieties. Here it is. Take Galloway, take the
 
 82 MAY MARGARET 
 
 North, take the Forest, take all that is mine on the 
 Borderside ! Leave me only the little Isle of Thrieve, 
 with Maud Lindsay and her husband Sholto to look after 
 me — enough meal in the meal-ark to make our porridge, 
 a little beef in the larder for the house-carles, as many 
 chickens as I can breed and feed — and as for me I 
 promise never to meddle with you or with your plottings 
 any more ! What say you to that ? " 
 
 Then for a moment William Douglas said nothing. He 
 still said nothing when James cried out, " Bravely said, 
 cousin mine ! — I for one w'ill stay and help you feed the 
 chickens — let them go follow glory who love glor)'. She 
 is but any old unwashed dishclout, an unstable wench 
 that gives a man more cuffs than cossetings." 
 
 Then for one wild moment there came a hope in my 
 heart that Will would take me at my word. But his 
 silence was only his accustomed way of examining every- 
 thing seriously, and of giving a fair and equal considera- 
 tion to each proposition that was placed before him. 
 This it was which made it so easy for me to tease him, 
 and also so impossible for him to reply. For, long before 
 he had time to prepare his phrase, I was, so to say, " out 
 of the window with the swallows." 
 
 " Margaret," he said, quite simply for so great a man, 
 " I do not use ink-horn terms. But I tell you this — if 
 you speak in earnest, you know not what you say. And 
 if not — then / know not what you mean ! " 
 
 So after this I said no word more, nor yet did James. 
 For there is nothing so disconcerting to those who count 
 themselves clever with the tongue (which both James and 
 I did) than to be put down by the simplicity of one whom 
 they know greater than they. 
 
 But there at the last was the boat waiting to ferry us 
 across the river. (For be it not forgotten that the Castle 
 of Thrieve lies upon an island of twenty acres or thereby, 
 with the river Dee running deep about it on every side — 
 save at a place on the east where, as I remember, it was 
 mostly possible to cross on stepping-stones in the long 
 droughts of summer.) And in the boat,, to my eye more 
 beautiful than La Dame de Beaute herself, there sat —  
 
 THE MISTS OF DEE 83 
 
 conld it be? Yes — my old companion and only friend — 
 sweetest Maud Lindsay, she who had married Sholto 
 McKim, now the governor of Thrieve and war-captain of 
 all the levies of my Lord the Earl of Douglas — ^most dear 
 and notable, both of them. 
 
 " Maud ! " I cried, slipping from my pony and running 
 to the margent to meet her. I was about to clasp her in 
 my arms as I used to do — as vividly and rapturously as if 
 we had been lovers of only a handful of days. But, gaz- 
 ing at me, she seemed to be amazed somehow — I cannot 
 tell why — perhaps because I was so grown and tall — hav- 
 ing gowns of silk to my feet, that I too paused. 
 
 And then to my utter astonishment, she suddenly bent 
 down upon her knee and seizing my hand, she kissed it, 
 weeping and murmuring words like these : " Oh, my 
 gracious lady, you have grown so beautiful ! But I knew 
 it ! I knew it would fall out so ! " 
 
 Upon which I lifted her up and gave her a sound shake 
 of anger. For I have a quick temper, and when people 
 do not do just what I want when I want it — well, / shake 
 them ! 
 
 So I shook Maud. 
 
 " You doting silly little fool," I cried, " do you not know 
 that you are Maud — my Maud, whom I love more than 
 a world of men ? Why, it is for you I am come home, do 
 you hear? I will be a goose-girl to you, if you will but 
 let me stay, and love me as of old. I will nurse the last 
 baby — though, indeed, really I love them not greatly till 
 they can run and speak (being like a man in that) ! I 
 will play with them on the downs by the Three Thorns and 
 listen to the clank of the armourer's hammer if Malise 
 is still at his anvil. But I will not — I swear it — be a 
 Princess and a great lady to you ! " 
 
 And I fairly sprang upon her neck, putting my arms 
 about and about — yes, and kissing her over and over till 
 she was sobbing blindly in my arms without let or stint, 
 truce or limit, happily weeping — which indeed is one of 
 woman's greatest luxuries, till at last she becomes old and 
 awaits the end. Then (hard that it should be so) the 
 fount of her tears is dried up, and she sorrows like a
 
 84 MAY MARGARET 
 
 man, rendingly, and without pleasure. I that write these 
 things know. 
 
 However, there, on the bank of Dee Water, I let Maud 
 weep. And it did her good. For she was young and 
 fair, and there were many there to see. I think Sholto 
 had been wont to stop her, thinking (being a man, and, 
 therefore, in these matters a fool!) that a woman's tears 
 signified unhappiness. But I knew my Maud better. 
 And so, in time we made a good end, with Laurence 
 waiting behind with a solemn countenance. Will cutting 
 impatiently at his boot with his riding switch, and James 
 all upon the broad grin. (He thought he understood 
 these things, women, and so forth — God help him ! He 
 who thinks that is the greatest fool of all.) And lo! 
 looking up, there, on the opposite bank, was Sholto, look- 
 ing like a prince, all in black armour, with the warden's 
 red favour on his helmet. He had his visor down, and 
 at the head of his gentlemen, with his plume sweeping his 
 shoulders, he appeared, as I say, like a ver}^ god. And 
 Maud, wiping her tears, whispered, " Yes, I dressed him," 
 in answer to my words in her ear. 
 
 We went across, just cousin Will and I, with Maud 
 (whom I would not for anything leave behind) holding 
 my hand all the time as if I might yet escape her. And 
 when we were at the most half way across — lo, she smiled 
 with eyes still wet, and it was like the sun of August 
 shining through clouds on the dripping corn stooks. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad to have you again, my own little 
 Maid ! " she said, and kissed me. 
 
 " Ah," I cried triumphantly, " that is better ! You are 
 my Maud, after all — my Maud — my Maud ! " 
 
 As for cousin Will, he said nothing, only with his eye 
 ran over the accountrements of the knights of the escort 
 and the soldiers of the guard, to see if he could pick a 
 fault. 
 
 But he had Sholto McKim to deal with, and his lieu- 
 tenant, Andro the Penman. So all was as in such a case it 
 could not help being. And then as the boat came gently 
 to the little landing-place, which was built with pier and 
 break-water, all complete, like a tiny harbour — my dear
 
 THE MISTS OF DEE 85 
 
 brother David had taken a pride in it — I sprang directly 
 upon my own Isle of Thrieve. 
 
 At the same moment Sholto leaped from his horse. 
 Andro the Penman unlaced his helm, and the Captain of 
 the Douglas Guard, bare-headed, kneeling on the soft 
 grass of the river brink, presented to me the keys of the 
 castle upon a golden paten. 
 
 But because all my life I loved not ceremony, I only 
 clapped him on his head — which was covered all over 
 with crisp curls, cut short so that his head would not be 
 too hot within the leather-lined shell of steel they call a 
 helmet, and bade him give the keys to William. Which 
 when he had done, he kissed my hand and I asked him if 
 his father ever beat him with his buckled waist-strap 
 nowadays? 
 
 This I did to make him laugh. For ceremonies, 
 especially when only one person is ceremonious, are awk- 
 ward things, and it needs tact to get quit of them without 
 the hurting of feelings. But then — well, you learn how 
 to manage such things in France. A convent is good for 
 so much at any rate. 
 
 So in a few moments we were all talking quickly 
 together, while the boat went back to bring over James 
 together with Laurence and his people. My cousin Will 
 did not say much, but then no one expected it of him. 
 When he had shaken hands with Sholto, kissed Maud 
 Lindsay's hand, nodded to Andro the Penman and his 
 brother, forthwith he devoted himself to the examination 
 of every part of the architecture of the castle as if he had 
 never seen it before — the outer works, the moat, the great 
 drawbridge, the flanking towers, the wall of enceinture, 
 and the keep with its high gallery of wood, set on wooden 
 beams. 
 
 I could see him shake his wise head. There was in the 
 matter of shaking no one like Will. You could always 
 tell when he had an idea. He shook it as a terrier shakes 
 a rat, as the mill-hopper doth the corn. 
 
 " That will never do — never," I heard him mutter, " we 
 must have them of stone — as at Amboise. At the first 
 red-hot ball from a mortar they would be in a blaze ! "
 
 86 MAY MARGARET 
 
 From that I could discern very clearly the direction of 
 his thoughts. 
 
 So Maud and I were left alone, Sholto directing his 
 gentlemen of the Douglas Guard to ride on either side as 
 an escort. It was good to see him mount his horse as 
 easily as of yore, even though in full armour, which 
 showed me that, though the father of a family, he had 
 lost none of his old active ways. And indeed, as the 
 future proved, Sholto had only grown stronger and firmer 
 in his seat, so that even James was no longer a match for 
 him at the spear-driving when they tried it in the lists of 
 Thrieve Isle. 
 
 Then Maud went on to tell me how each of her babes 
 was more wonderful than the others. She spoke of 
 Marcelle, the eldest, who was learned in broidery work 
 and could read like clerk Laurence himself; of Cuthbert 
 and Bride, the twins, who for ever fought and harcelled 
 each other, even as their father and uncle had done about 
 the old forge on the bank of Carlinwark. Then there was 
 Ulric and little David, the one falling over the twitch- 
 grass of the meadow-land and digging at the sandy 
 rabbit holes like a scent dog, while as yet, David, being the 
 youngest, was content to sit on the lap of his mother 
 solemnly contemplating the grey walls of Archibald the 
 Grim, where so many generations of McKims had done 
 their service to as many generations of Douglases. 
 
 At last, at last — there was the drawbridge coming down ! 
 But another porter louted low where surly old A'Cormack 
 had so long turned his great creaking wheel. The 
 willows along the waterside, the garden inside with its 
 homely flowers, and without, that with the homelier plants 
 for the pot! Thrieve! Thrieve! Could ever any place 
 be so dear? It was good to see even the well in the 
 courtyard, with the great beech twisting about it, and 
 then, running to the edge, to mark, as of yore, the 
 dripping leathern plants — hartstongues they call them. 
 They were the same, only a little longer, a little more 
 leathery, and a little more drippy than I had imagined 
 when I thought of them in the convent, which I did often 
 in chapel on hot afternoons.
 
 THE MISTS OF DEE 87 
 
 Meanwhile, Will had gone about the house and about it, 
 had examined the defences in detail, with an eye fresh 
 from Loches and Amboise, picking out weak points, 
 noting what must be altered, what must be done away 
 with, what had grown antiquated, and, generally, how the 
 naturally strong position of the castle could best be 
 strengthened. 
 
 After a while he strode into the courtyard with the 
 scowling brow which with him only betokened deep 
 thought. I was holding up Ulric, that sturdy scion of 
 the family of the McKims, a lusty tribe enough; but, 
 i'faith, at the sight of Will's dark face he dropped his 
 head on my neck and howled most unvalorously. Maud 
 laughed a little at some inarticulate words which came 
 from his baby lips. 
 
 " What does he say? " I asked, smiling. 
 
 " He says," murmured Maud, " that he will tell his 
 father of the naughty black man who wants to carry 
 Ulric away ! " 
 
 I sighed. 
 
 " I wish it were only Ulric that Cousin William has it in 
 his head to take away ! " I cried. 
 
 At that moment came Will up, stalking over the flagged 
 pavement, solemn as a stork in armour. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, as if he asked, " What's o'clock? " 
 I forgot. You have not yet named a day for our 
 
 " JL lur^i 
 Tiarnage " 
 
 Why," said I, " how am I to dare ? I might cross your 
 wondrous devices. Let Your Highness choose your own 
 time ! Say, shall it be some morning a few years hence, 
 when you have no plans to make, no rent-rolls to revise, 
 no troops of horse to pass in review, when all your archi- 
 tects and builders have ceased from troubling, and there 
 is not even an arrow-shooting or a wapenshaw in all the 
 Douglas country from south to north, when all the thieves 
 are hanged out of Annandale, and there is not a cow in 
 her wrong byre from Edenmouth to Berwick bound, 
 when you are the King of the King of Scots, and Lord 
 of the Lords of the north — then, unless you have an 
 unproven hawk to fly at a heron or a main of lusty cocks
 
 88 MAY MARGARET 
 
 to fight, or a leash of dogs to take out for the coursing- 
 why, good sir, of vour pleasure, will you please to marry 
 me?" 
 
 But Will took it all quite solemnly, or at least appeared 
 to do so. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, " this is Wednesday — shall we. 
 say Saturday? There is nothing to take me away from 
 Thrieve before that." 
 
 I let the boy drop on the grass in my horror. His mother 
 ran to rescue him, but Master Ulric was noways alarmed. 
 He only rolled over, and putting his great toe in his 
 mouth, lay regarding the sky. 
 
 " No, Will," I said, " be good enough to remember that 
 I am not a parcel of goods to be handed over the counter, 
 nor yet a bullock to be delivered three days after sale, 
 sound in wind and limb. Give me a month, if it were 
 only, like the daughter of Jephthah, to bewail my " 
 
 But I did not get time to finish my quotation. 
 
 " Child," he cried, for the first time visibly angered, 
 " you do not know what you say ! This thing is the will 
 of God." 
 
 " It is the will of William, Earl of Douglas, which is 
 considerably more to the point/' I retorted mockingly. 
 But he did not heed. It took more than the flout of a 
 girl to move Will of Douglas and Avondale from his 
 purpose. 
 
 " Then, I take it," he repeated, as it were extracting the 
 kernel of meaning and leaving the husk of words as of 
 no value, " you are willing that we should be married in a 
 month ! " 
 
 " If it is His Majesty's good and gracious pleasure," I 
 said, " and he happens to have nothing better to do ! " 
 
 And I made him a low reverence with the most provok- 
 ing mock humility. 
 
 But I might as well have tried my agaceries on the 
 blue ridge of Ben Gairn, steady on the horizon of the 
 south. 
 
 " So be it ! " he said, and turning sharp on his heel he 
 went out. 
 
 " I declare," cried Maud, " your bridegroom has gone to
 
 THE MISTS OF DEE 89 
 
 examine the state of the water-defences at the southern 
 end of the Isle ! " 
 
 " I do not wonder," I retorted ; " he had them on his 
 mind all the time." 
 
 " Margaret ! " she cried, pained at my manner of speech 
 of William Douglas. 
 
 " Yes, Maud ! " I answered in the same tone, nodding 
 as one would say, " there it is ! Make what you like of 
 it!"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHAT MAUD LINDSAY TAUGHT ME 
 
 It was not long before I had made my case plain to Maud 
 Lindsay. All my infancy and childhood she had been my 
 companion. In the time of De Retz, she and I had been 
 shut up in the White Tower together, and at the last 
 had paced hand in hand the dread approaches to the Iron 
 Altar — as has already been told in certain chronicles 
 entitled " The Black Douglas." 
 
 So to me Maud was no new friend — no confidante of a 
 day. 
 
 Thrieve itself had grown a new place — what with the 
 merry chink of children's voices coming up from the 
 green, and the rotund twins trying on pieces of armour 
 in the great hall of the guard amid the riotous laughters 
 of the men-at-arms. 
 
 More than once Sholto had declared that this Thrieve 
 was no proper nursery for women and babes. He had 
 even desired during the presence of the Avondale 
 Douglases and myself at the Castle to take Maud away 
 to the Three Thorns, where my cousin Earl William had 
 caused them to repair the old cottage for his father, IMalise 
 McKim, loving the situation better than the forty-shilling 
 lands of Mollance with the grand new house thereon, 
 which had been forced upon the armourer for his great 
 and notable services to the family of Douglas. 
 
 So we two, just Maud and I, went out on the balcony of 
 wood which opens upon the castle wall near the top, and 
 makes a promenade about all four sides. But that was 
 our favourite gossiping place which looked towards the 
 south. William was, indeed, determined to new-make 
 the higher battlements in stone, as well as the wooden 
 galleries. But in the meantime we loved the old brown 
 logs, rough-hewn and weather-stained, with the marks of 
 the knives of three or four generations of Douglases, 
 
 90
 
 WHAT MAUD LINDSAY TAUGHT ME 91 
 
 making transfixed hearts therein, together with the ini- 
 tials of their sweethearts — the which, indeed, with the 
 flourishing of their own signature, was mostly all the 
 learning they ever had. For, though we have had both 
 abbots and bishops to our name, the Douglases of the 
 Black could not be called a book-learned race. 
 
 As we sat, Maud worked busily turning her head from 
 side to side like a painter in a church, to observe the effect 
 of her dainty confectionery of lace and fine linen. As for 
 me I looked over the river to the green Kelton fields and 
 the swelling ridges of Arieland. All was sweet and 
 covered with a great peace : or so at least it seemed to me 
 at that time. 
 
 Who could have supposed that the slender figure yonder, 
 clad in black, taking quick alert strides, with Sholto and 
 Murdoch the master-builder a little behind — now down 
 by the great moat, pointing with ready index-finger 
 wherever masonry was to be strengthened or water deep- 
 ened — now erect as a spear against the sky-line of the 
 topmost tower — everywhere planning, deciding, register- 
 ing, commanding, — was to bring the Douglas line to its 
 highest glory, and by his death to sink it into utter ex- 
 tinction. 
 
 It was long before either Maud or I spoke. I think 
 both of us were somewhat unwilling to begin. I had left 
 her a girl, she was now a matron. She had last seen me 
 a child. Now below us, there was my husband of a 
 month hence, walking about — and — never giving me so 
 much as a thought or a glance. 
 
 It was Maud who spoke first. 
 
 " Tell me," she said softly, " are you happy? " 
 
 I think that I laughed. But somehow it was not a laugh 
 that sounded as it ought. 
 
 " Happy ? " I cried. " That is a strange word, Maud 
 Lindsay, to be speaking to me ! Should not the bride of 
 Will of Avondale and Douglas be happy? Have I not 
 looked forward to this ever since I could remember?" 
 
 Maud shook her head, very slowly and soberly. 
 
 " I wish I could be sure, little Maid," she said — it was 
 her old pet name for me. " I am not fond of these agree-
 
 92 MAY MARGARET 
 
 ments between high contracting parties. They are Hkely 
 to leave love out of account." 
 
 " But you knew your Sholto a long time ? " I said 
 sharply. 
 
 Maud laughed a laugh — a laugh — oh, quite different 
 from mine. Even I could hear that. 
 
 " Ah, but," she said, " that was because I never really 
 made up my mind to marry Sholto till — till — well, I stood 
 with him before the priest." 
 
 " Fykes and fiddlesticks ! " I cried, " how dare you tell 
 me lies, Maud. I was, indeed, a child at the time — but I 
 have a memory ! So have a care ! I know that you had 
 your mind made up long before. Do you remember 
 that night?" 
 
 She put her hand over my mouth and looked over her 
 shoulder smiling. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, " I give in ; but, all the same, the 
 thing is true enough. What I had made up my mind 
 about was only that Sholto should not marry anyone but 
 me!" 
 
 And as she said this she laughed again, a mellow 
 retrospective laugh, which somehow thrilled me between 
 the heart and the throat, and then presently left me 
 saddened with the sense of lacking I knew not what. 
 
 Why should this woman, the wife of a blacksmith's son, 
 be so much happier than I could ever be? It came nigh 
 to making me desperate. 
 
 It was not Sholto I wanted — of course not. It was not 
 Laurence. It was not even James Douglas. It was no 
 man in particular. God knows — none. It was only the 
 need to be loved, as women are loved, for whom there is 
 but one man in the world. 
 
 I wept quietly. Maud let me alone. She was a wise 
 woman. She let me alone to ease myself with tears — 
 many tears. 
 
 " Why is it," I wailed, unable long to keep silence, 
 " why do others have so much without knowing or caring, 
 while I so little — worse than nothing, indeed? " 
 
 Then all at once Maud let the rich frillings and dentella- 
 tions she had been putting together, fall to the ground.
 
 WHAT MAUD LINDSAY TAUGHT ME 93 
 
 She slipped them off her knee as if they had been horse- 
 cloths, and came directly and kneeled down beside me, 
 with her arms close held about me. 
 
 At first I pushed her away. I could be a pig when I 
 chose — but not for long. 
 
 " You are like the rest," I said ; " you come to tell me 
 how noble a man — how worthy, how truly like Solomon, 
 King of the Jews, arrayed in all his glory is my Lord 
 William of Douglas ! " 
 
 It was pettish, I know — like a child — like me. But 
 Maud never so much as moved her finger. 
 
 " Little one," she said gently, " when you were used to 
 quarrel with your puppet, did I pick it up after you had 
 thrown it on the ground and set about trying to convince 
 you that there was never such a beautiful puppet in the 
 world, so delightful a plaything? No, I knew better. I 
 put it away till you yourself asked for it ! " 
 
 Somehow the idea made me laugh. 
 
 " Oh, our Will a plaything ! Look at him, Maud ! I 
 pray you look at him ! " 
 
 And 'still laughing, I leaned over the wooden balcony. 
 There he was — his head a-poke before him — eager as a 
 sleuth-hound on the scent — the master-builder following 
 meekly after with Sholto, the last not too much engaged 
 to wave his hand to us, and, seeing Maud's face, to 
 throw us a kiss also balconywards over his shoulder. 
 
 " Look at my plaything," I laughed, " my plaything that 
 I have thrown down — only that I have never taken it up ! 
 Ask for it, indeed ! Not if you locked it away for a 
 thousand years ! There he is — my father-confessor in 
 armour — my black crow in nestingtime — see him gather- 
 ing the sticks — see — see ! " 
 
 And, indeed, at that moment William Douglas did stop 
 and pick a piece of stick which a careless carpenter had 
 left behind. With great solemnity, all absent of mind 
 as if he had been thinking of something else, he went to 
 the woodpile and dropped it upon a heap of kindling 
 chips. 
 
 " Ho, by St. Bride, saved ! " I cried, " now he will sleep 
 sound. There is the thousandth part of a farthing saved !
 
 94 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Ah, good crow — valiant crow — crow of parts! Who 
 would not wed a crow like that? Ah, ah! " 
 
 And I laui2:hed till I sobbed, and then sobbed till I 
 laughed, stretching ever further over the balcony to see 
 what he would do next, and pointing at him through my 
 streaming tears, as I cried helplessly, " Oh, stop me. 
 stop me, stop me, Maud ! Why don't you stop me ? I 
 shall die ! He is so like a — no, I will not say it. Yes, 
 I will stop. Do not be angry with me, Maud. I think 
 I am not myself — overwrought ! But, oh " 
 
 And then I went back again into the same helpless 
 laughter. 
 
 Then Maud, taking upon her the old authority, which 
 when a child I had never thought of disputing, lifted me 
 in her strong, soft, motherly arms and compelled me to lie 
 down in her chamber. It was nearer than my own, 
 though smaller. The window looked to the north, and 
 from it you could see the green double bosoms of Cairns- 
 more and Carsphairn. 
 
 Here she put me to bed like an infant, locking the door 
 inside against intrusion, bathing my forehead, pressing 
 her cheek against mine and murmuring tenderly, just as 
 she used to do in the White Tower of Machecoul when 
 the nights were hot and the Terror near at hand. 
 
 And, being quite tired out, I lay still, with Maud Lind- 
 say's arm about my neck, and her fingers gently moving 
 among my hair, till with a sense of utter lassitude and a 
 certain slow-coming peace of well-being, I fell on sleep, 
 long and dulcet. It was good somehow, for anyone to be 
 with Maud. That was all. No wonder her babes adored 
 her. At that moment I felt like one of her children 
 myself, though by the calendar she was not more than ten 
 years older than I. 
 
 I awoke. The world slowly re-formed itself, emerging 
 hazily, not all at once — rather a bit here and a bit there. 
 I noted, as in a dream, the oak of a child's crib, like that 
 in which I had slept long ago when my brothers were 
 alive and my mother gave me up to Maud Lindsay to 
 take care of — pretty Maud from the North, that flouted 
 all the men near and far who came a-wooing her.
 
 WHAT AIAUD LINDSAY TAUGHT ME 95 
 
 Then my eye fell upon a wreath of withered flowers, 
 then came the keen blue edge of a sword, the crossbars 
 of a helmet, and, strange to be seen, thrown over it, 
 some of that dainty dentelling of white, fine as mist, 
 which Maud had been making. There was also the scent 
 of a woman's chamber — not the cell of a pensionnaire at 
 a convent, not even the great bald spaces of the guest- 
 chambers of Cour Cheverney, with the red creepers 
 flowering about the windows and the Judas tree budding 
 purple all along its branches in the court beneath. 
 
 It was different, somehow. All smelt of home, yet was 
 not somehow. These things were Sholto's and Maud's — 
 together. Together ! Would it ever come that I would 
 see William Douglas's helm and gloves thrown thus on 
 a chair with my kirtlings of silk and lace dcntelles over 
 it ? No — a thousand times no ! He could never be to 
 me — this! Anything else — a friend, a companion, a 
 guide, and adviser — yes ! But this — No ! 
 
 I raised myself, affrighted like one who starts from an 
 ill dream and desires to sleep no more lest it should return. 
 The thing had never come to me thus clearly. But I 
 saw now what I had never realised before — the terrifying 
 Solitude, the appalling Nearness of Two — a man and a 
 woman left alone for life — ^by the mumble of a priest, 
 by the will of a dead man, or by the land-hunger, the 
 power-thirst of one who cared for women only as so 
 many steps on the ladder of his greatness. 
 
 " No— no— no ! " 
 
 I called the words out, like one starting back from dead- 
 liest terror. And as I said the words I felt about me 
 loving arms, drawing me, heard a voice sweet and sooth- 
 ing as the hum of bees in clover on June meadow-lands. 
 
 " Margaret, Margaret — do not fear ! I am with you ! " 
 It was the voice of Maud Lindsay. " Be my own little 
 lass, my treasure, my bairn as of old. It shall not come 
 to you — that which fears you. The back is made for the 
 burden ; and, as I love you (yes — the first-born of my 
 bairns no better!) you shall not marry a man whom you 
 do not love." 
 
 "But I must — I must" — I again speaking (I mind it
 
 96 MAY MARGARET 
 
 well), in a panting whisper strange even to myself, as I 
 sat up in bed — " it is fixed for a month hence. Did you 
 ever know of William of Douglas and Avondale going 
 back on his word? Besides, has he not sent Laurence 
 for the Pope's permission — and blessing? Figure it to 
 yourself, Maud — the Holy Father's blessing! He should 
 have said his curse — the Greater Anathema the Bald Cat 
 used to prate about at the Convent." 
 
 But still Maud kept her arm about me, sisterly and 
 motherly at one and the same time. 
 
 " Listen," she said. " I am but poor Maud Lindsay, 
 who married the man she loved, Sholto, the blacksmith's 
 son of Thrieve : I, who might have married my cousin, 
 Lord John, the Tiger Crawford, and, perhaps, healed a 
 breach into which brave men have poured their blood. I 
 married Sholto because I wished it so. Well, hear me 
 out, I am not Will of Douglas and Avondale, but I have 
 a will of my own. I have never wished greatly for any- 
 thing in my life, never prayed for anything greatly 
 (which is just the better way of wishing for it) without 
 getting it at last. Perhaps not exactly as I figured it to 
 myself, when I prayed and when I wished, but in a wiser 
 and wholesomer way ! Yes, always ! " 
 
 I formed my lips to answer. 
 
 " Nay — hush — not yet. Do not speak. Let me say my 
 say out ! So, trust me when I say that happiness will 
 come for you — or, at least, the happiness of making the 
 man you love less sad. That is the pleasure most often 
 granted to women in place of their own proper joy. 
 Perhaps it will come to you thus. But that it will come, 
 be sure — be very sure — I, Maud Lindsay tell you ! Now, 
 little one, have I said one word you thought I would 
 say, given you any old-wife, good-my-gossip counsels, 
 preached the orthodox submission of maids ? ' Love will 
 come ' — they say ' come with the children ' ! Bah ! I 
 know different. Nothing tries the love of a woman for 
 a man more than the re-repetition of the Eden curse ; but 
 where love is, to begin with — small as the mustard seed 
 that grows into the greatest of all herbs, as Father Ignace 
 preached about once on Pacque Sunday — all things are
 
 WHAT MAUD LINDSAY TAUGHT ME 97 
 
 possible. Bide, my bairn. I know William of Douglas 
 far better than you. I know him. There is a shell over 
 his heart, hard Hke the nether millstone; but the kernel 
 within is true, and great — and unselfish ! " 
 
 " Nay," I cried, grasping her by the wrist, " the other 
 qualities perhaps, but not that — not unselfish ! " 
 
 "And unselfish!" Maud repeated with emphasis, and, 
 kissing me, left the room.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE LAST GRAIXS IN THE SAND-GLASS 
 
 That month fled all too fast away. Never had there 
 been known a more perfect July. The scarlet poppies 
 overleaped the corn already mellowing' on the sandier 
 knowcs. Deep and lush grew the meadow-grass in 
 which the Thrieve mowers, seeking far and near winter 
 forage for the horses of Sholto's guard, found (some- 
 times to their cost) the wild bees' honey. 
 
 The hills in the mid-distance began to turn a ruddier 
 purple, as the heather flushed for that more glorious har- 
 vest of the eye, which usually in Galloway comes rather 
 with the oats than with meadow hay. And the days 
 when I awaited the outcome of my talk with Maud Lind- 
 say fled also too fast away, without, as it appeared to me, 
 anything being accomplished. 
 
 Moreover, Laurence had forsaken me. Whether it 
 was the near approach of my marriage day, or the need 
 (which he asserted) for his presence upon his domain 
 abbatical of Sweetheart, I cannot tell. But certain it is 
 that he left Thrieve the emptier for the want of his 
 boyish face and bright smile. 
 
 But James remained. And the fates of the life of 
 woman — or some other organising power, at that time 
 unseen by me — drew us more and more together. And, 
 indeed, there is little to do for such a man as James 
 Douglas alx)ut a castle, save to tilt at the ring and try his 
 strength at the crossbars above the dungeon mouth. But 
 since he could lift up two stalwart guardsmen by sheer 
 muscle, the one clinging to the other's feet out of the 
 deeps of the old cell built in the north-west corner of the 
 guards' hall, there were few that cared to compete with 
 him. All the same he would bring me down to see him 
 do it. 
 
 98
 
 LAST GRAINS IN THE SAND-GLASS 99 
 
 On the other hand, Will coursed everywhere, like a 
 questing hound — to Douglas Castle, to Annandale, across 
 the West and Middle Marches, athwart the brown barren 
 moors to visit his Earldom of Wigton — or, rather, that 
 which would be his when he married me. The most 
 feck of the days he would be up and away while the light 
 was still pearly and pink in the East. 
 
 Often I would wake in the dawn to the clink of horses' 
 hoofs far down in the court. I would hear the men of 
 the escort standing to their arms ready to mount. A 
 word of command — that of Sholto, who rode ever at the 
 earl's right hand, and then, with a creak and a clang, 
 down the drawbridge would go. To that succeeded a 
 hollow rumble, which was the feet of the horses passing 
 over, a neigh of some charger left lonesome in stall, and 
 then for another day silence settled down upon all the 
 precincts of the great old castle of Archibald the Grim. 
 
 I cannot think how it was that James and I gat into the 
 habit of going to the little bushy " bouroch " (called the 
 Lady's Bower) at the northerly end of the island. It 
 came about first, I think, that he might show me the dam- 
 age wrought by the great flood of a year agone, which 
 happened when I was still in France. He pointed out, 
 too, how, by embanking with solid stone and lime, like 
 that which is to be seen in Holland, William had strength- 
 ened not only the island but all the defences on that side. 
 
 Now all the trees had been cut in the vicinity of the 
 castle, for the sake of security in the case of siege. But 
 at the northern end of the island there were many — 
 though, alas ! sadly thinned in the late troubles. 
 
 But there was our bower in the midst of them, where 
 with the river blue and steady before us, wide almost as 
 an arm of the sea, and scarce touched all that high 
 summer time by a single purl of wind, we two would sit 
 on a rough seat which James had knocked together with 
 driftwood and chance roofing beams floated down for the 
 new stabling. 
 
 Now Maud Lindsay was much with me in the after- 
 noons, but in the mornings she had the housewifery of the 
 castle to attend to — napery and suchlike — while in the
 
 loo MAY MARGARET 
 
 evening she used to sing her babies to sleep as her good 
 way was. So it was chiefly in the forenoons and in the 
 evenings that James and I strolled to the Lady's Bower. 
 
 Indeed, we had no great distance to traverse, for the 
 whole island does not extend more than half a mile from 
 stem to stern, being, as one might say, a long, narrow 
 vessel anchored in the mid-stream of the Water of the 
 Dee, the castle-keep set on the western bulwarks and 
 somewhat towards the stern. So Thrieve was, and so, 
 indeed, it is to this day. 
 
 Only James is no longer there. William devises no 
 new defences, and the King's bullocks profane my Lady's 
 Bower, which in the countryside clatter is now said to have 
 been named after me. But it was not, taking its name 
 from that Lady Sybilla who came from France and drew 
 into her toils my brother William, as hath aforetime been 
 told. - But I have my own tale to tell, and it waits my pen. 
 
 Now it is always ill giving a reason why a woman loves 
 this man and not that. For the most part, indeed, she 
 would be hard pushed to tell herself. And so it was with 
 my feeling for James Douglas. Sometimes I liked him, 
 and again at others I could not abide that he should come 
 near me. 
 
 But it was all the same to James whether I sulked or 
 smiled. He had his answer ready, his excuse to his hand. 
 He could be respectful and grave, quick-witted and care- 
 lessly gay, or simply companionable and full of gossip 
 as an ale-wife, all in the space of an hour. He had the 
 natural gift of taking a woman's humour and making it 
 his. Will knew no humour but his own, and if it chanced 
 you were not of it, then you passed out of the world so 
 far as he was concerned. 
 
 Did James Douglas make love to me wittingly? Curi- 
 ous and still unanswered the query ! Did Maud know 
 or suspect? And in any case, what did she mean by 
 encouraging me to hope for a love which the future 
 would bring me? She herself had no great liking, even 
 then, for James Douglas; yet at Castle Machecoul he had 
 saved her, as he had saved me. But women's likings (I 
 say it again) go not by these things.
 
 LAST GRAINS IN THE SAND-GLASS loi 
 
 Yes, I liked James — first of all, I think, because I 
 knew that I ought not. Then he was a great, blond, 
 towsy-haired giant, with the arm of Samson and the 
 short thick beard of the statues on the King's new house 
 at Striveling. When, for sport, one struck his breast, 
 it was like beating a drum, and when he struck back, the 
 stricken was carried out and had water poured over him. 
 
 Then, he was fair, like his father and most of the Avon- 
 dales — I, black of the black, a right Galloway Douglas. 
 But mostly these things go by contraries — the fair young 
 Davids mating with the maids, dark but comely, out of 
 the patched tents of Kedar and the tans of dusky Se- 
 pharvaim. 
 
 Yet I never felt that James Douglas really mastered 
 me. Will could have done it, if he had chosen, mayhap. 
 But James rather herded me with the silent discretion of 
 a well-trained sheep-dog, which meets and holds but 
 never chases or frightens a refractory charge. 
 
 Never absent, never late, with a smile on his lips, a 
 twinkle in his blue eyes, and such a sunny helpfulness 
 in his every action, small wonder that James Douglas had 
 been fortunate all his life. He was a twin of the one 
 birth with his brother Archibald, and only the favour of 
 his mother and the indulgence of his father had given 
 him, by solemn declarator, the position of elder brother 
 and heir male to the title and estates. 
 
 Of his weaknesses and sins I need not speak here. They 
 have entered into judgment with him while yet he 
 breathes the upper air. But, nevertheless, there was 
 much lovable, much gracious, much heartful and hope- 
 inspiring about James Douglas, and though I have suf- 
 fered many things, God be witness, I say no different 
 even unto this day. 
 
 Above all men generous, ready to go out of his way to 
 do a service to any, great or small, he yet loved the praise 
 of men as a girl watches for admiration. So much I 
 could see — and — I know not that I liked him the worse 
 for it. 
 
 This James of ours would go into a tavern and ruffle 
 it with the best — tossing tankards of ale with Hob and
 
 102 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Dob, the Selkirk " souters." He would drink down the 
 Bordeaux and the vintages of parched champagne with 
 kings and princes, giving them toast for toast, bumper for 
 bumper. And if mid-way the first carouse, Hob of the 
 Elsin chanced to grow ill-haired and cantankerous, who 
 so ready as James of Douglas to take to quarterstafif and 
 break a " souter's " head, or, in default of ready timber, 
 with the sounder weapons of his clenched ten fingers. 
 
 Or, if, again, my Lord of Bracieux, or his Highness the 
 PrinCe of Albany, came to words with him as to the colour 
 of a maid's eyes, the degree of her beauty, or the immacu- 
 late perfection of her virtue, who so quick with sword and 
 dagger to defend his opinion as James Douglas, or who, 
 after all was done, more chivalrously willing to shake 
 the hand of a fallen adversary, or assuage his wound with 
 the ointment of marshmallows he kept in his spare 
 helmet ? 
 
 Besides which, there was something else about him 
 which only a woman can feel, and even she cannot 
 express. James Douglas was so made that no woman 
 could be very angry with him, whatever he might do — 
 that is, she could not keep up her anger for long. 
 
 So we walked together and talked, and it made me glad 
 to know that the sword by his side had laid on the bent 
 many an adversary, and that the strong arm which swung 
 me so easily over the burns and hurled trunks of trees 
 from near and far so that we could cross the ditches and 
 stagnant hags of the morass, was ready to protect me as 
 none other in all Scotland could. 
 
 At any rate (I deny it not) it grew perilously pleasant 
 to hear the clink of the departing steeds which carried 
 Will and Sholto to the four winds of heaven, and to know 
 that we had, James and I, one other great high-arched day 
 of summer all to ourselves, in which to wander at our 
 wayward wills, to watch the moor-birds and the sea-fowl 
 blown up from Solway, or late-nesting about the marshes 
 of Carlinwark. 
 
 Then, too, James would take my hand — not freely and 
 of one consent and accord like as Laurence was wont to 
 do, but whether I would or no. Yet ever laughingly,
 
 LAST GRAINS IN THE SAND-GLASS 103 
 
 so that it would have seemed ill-tempered and dairy- 
 maidish to make an objection about so light a thing. 
 
 " Cousins we are," he would say, " and brother and 
 sister soon to be ! " 
 
 Then he would sigh and look upon the ground for 
 some while, as we went further and further from the 
 castle barrier down through the green pleasances of the 
 wood. 
 
 " I would that I had been the elder brother," he would 
 bemoan himself; " 'tis hard to love as I love, and yet " 
 
 At the thought he grew more sober, and once for a 
 moment I thought of a surety he was about to cry. So, 
 because that seemed more terrible than all in a man, I 
 took him hastily by the hand, saying, " you do not really 
 love me, James ! you know well you have loved a dozen 
 before — aye, and more, if all tales be true." 
 
 " Lies ! lies ! " he would cry, " they are not true ! I 
 swear it by the bones of St. Bride. It is only a thing said 
 by the common folk — the clash of the country ! They fix 
 on me — because Will is — as he is ! " 
 
 '" And how is he ? " I asked, not too wisely, perhaps. 
 
 James laughed, yet not scornfully. For James Doug- 
 las was a gentleman, and true to his own. Not, how- 
 ever, a very great gentleman like my brother William, 
 whom they slew at Edinburgh — or another whom I came 
 to know later. So he did not mock his brother even when 
 in act, perhaps without intent, to win away from him the 
 love of his promised wife. 
 
 But at least he could not do that, for I had never given it 
 to Will of Avondale. No, nor even counted him playmate 
 and " little lover," as in the old childish days I had called 
 Larry when Maud and Sholto strolled afield picking for- 
 get-me-nots or star-gazing at the constellations, as if the 
 sky of one night were different from that of another.^ 
 
 James Douglas laughed good-naturedly, carelessly, 
 even affectionately, but at the same time like a man who 
 
 ^ I am told that it is indeed different, as seafaring men and 
 such like know. Well, let them. For me, I neither know nor 
 care. Venus is the sole star that ever I knew, and her I loved 
 chiefly because she had an excellent habit of going early to bed.
 
 I04 MAY MARGARET 
 
 feels himself armed cap-a-pie when there is talk of love- 
 making. 
 
 " Ah, our Will," he murmured, " he will be a new 
 William the Lion or Robert the Bruce, so be his head 
 does not fall too soon under the axe. But he will never 
 know what it is to live." 
 
 " And what," said I, drolling with him, " in your well- 
 informed younger-brotherly wisdom may it be to live? 
 To eat and drink, to ride and sleep, to marry or to give in 
 marriage. That hath been the general opinion. Is Will 
 shut off from these. Sir Wiseacre? I judge not the last 
 — to my cost." 
 
 " The sap is in the trees, the honey in the flower, and 
 the blood in men," James answered enigmatically. " Our 
 good Will's veins are filled with the ink wherewithal to 
 write state papers — a valuable fluid doubtless, but not 
 one from which to distill either life for one's self or hap- 
 piness for others ! " 
 
 " And how would yon proceed, most learned St. James 
 of Avondale, high master of the mysteries ? " 
 
 " Even thus," he said, slipping a hand about my waist, 
 " if I had Will's chances I would not ride off every day 
 at the crowing of the cock — to the north to see whether 
 Douglas Castle sits still on its knowe, anon to the west to 
 stir up the Agnew to hang a few more scores of Ire- 
 landers, then to the south to hector the Tutor of Bombie, 
 and (last of all) to the west to see a new rigging put 
 upon the pig-styes of Caerlaverock ! " 
 
 I felt in my heart there was both meat and matter in 
 what he said, and — I did not (to my shame) order him to 
 take away his arm from about my waist. There was no 
 barrier about the Lady's Bower to rest the back. His 
 arm was strong and good to lean upon — just as Maud 
 had said of Sholto's. I was curious to see if the thing 
 were indeed true. And it was. It is useful to be told 
 a thing, but after all that is the only hundreth part of 
 knowledge. 
 
 " No," he went on, " I should be — where I am now. 
 But with more right — not doing another man's work — • 
 tilling his ground that he may sow, planting that he may
 
 LAST GRAINS IN THE SAND-GLASS 105 
 
 reap. Bah! (here he broke off angrily), Will has man- 
 hood, bvit it is that of a mechanism of iron, that drives 
 onward to its purpose. You and I, little Margaret, are 
 but puppets in his game, quintains to be strewn hither and 
 thither as he birses yont, so that the House of Douglas 
 may put the Stewarts in the dust, or of all these castles, 
 not one stone be left upon another ! " 
 
 I had never seen him so moved. 
 
 " James," I said, gently enough, for there was that 
 which tightened in my throat — I knew not why, " it is 
 not for you of all men to speak thus — least of all to me, 
 who in a handful of days am to be your brother's wife ! " 
 
 " No," he said, more quietly, " you say truth, Margaret. 
 But I have loved you — do not forget, ever since we played 
 together on the Hill of Daisies up yonder where through 
 a gap in the cloud-drift the corn-stooks wink yellow in 
 the sun. I have gone further, taken greater risks, laid 
 my life in pawn more often — yea, upon the turning of a 
 hair for you — as did never Will ! If I speak wrong — do 
 wrong — lay these things in the other scale." 
 
 And suddenly turning he took me in his arms. 
 
 " After all you are mine," he cried fiercely. " I love 
 you better than the other, if he is my brother ! Do not 
 forget it. I will wait for you — if it be a thousand 
 years ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AVE, AMOR — ATQUE VALE ! 
 
 The days went by all too quickly. The preparations for 
 the wedding- itself were begun. Pavilions with silken 
 cords and rich broideries of cloth of gold, brought from 
 France, were set up on the green. The old grey castle 
 itself became gay and parti-coloured. 
 
 All too fast the end was coming, like the last grains 
 making a dimpling whirlpool in the sand-glass. 
 
 Day and night James had pled with me to meet him once 
 more — only to say farewell, but since my first weakness 
 of the Lady's Bower, I was afraid. I would see him no 
 more save in company of Maud or the children, for by 
 this time we had made friends and they were climbing all 
 about me. And at these hard words James moved about 
 sad and disconsolate, his eyes on the ground and his fine 
 curled locks, lint-white like a schoolboy's, all dishevelled 
 and storm-tossed. 
 
 So after a time my heart had a little pity on him, and 
 one day — it was the very afternoon before my marriage 
 day (so little time was left me) — I set out without saying 
 a word to any, going slowly through the meadows to the 
 northward of the isle, plucking here a flower and there 
 a broad leaf of bracken. I was assured that James would 
 observe my way-going. I knew, too, that Maud would 
 see James if he followed me. For it was the mid-after- 
 noon when, according to her custom, she rested in her 
 chamber, and the window looked towards the Lady's 
 Bower. 
 
 At that time I had no clear knowledge what Maud's 
 thoughts were with regard to me, save that she meant 
 me well. And indeed, if all had turned out as Maud 
 meant them to do, and the man had proved as worthy as 
 
 io6
 
 AVE, AMOR— ATQUE VALE! 107 
 
 he seemed — well — who knows. At least I need not 
 anticipate. I went my way. James followed, and there 
 in the north-looking chamber above (as I knew but as 
 James did not) was Maud Lindsay planning for my 
 good. 
 
 Will, like the best and least exigent of bridegrooms, had 
 gone a-hunting that there might be a sufficiency of game 
 for his guests on the morrow. The sun overhead was 
 munificently hot. The bower was green below. Dee 
 ran brown over the pebbles, or sulked black in the pools. 
 
 In the Bower I sat a long while — alone, breathing the 
 summer air, warm-scented off the flowers, and cool ofif 
 the water, as it came to me in alternate whififs and little 
 uncertain breezes from every quarter. I could hear the 
 far-off clatter of the men arranging the tents, hauling at 
 ropes and singing catches as they pulled. Opposite, in 
 the meadows of the Lochar, scythes flashed in rhythm ; 
 and once, keen as a bird's cry, a mower sharpened his 
 scythe with his white " strake." The note set me on 
 edge, and when James suddenly pushed aside the green 
 branches, I leaped to my feet with a cry and my hand 
 hard set against my heart. 
 
 He ran to me and clasped me to him. 
 
 " I have affrighted you, little dove," he said. " I can see 
 your heart beat. There — on your white throat, it flutters 
 like a bird." 
 
 But I put out my hand, firmly resolved to keep him at 
 a distance. " Bide where you are, James, good cousin," 
 I said ; " these are privileges neither cousinly nor yet 
 fraternal ! " 
 
 " Margaret, I love you," he cried, and this time (I do 
 him the justice) he was pale to the lips; "you will never 
 love Will. You do love me. Even yet, say but the 
 word, and I will carry you off and maintain you in 
 France — aye, with the strong hand ! The king offered 
 me service there. He will not deliver the Duchy of Tou- 
 raine to Will. First, because he is in the favour of the 
 Dauphin, and, moreover, he is like to grow too powerful. 
 Second, neither Charles of France nor Louis his son 
 desire another Duke of the Orient on their hands. Bur-
 
 io8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 gundy is thorn enough in their sides without a Will 
 Douglas in Touraine." 
 
 " And what has that to do with us? " I asked him. 
 
 "This," he went on, speaking hot and fast: " the Queen 
 talked long with me that day when Dame Sorel and you 
 went off together. On the part of the King she offered 
 me high command and good service. ' You could lead 
 men,' she said. * You can drive a good lance — I know.' 
 Let us take the Queen at her word, little Margaret, you 
 and I ! Let us go to France. There is a sea-captain at 
 the Ross of Kirkcudbright waiting for a word to trans- 
 port us to Nantes. And Will hath it not in him to 
 pursue. He will take your provinces and be content." 
 
 " But, James," said I, to try him — not in the least that 
 I thought of agreeing to go, " no priest would marry us, 
 if we were ten times in France." 
 
 " Why, am I not your cousin even as Will was ? " he 
 said. " I'faith, be not afraid, the King of the Scots would 
 help along anything that would help keep Will's estates 
 and yours apart, and for that matter so too would the 
 King of France. Fear you nothing at all, little one! 
 Come with me to the Queen at Amboise. She will care 
 for you, and, I swear by sacred honour that I will wait 
 faithfully till we have the same permission from Rome 
 to marry, that Will hath now in his pouch." 
 
 As he was speaking his face was perfectly white, and 
 that indeed was the best thing I had yet known about 
 James Douglas. I saw of a truth that he loved me 
 greatly. This time it was not an affair of a moment with 
 him. And I was sorry for James — yes, and a little sorry 
 for myself as well, being so hemmed in on every side. 
 
 Yet somehow now he did not stir my heart — not as he 
 had done before in the Lady's Bower. It was not, as for- 
 merly, the hour of my weakness. I saw that a woman 
 may not do as a man. She cannot slip aside from duty for 
 the sake of pleasure as a man may — and often does — 
 yet suffer no shame. She must follow — because she is a 
 woman — the higher things. It is her wierd, and was laid 
 upon her along with the Eden pain. Her path is narrow 
 and the thorns hedge it about.
 
 AVE, AMOR— ATOUE VALE! 109 
 
 " James," I said, gently la}'!!!^ my hand upon his 
 shoulder, " it is my turn to be strong. This that you pro- 
 pose would ruin more than you and me. It would bring 
 to the ground that great House whose blood is in our 
 veins, in yours as in mine. 
 
 " You are a Douglas of the younger line, I the last of 
 the elder branch. The traitor's axe cut off both my 
 brothers. The Stewarts desire to come between, to 
 divide the inheritance of the Douglases. They thought 
 that their work was done when the blade, already red, 
 fell on the neck of the Earl, my brother, in the accursed 
 Castle of Edinburgh. To me, a girl and at that time a 
 babe, the half would go, and that half the richer and 
 stronger. Your father, a slack man, and an old (I speak 
 it not unkindly), would take the remainder. 
 
 " But this they did, they and the lick-platter, knavish 
 councillors, without at all counting on what hath been 
 the Douglas strength. ' Douglas, Douglas, hand the- 
 gither! ' That has been the gathering word of our folk, 
 and so it shall be yet, dear James. I was but a lass when 
 this heritage came to me, but, by the Lord and the Virgin, 
 I will also ' baud it thegither ' ! " 
 
 " But you do not love Will ? " said James, looking up 
 with a face still white and working. 
 
 " No," said I, " I do not love him. What chance has 
 he given me to love him? I am to him even as a new 
 province or a few thousand hackbutmen. No, I do not 
 love him. But that is nothing to the point. You, too, 
 are a Douglas, and if the Stewarts pressed us, would not 
 you close your helmet-bars, and, drawing the great two- 
 handed sword that Malise made you, lay on for the 
 honour of the House? Or, spear in rest, would you not 
 charge in the great and bloody day so long as strength 
 and life remained to you? You know that you would. 
 Why, then, may not a weak girl do what she can? give 
 the thing she has. Are there no battles for her to fight, 
 alone, with none to help or hear — the heavens deaf, the 
 earth iron, the night about black, with a darkness that 
 may be felt?" 
 
 I could hear James Douglas sobbing. I know not that
 
 no MAY MARGARET 
 
 he understood my words ; they were above him. He was 
 not of great subtlety, being, as it were, built of rough, 
 gross elements, strong and salt of flavour in word and 
 deed. Nevertheless, something moved him, perhaps no 
 more than that he knew at last that in no case would I 
 marry him, but would carry out my promise to Will, what- 
 ever might be the cost to myself. 
 
 So hearing that, by what upturning of the heart of a 
 woman I cannot tell, a wave of pity for this man swept 
 over me. It was not that my purpose weakened. Only 
 — it seemed that somehow I must needs comfort my 
 ancient friend. How vain my thought was I know now. 
 Men compacted like James Douglas need comfortings 
 rough-rasping to the senses. Baked meats and dainties 
 are thrown away upon them. Of honey comfits and con- 
 serve of rose leaves, sugar wafers filled with quince, 
 seeded pomegranate jelly and stoned black cherries of 
 Gascony — bah, they say, is this meat for men? 
 
 But these things I knew not then. I learned his taste 
 later. This it was. 
 
 Salt beef biting with cabbage-wort and onions, cold pork 
 and garlic thereto, a horn-spoon and a potful of bone broth 
 or cockyleekie hot off the fire, even a great platter of oat 
 porridge with ale in a bicker — such-like made our James's 
 concept of pleasant things. And his taste in eating is an 
 allegory of his taste in other things. A big, lordly, over- 
 lording man that loved his bellyful of lustihood — to eat 
 when he was hungry, drink when thirst nipped him, carry 
 off on his saddle-bow the woman who pleased him, to 
 swagger before all men as Saul among the people, haler, 
 heartier, stronger, taller by a head than any there — these 
 things made life for James Douglas, and for the many 
 James Douglases of the world. 
 
 This being so I wasted delicate words on him. 
 
 " James," I said, " were I free to choose — I do not know 
 
 —I might " 
 
 Then in a moment I knew that I had done wrong, and 
 that, though I might love James Douglas, he would never 
 understand me. 
 For he took me in his great arms like a child and kissed
 
 AVE, AMOR— ATQUE VALE! in 
 
 me — just because I had said that — and hesitated. A man 
 will never learn — at least, not such men as James. They 
 are the bandits of love, and take silly women by brigand- 
 age. Strangely enough some of us like it. 
 
 But not I — not I. That I did — in the end — come to 
 think otherwise of the marauder was for altogether 
 another reason. I do not know exactly what, but that 
 it was another reason — of that I am sure. 
 
 So being held fast and kissed often, it was natural that 
 I should struggle to be free — to cry out. But I might 
 as well have rebelled against the pillory on the Villeins' 
 Hill, had I been set there. And my most touching protes- 
 tations had as much effect on James Douglas as upon the 
 headsman of Thrieve the appeals of some suffering wretch 
 hard gripped by the law. 
 " Say you love me, then ! " he said, smiling at me ; " you 
 
 said that if you had a choice, you would " 
 
 " Would hate you," I cried furiously, " and I do." 
 " Aye, you would hate me if you had a choice," he said, 
 with unexpected subtlety, " but you have not. You love 
 me therefore. Say it ! " 
 " I will not say it ! I love you not. I would die first ! " 
 " Then you shall stay here till you do ! " 
 For that I do not think I hated him so very much as 
 I ought. His arms were so strong, and yet he held me 
 gently. He had somehow " the airt o't." There are 
 worse things in the world. And besides he was my 
 cousin and playmate. 
 
 So I said that which he wished me to say — only, of 
 course, to get away. But, all the same, I said it. At that 
 he kissed me greatly, fiercely — so that my head swam. 
 There came a singing in my ears that was not the mur- 
 mur of the Dee Water. For a moment I seemed almost 
 to lose consciousness. For there are times when James 
 does not know how strong he is. 
 
 Then when I came to myself, being still held in his arms, 
 there before us stood William Douglas, within two yards, 
 his hand upon his sword-hilt and his face like to the face 
 of the dead.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE GREAT HEART OF A MAN 
 
 For a moment we stood there gazing at each other — thus. 
 WilHam Douglas was bareheaded, looking, as I remem- 
 ber, in his dress of black, simple as any squire. Yet in 
 spite of all, James Douglas did not let me go. Courage 
 of certain kinds he did not lack. 
 
 As for me, how I summoned myself to meet the ordeal 
 I cannot now recall. I can remember only that through 
 the first numbing chill of feeling that all life was over- 
 turned and changed, there shot a kind of thankfulness 
 that it had come — before and not after. 
 
 William Douglas might do with me what he listed. 
 But at least he would know. There was comfort in that. 
 And so for the breathing of twenty breaths, slowly 
 respired, we stood facing one another without moving. 
 
 Then Will lifted his hand from his sword-hilt and 
 pointed to the entrance of the Bower. 
 
 " Go ! " he commanded in a hard, bitter voice, not loud, 
 but low and penetrating. 
 
 And James with his arm still firm about my waist, 
 never blenched or even quivered. 
 
 " No, brother Will," he answered, " I will not go and 
 leave you with — Margaret ! " 
 
 " Margaret is my promised wife of to-morrow," said 
 William Douglas. " I have had little private converse 
 with her. I desire a word or two here and now ! Go! " 
 
 " I stay to defend the woman I love, and the woman 
 who loves me ! " said James, looking his brother in the 
 eye. Douglas to Douglas — they stood — and a Douglas 
 between ! I could not help wondering what would come 
 out of that — yes, even at the moment I wondered. But 
 then I could never have devised anything so marvellous 
 as has indeed come to us three. 
 
 112
 
 THE GREAT HEART OF A MAN 113 
 
 " I do not lift my hand upon a woman," said Will. 
 " You may leave Margaret Douglas with me and safely. 
 You have said your say. I have heard. Now, I have 
 somewhat to add. Go and help them with the banquet 
 tent yonder. I shall be with you later ! " 
 
 And his eyes, till now steady and black as night, snapped 
 upon his brother. 
 
 Still James hesitated. I think it was in his mind to 
 poignard his rival. For with his free arm I could feel 
 him grip nervously at the handle of his dagger — his mind 
 evidently divided within him, wavering this way and that. 
 
 " Go," said William, without raising his voice. " I am 
 the Douglas ! " 
 
 The loyalty to the Head of the House, which James had 
 sucked in with his mother's milk, had the mastery. He 
 went out, clicking back the dagger into its sheath and 
 never once looking behind him. 
 
 So in these unimaginable circumstances I, Margaret 
 Douglas, was left alone with the man who was to be my 
 husband on the morrow. I stood wavering, about mid- 
 way betwixt crying out nervously and fainting away. 
 Had I not been a girl and innocent, I should assuredly 
 have done the latter. For to faint in a man's arms takes 
 the edge off his anger, no matter how bitter it may be — 
 even as a sleeping draught of the apothecary dulls the ill- 
 dreams of the night. 
 
 But this I did not know, and so sate me down of my 
 own accord on the seat of rough boards which James had 
 put up in the Bower. I only leaned back and breathed 
 deeply with my eyes shut, for a period which seemed to 
 be measured by years and ages. And all the while Will- 
 iam Douglas kept his black eyes steadily on me, so that 
 I could feel them even through my closed lids. 
 
 All at once a swift and strange anger against him 
 surged up in my heart. 
 
 After all, had he the right? Marriage, indeed, he had 
 spoken to me of. Once he had said that he " loved " me. 
 But how? So that I could almost have laughed at the 
 word. No, he would not terrify me. I was a Douglas 
 as well as he. Therefore I rose — a little unsteadily, I
 
 114 MAY MARGARET 
 
 fear, in spite of all my courage, and. walking to the 
 river edge, I dipped my kerchief in the clear brown Dee 
 Water. 
 
 With this I dabbled my face well, and let it drip, cool- 
 ing the palms of my hands. I was determined that Will, 
 whatever he might do or say to me, should not have the 
 advantage because of any girlish weakness on my part. 
 
 But I own, in spite of my preparedness, that what he 
 did say to me took away my breath. That he should 
 have slain me with his hand or sent me to a convent for 
 my life's term would have surprised me less. Douglases 
 had done as much before to their women folk, even after 
 they had been wedded a long time. 
 
 " I have spoken with Mistress Maud Lindsay," he said. 
 " She it was who bade me come to this place — because 
 I zvould not believe!" 
 
 Then I sprang to my feet. Hot anger ran white as 
 molten metal from my brain to my heart, and from my 
 heart to my finger-tips. 
 
 " Maud — my Maud Lindsay, whom I trusted — believed 
 my only friend — to betray me ! " I cried. 
 
 " Nay," he said in the same voice, low, even, and a 
 little chill, " not your only friend, not yet a traitress. 
 Your best friend — save, perhaps, one!" 
 
 I do not know that for a long minute my brain took 
 any meaning from these words. They might have been 
 Latin, like the monk's songs, for all they conveyed to me. 
 But slowly there dawned the hope, inexpressible, unbe- 
 lievable, that knowing all, William Douglas was not angry 
 with me. 
 
 I asked him in as many words. But as I drew nearer 
 I saw him shrink away a little — unconsciously, as I now 
 know, but as I then thought because James had so 
 recently held me in his arms. 
 
 " Angry with you, child ? " he said, his voice vibrating 
 strangely ; " nay ; but my eyes are opened." 
 
 " It was nothing," I said, trying to speak lightly. 
 " James was but bidding me farewell. He teased and 
 crakcd like a scarecrow in the corn-fields till I had per- 
 force to let him kiss me. I did wrong."
 
 THE GREAT HEART OF A MAN 115 
 
 William Douglas waved his hand, as if all that I spoke 
 of was an afterthought, a nothing, even as I had said. 
 
 " My eyes were opened wide before ever I came 
 hither," he said ; " hitherto I have walked in darkness. 
 But Maud Lindsay has made me see ! " 
 
 I waited for that which should come next. 
 
 " Child," he went on again, " I wonder if you will 
 understand? I fear not. The matter is too great for 
 you. But at first, when she spoke, I would not believe 
 that you could think of another. Love, betrothals, mar- 
 riage, the hope of children born to the House of Douglas : 
 these had always appeared to my mind as so many links in 
 a chain, a chain which was to bind you and me for always. 
 To me, you have been all my life the Little Maid whom 
 I used to see on my visits to Thrieve. But I forgat (hav- 
 ing, indeed, many things upon my mind) that now you 
 had grown into a woman ; that you needed other love, 
 other care; that if I did not speak — well, there were 
 others less tied of tongue ! " 
 
 I did not speak, for, indeed, he seemed to be speaking 
 as much to himself as me. Presently, I think, his 
 mood changed. He sat down near me, and let his words 
 fall with a commoner and more friendly accent. 
 
 " ' Your fault,' said Maud Lindsay, ' all your own fault, 
 William Douglas ! ' I agree ! Only, you see, I did not 
 know. But it is a crime for a man not to know. A man 
 is maimed who goes through life thus, with eyes that tell 
 him nothing of women, scarce even the colour of their 
 hair, or whether the blush on their cheek is for his own 
 incoming or for that of another man ! " 
 
 " William," I said, " I promised that I would be a true 
 and good wife to you. I have continued to intend no less. 
 Is that enough for you and me? We need not expect 
 great things of each other ! " 
 
 He smiled very sadly. 
 
 " No," he said. " I am well served. In my folly I 
 thought it was enough to tell a girl that I loved her, 
 knowing that one day she was to be my wife, and that 
 then I could tell her better. Listen, child — what I say is 
 strange. I love you. I love you as James yonder will
 
 ii6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 never love you — no, nor any woman. He hath it not 
 in him. Nevertheless I know — I have seen — I have 
 heard — the thing Maud Lindsay told me, that your love 
 is not for me ! Not now, my child — not ten years hence 
 — not for ever ! " 
 
 I laid my hand on his, and I think that I must have 
 sobbed aloud. " I do love you, cousin Will — ^as — as 
 much as I can." These were the words I said. 
 
 He touched the back of my hand gently. Then, stoop- 
 ing, he kissed it, laying it back again on my lap. But 
 there was no caressing in his touch, only somewhat of that 
 sad tenderness with which we resign our best loved 
 dead to the white swathings and the hollow falling of the 
 clods. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " that is it in a word. You have said 
 it — ' as well as you can ' — so you would love your hus- 
 band. It is a true word. But I saw your eyes as you lay 
 in my brother's arms. That is another sort of love — 
 something I shall never know — shut away from me — lost 
 for ever. And by my own fault. I have chosen the 
 worser part, of that I do not doubt. But such as it is — 
 'tis too late to go back upon it now ! " 
 
 I had no word to say. For though there was no right 
 tenderness for William Douglas in my heart — not, at 
 least, such as he spake of — I could not love him as my 
 husband — no, not if he had been the angel Gabriel, with 
 all the virtues of heaven thick upon him. I am of the 
 earth, earthy, and it was the chief of my good qualities 
 that I was ever candid enough to acknowledge it. 
 
 " Listen, child," he said again, and as he spoke all his 
 great, clean, over-burdened soul seemed to unroll itself 
 before my vision, " to-morrow I will wed you before the 
 priest. The wheel of fate cannot go back. So much 
 must be, if all I have striven for — all that your two 
 brothers died for, is not to be lost in the ruin of our 
 House. But I will hold you sacred — yes, even as my sis- 
 ter, even as my mother, until the day of my death. I am 
 a strong man and able for this thing. Also. William 
 Douglas was not made for a long life. He fights with 
 principalities and powers and shall die — tliough in his
 
 THE GREAT HEART OF A MAN 117 
 
 death (I who speak see it) Scotland shall be new-born. 
 Will you help me in this ? " 
 
 " I do not wholly understand," I said, " but at least 
 I will do all you wish, so be that you are not angry with 
 me for — for — caring- about James ! It is only a little and 
 I could not help it." 
 
 I think he winced at this. 
 
 " Nay," he said. " You I do not blame at all — and 
 James not greatly. He is as incapable of refraining from 
 the making of love, as I " 
 
 " Of making it ! " said I, smiling at my cousin for the 
 first time. It may not be too late; who knows? You 
 should go to school to James ! " 
 
 " I have had one lesson," he answered, not giving me 
 back my smile, yet not rejecting it, "it is enough. For 
 me, I will hold to the word I have spoken. To-morrow is 
 our wedding-day. When we are once married, you and I 
 — I shall order it so that James shall ride oft' as upon a 
 report of danger to the Upper Ward and I follow him 
 immediately to Douglas Castle. Meantime, I will leave 
 you here with Maud Lindsay for your guardian. It shall 
 never be said that William Douglas took what was 
 another man's — that is, with knowledge and intent. As 
 for James, I will speak with him apart. Till we meet at 
 the altar, Margaret, I bid you farewell ! " 
 
 And as he said, even so he did.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A MARRIED MAID 
 
 Even yet of the marriage and all that concerns it, I can- 
 not bear to speak at length. 
 
 It was done, and as to that there was an end. I was 
 left alone, at once a wife and a maid — the wife of 
 William Douglas and the betrothed of James, his brother, 
 with the full knowledge of both ! Was ever girl so 
 bestead ? 
 
 What Will had said to James I knew not at that time — 
 nor, indeed, till long afterwards, and then perhaps 
 coloured by time and the personality of the narrator. 
 Briefly, however, the two men were of an accord. 
 
 To James Douglas, till his brother's death, Thrieve was 
 a shut door. I laughed a little when I heard it, baldly 
 stated by Will as a thing certified and agreed upon. For 
 I could imagine very well James's wry face, and the ill 
 grace with w^hich he would bind himself to that compact. 
 
 " But," said the Earl William, with some philosophy, 
 " the arrangement is good for both — I gain an arm, and 
 James will have the advantage of a head " 
 
 " And I? " I asked of him quickly, " what do I gain? " 
 
 He glanced at me simply and without suspicion. 
 
 " You will gain that which you yearned for — liberty." 
 
 I pointed about the circumference of the Isle of Thrieve, 
 round and round. 
 
 " There," said I, " that is your liberty — a prison of 
 twenty acres ! " 
 
 William Douglas smiled. We were in the banqueting 
 tent, sitting apart — and I daresay the guests thought 
 that, as we raised our eyes to each other, we spoke of the 
 light things of lovers, masking our hopes with glances and 
 happy laughters, our anticipations with the touches of 
 hands beneath the table board. 
 
 ii8
 
 A MARRIED MAID 119 
 
 " Maud Lindsay finds it enough ! " he said, slowly. And 
 I think that for once he spake to try me. 
 
 " I wot well," I answered, giving him back glance for 
 glance. " She hath here all that she desires, husband, 
 bairns, housewifery, love " 
 
 " Well?" he questioned, with some hidden meaning of 
 his own in the word. 
 
 And I think he meant that even then I also might have 
 all these if I chose. But if such was his intent, I knew 
 not what was for my good. Will Douglas, if he believed 
 this thing, had spoken too late. What he asked (if so 
 be that he asked it) was no longer mine to give. And the 
 fact that I was not sure whose it was did not help Will's 
 case at all. At any rate it pertained not to William 
 Douglas. 
 
 Laurence McKim had come to the wedding after all, 
 and throughout the ceremony (in which he took no part, 
 being, though an abbot, only in deacon's orders) I was 
 conscious of his pale face, fine and clear in outline as 
 the carving of a statue. Behind, in the groomsman's 
 place, James gloomed and glowered, seeming even then 
 to meditate flinging me across his horse's croup, and 
 galloping out upon the road for the Little Ross on the 
 chance of the vessel that was to take us into the roads of 
 Nantes. 
 
 Before he departed I demanded of Will where were the 
 boundary posts of my liberty, what I was to say to my 
 jailors when I desired permission to cross the drawbridge, 
 or if (upon disobedience) I was to have Black Archi- 
 bald's dungeon with bread and water. Yes, it was thus 
 that I spoke when I was young. Time and the flux of 
 things have made me sorry enough for it now. But dur- 
 ing those years I am sure I had no particle of gratitude, 
 and I am not even sure that I had any heart. 
 
 But Will answered quite gravely that Sholto and his 
 two hundred men would be at my service if I desired to 
 ride any considerable distance. Also that, as far as con- 
 cerned the braes of Galloway, from Palnure to Carset- 
 horn, and from the Ross to the Merrick foot, all was 
 as safe for me as if I had been one of these bairns of
 
 I20 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Maud Lindsay's that scampered and made daisy chains 
 upon the green pied leas of Bahnaghie and the Isle. 
 
 I looked across at James, as Will mentioned the Ross. I 
 meant to remind him that all might not be as safe for me 
 as the Earl imagined. So, to reassure him, I added that 
 I did not intend to be carried ofif twice to France, but 
 would cling to Maud Lindsay's tails close as a burr in a 
 frieze coat. 
 
 " And then I can have Laurence sometimes, is it not so? " 
 I asked. " He reads tales out of the Latin and tells them 
 to Maud and me in the summer gloomings. Is it per- 
 mitted to your prisoner that she should speak with 
 Laurence when he comes over from Sweetheart?" 
 
 " Aye, surely," said William Douglas, carelessly, " have 
 all the monks of Dundrennan if it be any pleasure to you, 
 child. Let them tell you tales by the league — Laurence 
 or another ; 'tis all the same to me ! " 
 
 For he had it not in him to be jealous of any — least of 
 all of Laurence McKim. And, indeed, what call had he? 
 For did not he ride away, free even as he left me behind 
 him free, bidding me company with all, save only his 
 brother James? For that was the agreement that the 
 brothers had made between themselves. 
 
 It was the deed of a great heart — though, perhaps, a 
 somewhat cold one. Still, it made of James Douglas, 
 almost to a certainty, ninth Earl of Douglas. It was 
 something to wait for — two-thirds of Scotland — with a 
 widow that had never been a wife into the bargain. 
 Certes, a noble gift! Yet for all that, James Douglas 
 only gloomed, thinking of the present, and looking as 
 sulky as a dog from whom a stranger has taken a bone. 
 But that was James's way all the days of him. 
 
 Then William seemed to recall something to himself. 
 
 " Laurence McKim," he said meditatively, " yes — yes, 
 that is well thought on. I am glad you spoke of him. 
 He is a man of many books, and will b? good company 
 for you all. I will see to it — I will see to it immediately." 
 
 He knitted his brow, as he did over great problems of 
 the state, yet he was only thinking for my comfort. 
 And I all the while as cold as a stone and as ungrateful.
 
 A MARRIED MAID 121 
 
 He went on, " Also there is Malise over at the CarHn- 
 wark — by the Three Thorns. And did one not tell me 
 of a girl there of your own age or younger. What is her 
 name? Magdalen, was it not? A maid with a rare 
 beauty of promise ! She will keep you company, and help 
 you in summer with the flower-gatheripg, and at your 
 broidering over the winter fire ! " 
 
 At that I pouted. It was good of Will, doubtless ; but 
 as for me, I have always found both these occupations 
 go better in company with a man than with any girl, of 
 beauty how rare soever. 
 
 " I was very happy as I was," I said ; " why had you to 
 come and make me marry you, only to ride away, you and 
 James, leaving me with women and babies? " 
 
 " Child," he said, a little drily, " you will find the Bower 
 as it was. It looks to the north, and commands a fine 
 prospect ! " 
 
 But I still was ill-satisfied, thinking of myself, and tak- 
 ing no account of his irony. 
 
 " Well, there is no one to speak with," I complained, 
 " you take away James." 
 
 " Yes," he answered, with mighty sudden gravity, " I 
 take away James. I choose not that — my wife — should 
 go to the Lady's Bower with James Douglas, not if he 
 were twice and three times my brother ! " 
 
 " And Laurence? " I asked, determined to be as bitter 
 with him as I could, though I cannot tell why, save that 
 the events of the day had been too much for me. 
 
 " Oh," he answered carelessly, " Laurence McKim, or 
 the collie dog from the Mains, or Puggy the monkey, 
 from the guard-hall — have whom you will at the Lady's 
 Bower ! But as for my brother, let him bide his turn ! I 
 am doing enough and more for James Douglas ! " 
 
 And at that I laughed. For, apart from the strange, 
 pleasureable fear I had of James, and so far as good 
 company was concerned, in my heart I preferred to be 
 with Larry. For William had spoken truth. It was as 
 safe to be with Laurence as with the collie from the 
 Mains. 
 
 All the same I did not think Laurence would have liked
 
 122 MAY MARGARET 
 
 to be told of it, nor yet would James have been flattered 
 to know that it was a certain relief to my heart, great 
 and definite, to see them both ride away over the hills 
 towards Douglas Castle. 
 
 Then the stillness settled down. The tents were struck, 
 the ground cleared — the revellers departing as they had 
 come to their keeps and peel-towers. There fell a deep 
 peace — a Sabbath on the land. So still was it after their 
 way-going, that often the ringing of the kirk-bell at Bal- 
 maghie could be heard for vespers or prime. Sir Harry 
 the parson doubtless pulling himself at the rope. 
 
 It was indeed almost like the days at St. Brigida's come 
 again. Only, and it was a great difference — at Thrieve 
 there was no Bald Cat and no hateful espionage. Also 
 there were men sometimes, though only Laurence and 
 Sholto counted very much — or rather to speak truth, 
 Laurence — that is, if he would only have come. 
 
 As for Maud, she grew sweeter every day. She made 
 herself winsome and beloved by women and that easily. 
 For me it is different — I have found only a few women, 
 not more than I could number twice over upon the fingers 
 of a hand, who were even tolerable to me. But with Maud 
 it was all different. She not only endured all women, but 
 with her motherly ways, won them to love her too. And 
 yet I can recall her in her youth, as great a petticoated 
 rogue and villain as the best ! For I never had it in my 
 heart to tease men as Maud Lindsay was used to do. 
 Yet a home, a husband and wealth of children may make 
 the most daring of us even as Maud Lindsay ! 
 
 Now the men had not long gone when I began to 
 bethink me of what Will, my husband, had said as to 
 company and riding — that all was safe in Galloway, and 
 that he had left me a fair white mare of Arab blood, 
 fine and gentle-pacing as a Spanish jennet, yet when 
 fretted, fiery as Varlet after he had been in stable for a 
 week — my dear old Varlet that of his courtesy Sieur 
 Paul was keeping for mc at Cour Cheverney lest I should 
 again find myself in the land of France. 
 
 On Haifa then (for so out of the old crusading histories 
 I had named the little mare) I could go everywhere, and
 
 A MARRIED MAID 123 
 
 Sholto soon found that it was no heavy-haunched charger 
 of the Hsts that could hold its own with the blood of 
 Arabia. 
 
 But Maud Lindsay, for whose little finger Sholto cared 
 more than for my whole body, was mounted on a steed 
 that paced like a packman's pony well laden with creels. 
 Rouncey was the fitting name, given in derision, which 
 this broad-backed, sure-footed beast of burden bore. 
 Haifa could ride about and about the padding brute as 
 a deerhound circles a charging ox. I think, however, 
 that our Maud was none the best pleased to be thus made 
 a matron of, while the earliest autumn of her beauty was 
 yet far to seek. But it was all owing to Sholto's affection, 
 which fussed and fumed over her like a hen over duck- 
 lings. And as often as she went riding with me, it was 
 ever " Be wise now, Maud ! Let not that madcap lead 
 yovi into wild tricks ! " 
 
 The first of our adventurings was on the day after they 
 had ridden away — Will and James together over that hill, 
 which we called the Hiding Hill, because behind it many 
 and many a Douglas has passed in his time, watched by 
 the eyes of loving women to the last flutter of his cap 
 and the last gleam of the spearhead as it dipped and rose, 
 and — dipped again. 
 
 But this time, strangely enough, the two women in 
 Thrieve were glad to see the men depart. 
 
 Maud heaved a sigh and threw up her hands, press- 
 ing her temples as if to still an ache or to be rid of an 
 anxiety. 
 
 " I thought he was never going to understand," she 
 said. " If I had not seen James follow you across the 
 meadow and round the willow copses towards the Lady's 
 Bower, I had surely been at my wits' end. So I sent 
 him after you twain ! " 
 
 " For me," said I, " I know not whether it was well or 
 ill done of you ! " 
 
 Maud looked a while at me fixedly, at first with a certain 
 vexation, but afterwards gradually breaking into a smile, 
 serene as gracious. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " I was wrong. I took you for a child,
 
 124 MAY MARGARET 
 
 but you are a woman for all that with your reasons and 
 counterings. If you have a thing given you, you mis- 
 like it. If you get it not, that you like worse. But if, 
 having cast it away as worthless, it will not come back, 
 being whistled for — that you like worst of all ! This it 
 is to be all a woman ! A very woman ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE COTTAGE BY THE THREE THORNS 
 
 It was with some anticipation, but, still more, I think, 
 with that exaltation which comes from swift movement 
 in the open air, that Maud and I started to ride the half 
 league which separated us from the cottage of the Three 
 Thorns. 
 
 It was mid- August — that is to say, high summer in Scot- 
 land, for the beauties of this our dour land develop late. 
 But there were now crops along the river bank, other than 
 the daisies pied and winking gowans which had greeted 
 me on my return from France, corn still green in the 
 hollows, but thinning out and yellowing on the brae- 
 faces, besides a hundred flowers all along the way we 
 went, I had quite forgot the country names of most of 
 them, though I could have given the most part of them 
 in the French tongue readily enough. 
 
 There was a scent of delightful warmth, rare in Scot- 
 land, over everything. The morning mist, which heat 
 draws from the ground in the moist south-west, had not 
 yet wholly lifted. Except to children and lovers, the way 
 through the marshes was always a little tedious, because 
 of the need of searching out the best path across the peaty 
 flowes, and of keeping to those bare patches of soil on 
 which only tufts of heather and bent grew. 
 
 Then we mounted the hill, from which we could see the 
 three famous Thorn Trees of Carlinwark, beside which 
 Malise McKim had dwelt all his life. He had, it is true, 
 a much finer house at Mollance, a league and a half up 
 the valley ; but nothing contented the old man truly but 
 the armourer's house by the waterside, with the Isle of 
 Firs in front of the door, immediately under the blue 
 barn roof of Screel, and the sound of the water crisping 
 
 125
 
 126 MAY MARGARET 
 
 and whispering on the pebbles along the shores of Car- 
 Hnwark. 
 
 Malise McKim, chief Armourer-Smith to the Douglases, 
 met us by the door, his vast leathern apron about his 
 middle. He showed himself a gnarled and knotted trunk 
 of a man, with a face in a general way soberish, but 
 upon occasion gravely mirthful as well, and even in repose 
 showing a capacity for humour essentially Scottish. 
 
 He tossed his bonnet on the ground and stood before us 
 bareheaded. 
 
 " That is where I should be, too, if I had not grown so 
 thick-about, my lady Countess," he cried ; " bide ye still 
 where ye are, Sholto's Maud ! First I bode to rax doon 
 my bonnie ! Sit your fit there ! " 
 
 He thrust out a hand towards me — a hand broad as an 
 oaken trencher from the servants' hall. I put one foot 
 into it, and with a touch of my hand, as it were on a 
 mountain side, upon the shoulder of the giant, I found 
 myself on the ground. 
 
 He laughed a low satisfied grumbling laugh. 
 
 " Aye," he chuckled, " the Wee Yin hasna forgot the 
 airt o't. She has minded auld Malise, that stood afar aff 
 and saw her married to his maister yester-morn. But, 
 wae's me, siccan a bride-beddin' ! They tell me the 
 Earl William rade awa' that verra nicht to Douglas 
 Castle and left ye bird-alane ! It canna be true ! " 
 
 " Hush, father," said Maud, hastily, " come and help me 
 down. There were tidings of great danger in the Upper 
 Wards — that Crichton and Livingstone were even then 
 besetting Douglas Castle with a great army ! You speak 
 of things concerning which you have no knowledge ! " 
 
 For so it was ever Maud Lindsay's way to manage and 
 mistress everyone. As many as possible she caused to do 
 her will by simple ordinance, as she did with Sholto, or 
 by alternate manege and the curb rein, as she had been 
 wont to do with her lovers of old — now, however, mostly 
 by wheedling and cajolery, or if no better might be, by 
 the argument of tears, or that soft inveiglement and the 
 attractive forces c f those little kindnesses which touch 
 and win a woman most from one of her own sex.
 
 COTTAGE BY THE THREE THORNS 127 
 
 Old Malise lifted his daughter down, lightly and easily 
 as he had done for me — though Maud had begun to pay 
 the penalty of comfort and a home, with maternity and 
 the happy care of children. In brief, she was no longer 
 willow slender or quite feather-weight. 
 
 Now to me it was greatly pleasant to see again this 
 grizzled giant, whom I but dimly remembered, his arms 
 knotted and massy as the branches of an oak, smiling" upon 
 us — ready at once to give us of his best, or to lay down 
 his life for either of us if need were. 
 
 " But why," said I, " have we not to seek you at your 
 new abode ? Is not the Mollance a pleasant place to dwell 
 in? If not, then we must e'en seek you another. Do you 
 not know that the Douglas will be behadden to none, not 
 even to an old friend ? " 
 
 " Pleasant to the e'e, and heartsome — aye," said the old 
 armourer, " but the Mollance will never be hame to me. 
 Some o' thae daftlike young folk o' mine will doubtless 
 set up their canopied bedposts there. But there shall be 
 nae hame for the auld smith but aneath the Three Thorns 
 where he was born. There shall he leeve and there (God 
 sainin' him) will he dee, and when they carry him awa' 
 feet foremost, he will be buried oot yonder on the Kelton 
 braefaces, wi' the glint o' rain and sunshine comin' and 
 gangin', as if the Head Smith o' a' were hard at it, blawin' 
 the bellows o' the wunds athort the lowin' coals o' the 
 cloods o' even. Hoots — there I am at it again, bletherin' 
 fule words aboot the cloods." 
 
 He turned with a perfect whirlwind of a voice, cried 
 aloud, " Guidzmfe, are ye there?" 
 
 " Here I am. Laird McKim," replied another voice of 
 almost equal volume from behind the peat-stack, " but I 
 wad hae ye ken that golderin' like a Bull o' Bashan is in 
 no way to caa' for the leddy o' the Mollance. Do ye 
 think that I, Dame Barbara o' that ilk, am but a tinkler's 
 wife for a' the warld to scraich at?" 
 
 " And 'deed what better are ye ? " said her husband, 
 subduing his voice to shorter range. " Ye are just puir 
 auld Babby Kim, the smith's wife at the Three Thorns! 
 And," suddenly sending his voice outward in a gust of
 
 128 MAY MARGARET 
 
 sound, " gin ye dinna come oot frae ahint that peat-stack 
 this minute — faith, Tse come an' fetch ye like a clockin' 
 hen ! " 
 
 " The poo'er is no gien ye by the Ahnichty, Laird 
 McKim," said the voice, " ' Brawny ' thoug-h they caa' 
 ye! Ye mind what happened to that black scoondrel 
 Ham for makkin' a shame an' a latichin' stock o' his 
 faither, and faith, it wad be waur for you to do the Hke 
 to your douce marriet wife ! Gang your ways intil the 
 hoose an' bid Magdalen bring me my paduasoy goon and 
 my white mutch. For I'm juist no fit to be seen, as weel 
 ye ken, me bein' a laird's wife, an' forbye, the mither o' 
 a beltit knicht an' an Abbot o' Sweetheart Abbey. A 
 bonny-like thing for a graund body like me to be catchit 
 in an auld slip body and clogs, feedin' the pigs ! Gang 
 YOur ways and find Magdalen — hear ye me, Malise 
 McKim?'" 
 
 " But, guidwife," said Malise, with something like a 
 wink across at us, " I'm some feared that Magdalen is 
 gane to the far park yont the hill, to gather the white rose 
 and the reid ! Ye wull hae to come out as ye are, guid- 
 wife, I'm thinkin' ! " 
 
 " Deil o' that I'll do, Laird McKim ! " cried the lady, 
 while we waited smiling. I had signalled to Maud to be 
 still, for, indeed, the words, and the very lilting strain 
 of the voice when in pretended anger, recalled old things 
 to me. For this same Dame Barbara had been my foster- 
 nurse, even as she had been that of my two dead brothers, 
 whom the Crichton slew so cruelly at Edinburgh. " Deil 
 o' that," she repeated; "gang yoursel', my man, to the 
 armoire, an' tak oot the paduasoy and the white mutch 
 that hangs on the peg, a' goffered an' daintied ! And 
 mind ye that your hands are well washen, ye great muckle, 
 hulkin' blackamoor that ye are! For gin ye fyle a single 
 kep-string or bowed puff, I'se " 
 
 " Mother," said Maud Lindsay, suddenly, " let me go if 
 you need such-like, but do not forget that you are keeping 
 the Countess of Douglas waiting ! " 
 
 "The Countess o' Douglas? Wha's she?" (There was 
 a sudden change in the voice.) " No, my wee Margaret.
 
 COTTAGE BY THE THREE" THORNS 129 
 
 her that lay at my breests, that was unto me as my ain — • 
 aye, an' maybes mair — the last left o' the bonny three that 
 were bane o' my bane an' flesh o' my flesh, as say the 
 Scriptures ! " 
 
 " Even so, Dame Barbara ! " I cried. " If you will not 
 come to see your foster-bairn, faith, blithely will I kilt my 
 coats, and help you to feed the pigs — as I have done 
 before, dear mother of mine, many and many a time ! " 
 
 There reached us a sound of feet heavily plashing, 
 excited breathings that came short and fast, then finally 
 from behind the peatstacks Dame Barbara appeared 
 with her sonsy arms outspread to enfold me. A blue 
 linen gown was broadly belted about that part of her 
 body which it was a misuse of words to call her waist. 
 A kilted skirt of rough frieze descended a little, a very 
 little, below her knees, showing rig-and-furrow stockings 
 of blue wool, and sturdy feet thrust into the huge 
 wooden shoes, called " clogs " — a sort of left-handed 
 cousin, I take it, of the sahot of Touraine. 
 
 " Oh, my ain wee bairnie," she cried, " I wad hae 
 kenned ye afar afif. There's nane like ye ! But I canna 
 touch ye the noo. I declare I am a fair disgrace to be 
 seen — me that micht hae been sittin' in the bonnie hoose 
 o' Mollance " 
 
 " Aye," said her husband, " twiddlin' your thumbs 
 roond yin anither like a millwheel in a spate an' wishin' 
 that ye had the Carlinwark pigs to feed ! " 
 
 " Ye needna think, muckle sumph that ye are," retorted 
 Dame Barbara, " that because ye canna pit by a day 
 withoot the smell o' apron leather, an' the foost o' het 
 pleuch-irons fizzlin' in the cauldron, that me, who is ain 
 sister to a Provost o' Dumfries, has nae mair respectable 
 thochts in my heid ! " 
 
 But having once felt my arms about her, the good 
 Dame of Mollance easily forgat the imperfections of her 
 attire, and alternately wept and laughed over me, now 
 holding me at arm's length to admire, and anon reflect- 
 ing with some breadth upon the supposed ill-conduct of 
 my husband in leaving me alone so soon after our 
 marriage.
 
 I30 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Body an' breath o' haly Patrick," she cried, " it wasna 
 dune that gate in my young time — by gentle nor yet by 
 simple. But wae's me, wae's me, the times are sair 
 changed — and wi' them the folk. There's even cor wee 
 bit Magdalen, and — Guid forgi'e me, nae sweeter or bon- 
 nier maid doffs kirtle at bedtime atween here and John-o'- 
 Groats — though I say it that shouldna — but even she will 
 gang aff by her lane instead o' dancin' on the green wi' 
 them that are o' her age. Ye will find her ower yonder 
 i' the wild wood or up am.ang the heather, far far yont, 
 sittin' on a hassock o' bent and listenin' to the laverocks 
 i' the lift, as if she had never heard them afore in a' her 
 life. Aye, aye, puir lassie, an' sae your groom's gane an' 
 left ye, wae's me, wae's me ! " 
 
 This was the beginning of our daily pilgrimages to see 
 Malise McKim and his wife — and (but that came later) 
 Magdalen, their daughter and their other five sons, Corra, 
 Dun, Herries, Roger, and Malise the Younger. All 
 these, however, were older than their sole sister Magda- 
 len, who, as their mother said, " had arrivit untimely, the 
 child o' oor auld age — the ithers being a' as close on yin 
 anither's tails as a string o' deuks gaun' to the mill- 
 pond." So, as was natural, this one little daughter, the 
 pearl of price, now in her fifteenth year, had drawn to 
 her great store of the love of her parents, and found her- 
 self petted and worshipped as a divinity even by her 
 brothers. 
 
 Nothing she could do was wrong. So Magdalen McKim 
 grew up encircled by love and what is more and other, 
 by the unfailing expression of love. Her father, who 
 melted to none else, followed her with his eyes as she 
 went about the house. One day (so he said to himself) 
 Magdalen would marry a laird's son and be the Lady of 
 Mollance. For, as for the others, man and boy, they 
 could fend for themselves as their father and mother had 
 done. 
 
 But on this first occasion of our going we saw nothing 
 of the maid, the fame of whose beauty, however, had 
 already carried far across the countryside. 
 
 Yet I held it strange that as Maud and I overtopped the
 
 COTTAGE BY THE THREE THORNS 131 
 
 little ridge behind the Three Thorns, which is called the 
 Hill of Carlinwark, I seemed to see all suddenly against 
 the sunset the shape of a knight in armour mounted on a 
 noble horse. He was stooping from his saddle to kiss a 
 maiden's hand, which she had rendered to him as if 
 against her will. Both stood out black against the red- 
 ness of the west, and in a moment they were gone, or at 
 least hidden by a little rising of the ground as we rode on. 
 The sight took my breath away. I must have dreamed 
 it, I thought, for indeed at the time my head was full of 
 visions and hopes and fears. So I said nothing to my 
 companion. 
 
 And Maud, full of her babes, paid no attention, or at 
 least she spoke never a word of the event if she saw 
 aught. But to me it seemed that the knight with the 
 black plume and the great square shoulders was of the 
 build, make, and carriage of James Douglas. 
 
 Only in my heart I said, " Tush, Margaret, you get 
 your mind too full of James Douglas these days. This 
 must be ended, and suddenly! I will no more on't! " 
 
 All the same I thought on the vision afterwards, when 
 I ought to have been asleep in my naked bed.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE PENANCE OF JOCK THE PENMAN 
 
 There still remained to me to make the acquaintance of 
 the sole daughter of Malise McKim, the sister of Sholto 
 and Laurence. She was not yet sixteen years of age, 
 but already her name had gone wide athwart the country. 
 Yet withal she was a strange girl — with a look on her 
 face like to one who had spoken with the Little People, 
 so they said. 
 
 As her mother had told me, she loved the wild wood 
 better than the village street, the heathery hill more than 
 the noise of the market place, the tumult of the fair, or 
 even the genial push and jostle of the tourney when folk 
 of all degrees looked over one another's shoulders. 
 
 And still I had not set eyes upon this marvel. But one 
 morning, awaking early, I heard two of our soldiers of 
 the guard — A'Hannays both of them — Gib the Brown 
 and Kirsten the Red, exchanging confidences on the 
 stone balcony beneath my chamber, where their watch 
 had been set by Sholto McKim. 
 
 They had taken leave to rest their halberds in a corner, 
 and to lean upon the balusters with their elbows (God 
 help them if Sholto, or even Andro the Penman came 
 their way !). 
 
 "So ye were ower by at the Three Thorns yestreen, 
 Kirsten?" inquired Gib the Brown, starting a subject, 
 which in spite of his air of nonchalance was evidently 
 near his heart. " Saw ye ocht o' the Flooer-o'-the-Ha\y ? " 
 
 (For by this name, it appeared the men of the Thrieve 
 guard and the country folk about spoke of the daughter 
 of the armourer.) 
 
 The Red one shrugged his shoulders and scratched 
 meditatively. 
 
 " The Flooer— no," answered Kirsten softly, " but the 
 Thorn — aye ! The Thorn was there ! " 
 
 132
 
 PENANCE OF JOCK THE PENMAN 133 
 
 " Ye cam' on Malise McKim then ! — What said he til 
 ye?" 
 
 " ' Said,' quo' he," growled Kirsten the Red, " truth o' 
 Peter an' Paul, I didna wait for what he said. I kenned 
 the auld man's fit, and I left — yes, Gib, ye may tak' your 
 oath on that! I left the viceenity ! " 
 
 " But how kenned ye the fit o' Malise McKim ? " in- 
 quired Gib. 
 
 Kirsten the Red turned upon his kinsman a look of 
 mingled pity and contempt. 
 
 " Gib," he said, " it's little that ye ken. I kenned 
 Malise's fit by the sign that it liftit me near sax feet in the 
 air, wi' a spang like a green puddock loupin' into a pool. 
 So I cam' awa' ! Aye, Kirsten A'Hennay cam' awa' frae 
 there and waited for nae leave-takkin' either ! " 
 
 " Umph ! " retorted Gib, " but ye are a poor plucked 
 bantam to fight a man. Noo, if it had been me " 
 
 " See here — you," cried Kirsten, the Red A'Hannay, 
 fiercely, " if ye think ye can do mair nor me — come your 
 ways doon to the green yonder when our watch is lifted, 
 and ril show you. Aye or better yet, gang to the well- 
 yett o' Carlinwark an' gie three whustles like this " 
 
 Here Kirsten imitated the call of the peewit upon the 
 moor with great exactness. Then he laughed. " Saul's 
 health ! " he cried, " then ye will ken whether ye are wel- 
 come or no at the smiddy o' the Three Thorns — thro' the 
 shape o' the auld man's brogans ! " 
 
 At this point there was a hurried rush to arms. The 
 sound of footsteps approached from below, halted, again 
 receded. Instantly halberds were grounded — piled, and 
 the peaceful confabulation of the A'Hannays continued 
 over the parapet. 
 
 " I say, Gib, she's maist awesome bonny — yon yin ! " 
 
 " Ye're speakin', Red Kirsten ! " replied his cousin. 
 Then with a groan he added, " But, oh man, whiles Fm 
 feared till I sweat that she's no for the like o' us, Gib. 
 There was young Jock the Penman — they say he made up 
 til her yae day on the road to Ba'maghie Kirk — near by 
 the wood o' Lochar. And my faith, I kenna what he 
 said to her, but she bade him gang an' seat himsel' on the
 
 134 MAY MARGARET 
 
 muckle stane in the midst of the ford — they caa' it the 
 Black Douglas, ye ken. And he was to sit there for a 
 day and a nicht withoot speech, or else she wad tell her 
 faither, and her seven brithers the words he had spoken 
 till her!" 
 
 " Lord sake, ye tell me sae? And did he gang? " 
 
 " Gang, Kirsten ! " continued Gib solemnly. " Certes, 
 there was nae two ways aboot that! He sat him doon 
 there, a' disjaskit an' drookit-like (for he had to wade to 
 the oxters and him dressed in his green velvets). Aye, 
 as the stane was marvellous slippery, he had to sit on his 
 hunkers, blinkin' like a hoolet in the sunshine a' the time 
 the kirk folk were guan' by. An' siccan jeerin' and 
 lauchin' as there was at him, hotchin' there, wi' the caller 
 Dee Water sappy and broon about his hurdies, an' the 
 ill-faured laddies frae the kirk-clachan flingin' stanes an' 
 dirt at him ! Eh, but it was graund to see ! " 
 
 Kirsten made silent contortions indicative of delight. 
 
 Aye, an' yince he turned his back on the ford, and the 
 lassie McKim (I never thocht she had as muckle spunk 
 in her) garred him turn him again and face the 
 folk as they gaed planterin' an' splashin' through the shal- 
 lows on horse and on foot. And sae there sat Jock till 
 what time Sir Hairry the parson had said his mass, and 
 the kirk folk were on their road back again. Then Malise 
 McKim spied IMaister Jock sittin' a' "crowded up on the 
 Black Dooglas — his chin on his knees and dreepin' like 
 sea-weed on a tide-rock." 
 
 '"What's that fule doin' there, Magdalen?' said 
 Malise. 
 
 Had you not better ask him, faither.' said the lass, 
 speakin' mim an' dcnty like a wee white doo drinkin' 
 water." 
 
 " Aye," sighed Kirsten, " she canna help it. It's an 
 airt she haes ! " 
 
 " ' Better ask at him, had I? ' growls Malise, ' faith, richt 
 sune ni do the speerin'.' 
 
 " Sae doon he gangs to the water-side on that muckle 
 Flanders beast o' his that wad carry a tun o' wine, and he 
 stands a bit while intent upon the peetifu' object on the
 
 PENANCE OF JOCK THE PENMAN 135 
 
 Black Dooglas, lookin' an' aye better-lookin'. An' them 
 that was there telled me that it was better nor a monk's- 
 play, when the black deils come chasin' in after the ill- 
 doers, wi' their reid-het pincers. Ye ken what wi' the 
 sparks o' forty years' smiddwark, Malise wrinkles up 
 his face into knots, and pu's doon his broos till he grins 
 at ye like a fox oot o' a whun bush. This time, they say, 
 he was fair fearsome to see." 
 
 " ' Wha are ye and what are ye doin' there on the Lord's 
 Day morning ? ' says Malise in a voice that near shook 
 Jock the Penman aff the stane intil the water. * Is this 
 the feast o' the King o' Misrule ? ' 
 
 " But Jock he said naething, him kennin' better. 
 
 " An sae Malise cries oot again, ' Tell me what for ye 
 are sittin' there like a popinjay on a steeple, makin' your- 
 sel' a cockshy for a' the vagrom bairns and guid-for- 
 naething rake-the-countries in ten pairishes. Is that the 
 way to mak' your maister respeckit ? ' 
 
 " But aye Jock said naething. For the lass was stan- 
 nin' watchin' on the shore. 
 
 " Sae wi' that Malise began to wade in to him on his 
 muckle Flamand. In his hand the smith had a branch o' 
 an oak he had poo'ed in the wood o' Glenlochar, an' as 
 he took his beast into the ford he strippit the cudgel to 
 the white. And because Jock the Penman sat still, 
 because he dauredna steer, the fear bein' on him, Malise 
 lifted him up like a half-drooned kitten, an' cast him 
 across his saddle-bow." 
 
 " ' I did it for a penance,' says Jock at last, ' it was a 
 vow ! ' And had the stake been the salvation o' his saul, 
 that was as near the truth as he bode to come that day, 
 v/hatever. 
 
 " But, wae's me, when Malise had brocht him to the 
 shore, there was the lass waitin', and Jock telled me after, 
 that his verra bowels turned to water within him when he 
 saw her. But she only said, calm and saftlike as rain 
 in summer when nae wind is, ' What was it that ye said 
 to me, John the Penman, as ye gaed oot through the 
 woods o' Lochar ? ' 
 
 " An' for the life o' him Jock could think o" naething
 
 136 MAY MARGARET 
 
 better to answer than that he had said it was a bonny day 
 for the folk to gang kirkward, an' sain their sowls heark- 
 enin' to the holy and blessed words o' Mess Hairry, the 
 parson o' Ba'maghie ! 
 
 " ' Nothing more than that? ' she said. ' It runs in my 
 head that ye said mair nor that.' 
 
 " * Naething,' cries Jock, ' but that if it were the Lord's 
 ain wull, a drap or twa o' water wad be guid for the 
 craps ! ' 
 
 " ' Sae ye bode to hae the hale flood of the Water o' 
 Dee to keep yoursel' happy, ye numskull ! ' said Malise, 
 setting Jock on the ground wi' a shake that garred his 
 teeth chatter in their sockets. 
 
 " ' And when next you say your prayers for the folk at 
 Mass,' Magdalen put in, ' and for the rain upon the crops, 
 let your place of oratory be other than the middle o' Dee 
 Water, and your prie-dieit a fitter place than the Black 
 Douglas o' Glenlochar ! ' 
 
 " * Aye, see to it ! ' growled Malise. ' Mind what the 
 lass says, or else will I break thy thick head with this 
 cudgel.' " 
 
 Then there was a pause as I abode listening. The two 
 men stood silently degusting the tale of Jock the Penman. 
 It seemed to have a personal flavour for them. 
 
 " And what think ye, Gib, after a'," said Kirsten the 
 Red, " was it that Jock said to the lass? " 
 
 " That," answered Gib, sententiously, " has never been 
 revealed — but " 
 
 " But what?" said Kirsten, whose temper was never of 
 the longest. 
 
 " Weel, gin ony body ocht to ken what Jock the Pen- 
 man said to Magdalen McKim, it should be yoursel', Gib 
 A'Hannay ! Ye hae had experience. Tak' my advice, 
 an' keep far yont frae the Three Thorns. They are no a 
 canny set, thae McKims ! " 
 
 There was silence again from that point for several 
 minutes — a silence strained and disagreeable. 
 
 " Ony way," said Gib, breaking it fiercely, " I haena 
 been kickit and taen it like a lamb ! " 
 
 "Hae ye no?" cried his cousin, "Weel, ye'll no hae
 
 PENANCE OF JOCK THE PENMAN 137 
 
 that lang to complain o' — there! And there! And 
 there I " 
 
 I could hear the rush of the two A'Hannays to the cor- 
 ner where they had piled their arms, and the first click 
 of the halberds as the weapons came to the engage. But 
 as I did not wish two of Sholto's best men put hors de 
 combat for a few foolish words, I slipped out on the bal- 
 cony and called down to them. " Have you seen Sir 
 Sholto McKim ? Pray send him up to me ? " 
 
 They were standing, breathing hard, their heads thrown 
 back, foot to foot, weapon to weapon, as is the way of 
 their fighting race. For the A'Hannays can never hold 
 land long, however they may gain it. They fall a-fight- 
 ing among themselves when there is none other to strive 
 with, and after the battle the land generally goes to the 
 sole surviving cousin in the twentieth degree of rela- 
 tionship. 
 
 So when Gib the Brown and Kirsten the Red saw me, 
 they drew themselves up and saluted. 
 
 " Now," I ordered them severely, " let there be no 
 more of this, or I will have you both in the dungeon of 
 Archibald the Grim, on bread and water for a week — aye, 
 and little enough of the first ! This is no place for pikes 
 and partisans when every good Douglas is wanted. If 
 ye have aught to say to one another, go down to the green 
 and say it with your fists like men I "
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE SCENT OF THE WHITE THORN" 
 
 Still I had not seen Magdalen McKim. 
 
 I was resolved that no longer would I miss my mark. 
 So that very afternoon I sent Andro the Penman, whose 
 swarthy countenance and detemiinate bachelordom pro- 
 tected him from any misconceptions as to his purpose, on 
 mission to the Three Thorns of Carlinwark. 
 
 With him I sent a jewel of price to Magdalen — a cross 
 made of a great moonstone, set about with black 
 diamonds, of Saracen work — brought, so they said, from 
 the Holy Land by some crusading Douglas. And with 
 it I sent the letter which follows : 
 
 Sweet Magdalen and my little Foster Sister, — I have heard 
 speak of you, often and mickle. Yet has it never been my lot to 
 see you. Will you bring your Father and Dame Barbara, with 
 as many of your brothers as can be spared, to the Thrieve 
 to-morrow — that I may see you, and know you for, as they report 
 of you, the fairest and honestest maid in Galloway. This I 
 desire all the more, that, before I was wedded and so in one day 
 grew an old woman, folk were used to call me also ' The Fair 
 Maid of Galloway.' 
 
 This I signed with the name, which (at that time) I 
 had resolved should never be changed — ' Margaret Doug- 
 las.' And then I waited, expectant as a lover for the 
 coming of this marvel and non-such — the flower of all 
 the white thorns that ever grew by the shores of Car- 
 linwark. 
 
 It chanced that I awoke very early and looked across 
 the little garden, wherein, upon the moist and fertile soil 
 washed by the river, flourished the flowering rush and 
 bachelor's button, with the wild vine of Touraine climb- 
 ing up the twin ilex oaks, which had been brought all 
 the way from Rome and planted against the warm soutli- 
 
 138
 
 THE SCENT OF THE WHITE THORN 139 
 
 looking wall of Thrieve. There were open spaces, too, 
 where, kept in countenance by gillyflower and the royal 
 brake, there were beginning to take root those pretty 
 dainty bunches called the " Fair Maids of France," which 
 the Sieur Paul had sent over-seas to remind me of Cour 
 Cheverney. 
 
 Only on this southern face, under my window, was 
 there any green leafage abowt the Castle Thrieve. On 
 every other side the castle rose clear, grey, lonely — a 
 strong tower for defence, a hold against the storms of 
 war, as indeed it had already been for generations — 
 square, bare, and upstanding as if in scorn of com- 
 promise. 
 
 But now I loved the little garden best of all, perhaps 
 because my dear Lady's Bower was deserted. I had no 
 desire to go thither. Two men seemed to stand between 
 me and it — the two whom I had seen ride away to- 
 gether, each watching the other, behind the fatal Hiding 
 Hill. 
 
 It was very early when I looked out on the morning we 
 were to see Magdalen at Thrieve. The river wimpled 
 below, glimmering like the inside of a pearl shell — little 
 flecks of rosy clouds driven up from the east, being, how- 
 ever, smilingly reflected in the grey. I could see the 
 water wander away between the dark meadows till it drew 
 to a point and was lost in the distance. As I leaned from 
 the window of my chamber I felt a damp chill strike sud- 
 denly through me. The dew-dropping trees in the little 
 garden shivered, though there was no wind. I also shud- 
 dered as if I had been one of them. 
 
 Over yonder was the hill of Carlinwark, the clouds of 
 dawn reddening behind it. Why should Fear haunt me 
 and the trees of my garden tremble as if someone were 
 treading upon my grave?. 
 
 Could aught of evil be coming to me from Over 
 Yonder? 
 
 Surely not — only the daintiest, the most innocent, and 
 the sweetest maid in Galloway — Magdalen, the daughter 
 of the armourer of Carlinwark, that rare blossom of the 
 May and the flower of the white and scented thorn.
 
 I40 MAY MARGARET 
 
 She came punctually at ten o'clock of the day, her 
 mother Dame Barbara, and Malise her father being with 
 her. I was startled at first. I remembered her as a little 
 child with a floss of golden hair and eyes like the sun shin- 
 ing on a mountain lake — at once dark and bright. There 
 was no doubt about it — little Magdalen McKim had 
 grown into a bewitching woman — yes, a woman, though 
 according to her years and to her cleading, she was yet no 
 more than a child. 
 
 Of her complexion she was fair, dazzlingly fair, as 
 blonde as I (being a Douglas) was dark. As to her coif, 
 it was marvellous. Each individual hair stood out like 
 a wire of gold, infinitely fine, waving and crisping to her 
 waist. So light the fleece was, the wind blew it this way 
 and that in wisps, as mist is blown about the hill-tops. 
 
 In Magdalen's eyes there was the depth of water seen 
 under the shade of great ancestral trees. What colour 
 they were — green, blue, hazel, or violet, I could not tell. 
 Chiefly, I think, they changed according to the thought 
 that stirred behind. The girl's skin was clear and flushed 
 easily to a dainty rose. Something innocent and appeal- 
 ing looked out from under her eyelashes at you, claiming 
 protection even before the full and gracious smile of her 
 mouth had said, " I trust you ! " 
 
 And so at long and last, here before me, was Magdalen 
 of the Three Thorns. 
 
 I went down myself to meet her, but when I would 
 have embraced her first, she directed me to her mother. 
 
 " She will be disappointed else ! " she whispered, bend- 
 ing from her saddle. 
 
 And so I kissed my old nurse first of all, and then hold- 
 ing the girl at ann's length, examined her from head to 
 foot. The time being summer she was clad in plain white 
 linen cloth, fresh from bleaching upon the green grass of 
 the Carlinwark meadows, and her hair was kept from 
 straying by a snood or band of blue ribbon, broader than 
 usual, which passed about her small and shapely head. 
 
 With that came Maud out also, smiling sweetly and full 
 of content with her life, her babes, her husband. Maud 
 could think wisely and well for others — witness how she
 
 THE SCENT OF THE WHITE THORN 141 
 
 had thought for me — but really her soul abode within her, 
 content, unfretted, sufficient to itself as that of a good 
 mother should, the young birds being still in the nest. 
 
 So we went in, and afterwards Malise came and joined 
 us in the great hall, refusing, however, to sit down in the 
 presence of his mistress. 
 
 " The boys ? " he grumbled, I might say rumbled, when 
 I had asked him why they had not all come, " na, na — 
 they are better at hame. Twa sons o' mine are lost to the 
 anvil and the hammer. If a' o' them gaed the way of 
 Prior Laurence yonder, and Sir Sholto here — what would 
 come o' the armourer-ship to the Douglases o' Thrieve 
 whilk hath been in my family ever since there was a Doug- 
 las to go forth to battle, or a McKim to fit him for it wi' 
 steel harness and sword o' mettle ? 
 
 " ' Na, na, guid lads, bide where ye are,' says I. And 
 guid lads they are. But spoil a McKim an' ye mak' a 
 devil unpitted. So I e'en set them their tasks, and 
 explained what wad happen gin they werena dune by the 
 doon-lettin' o' the nicht ! 
 
 " ' The Lord help ye ! ' said I. But they kenned fu' 
 weel that He wadna ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 It was to me a day most memorable, that August noon 
 and afternoon when from the Three Thorns of Carlin- 
 wark, Magdalen McKim came first into my house of 
 Thrieve. At this distance of time, and after all that is 
 come and gone, it is hard for me to detach myself and 
 convey to those who never set eye upon this girl, any true 
 idea of the wonderful charm of her girlhood. 
 
 There have been beautiful and gracious women not a 
 few whom I have seen and known — chiefest, of course, 
 Maud Lindsay and Mistress Agnes Sorel — " La Belle des 
 Belles." But the like of Magdalen McKim as she was at 
 fifteen have I never seen — child-woman and woman-child 
 in one. 
 
 I cannot mind me of any great thing we either said or 
 did. We went into the south garden, I know, under the 
 shadow of the Ilex or Lady's Oak, where I had had seats 
 placed. Maud Lindsay came to us time and again as the
 
 142 MAY MARGARET 
 
 duties of her housekeeping and nursery permitted. But 
 mostly she left us alone to make acquaintance, taking 
 Dame Barbara off with her, to count baby linen and 
 appraise napery, while Malise went the rounds of the 
 armoury with his son Sholto, growling at specks of rust 
 to other eyes invisible, and informing the Captain of the 
 Guard for the hundredth time how differently things were 
 managed when he was in residence at Thrieve — " in the 
 Tineman's time," as he was careful to add. 
 
 " Doubtless," answered Sholto, growing at last a little 
 nettled, " but then, if our arms are not so clean, we do not 
 lose SO' many battles with them ! " 
 
 " But more heads ! " growled the ancient armourer in 
 his beard. " And there would have been less of that same 
 if the young Earl William would have taken my advice. 
 But 'tis not too late even yet. Yonder, to begin with, are 
 Chancellor Crichton and Tutor Livingston, that carry on 
 their shoulders a pair of bosses that would be none the 
 worse of a snedding ! " 
 
 Sholto laughed, placing his hand affectionately on his 
 father's arm. 
 
 '' But did you ever hear of a right Douglas yet," he 
 said, " that would take advice? " 
 
 Malise shook his head, perhaps remembering my 
 brothers. Then he sighed. 
 
 " Never if it were guid advice ! Or frae a man ! " he 
 added, softly, and as if recalling something to his mind, 
 woeful and heavy with Fate. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 So in the south garden IMagdalen and I sat, the white 
 * doves that swooped and circled about, plumping upon the 
 scattered grains of corn, not more innocently happy. I 
 asked her after a while concerning her lovers and the 
 men who came to the Three Thorns to woo her — of whose 
 number and varied qualifications I had heard so great an 
 account. 
 
 Magdalen smiled softly, with a swiftly passing reminis- 
 cence of her father's humour in her eyes. Then they took 
 on again the misty look of hills seen through an April 
 shower.
 
 THE SCENT OF THE WHITE THORN 143 
 
 '' Aye, aye," she said, " there is a deal of work to be 
 done about the armoury — work that takes time, work that 
 has to be waited for. And there are lads, and brisk lads 
 too, that * cock ' their heads out of the smithy door when 
 my mother steps across to the bleaching green, or one of 
 my brothers comes ben for a drink of water. But," here 
 she smiled softly, " since John the Penman did his watery 
 penance on the stone cairn, there has been more of peace 
 about the house-place of the Three Thorns ! " 
 
 " Who are they that come ? " I said, not, I think, out 
 of curiosity, but just because I wanted to know. For 
 the things which happen to one girl always interest 
 another. 
 
 So, to encourage her, I told her of Cour Cheverney, of 
 the gallant knights there, and of how I liked Laurence, 
 her brother, best of all. At which she smiled, and had for 
 a moment the same childish, all-forgetful look I had seen 
 in Larry's eyes when he was setting the little mill-wheels 
 to running in the tumble of the Touranian brooks. 
 
 Then, very carefully, I spoke concerning William, my 
 husband ; of how wise he was, how brave in word and act, 
 praising him at the expense of his brothers, to see what 
 she would say. For women do these things the one to 
 the other. Then, after a silence, my reward came. Mag- 
 dalen flashed out: 
 
 " But was it not true — so, at least, I was told — that 
 Lord James conquered in the tourney, even as, when he 
 was but a boy, he did at Stirling against the knights of 
 Bargandis ? " 
 
 So with that I turned and said to the girl, " Hath my 
 cousin, James Douglas, by any chance been often over 
 at the Three Thorns?" 
 
 But she answered me quiet steadily, with her own sweet 
 and constant humility — a reproof in itself. 
 
 " Nay," she said, " he is over great a lord to think of 
 me; nevertheless, I have seen him ride by when I was 
 gathering flowers — yes, ever since I was a little girl, 
 whom he would take up on his saddle before him, being 
 kind. But now that I am too old for suchlike, he will, 
 when he meets, dismount and walk a little way, asking
 
 144 MAY MARGARET 
 
 concernedly for my father and brothers, with whom he 
 was in France, and for whom he cherishes love and affec- 
 tion past the common ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes," said I, " such affection is more common 
 than you suppose, sweet Magdalen ! " 
 
 But even then the girl took no offence, nor dreamed of 
 such a thing as irony, being simple and pure, and set 
 about with strong brothers and a father that had a name 
 upon the earth, whom no man — no, not even James Doug- 
 las, would care to cross in his angers. She did not even 
 look up, but went on throwing corn to the doves, pile by 
 pile. For the which Sholto coming in, brother-like, 
 reproved her. 
 
 " Ye may do as ye like at the Three Thorns and wel- 
 come," he said, " but here I am in charge of the larder of 
 Thrieve. And since it has been prophesied that there 
 shall be a siege of the place within three years, there are 
 horses and men that may be glad of the grain you are 
 flinging so freely to these fat squabs ! " 
 
 And since it was our Douglas way never to interfere 
 with any man in his jurisdiction and responsibility, I said 
 nothing. Indeed I would have said as little had he 
 reproved me — such being his right and duty. 
 
 But Magdalen blushed crimson athwart the white of her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I am sorry, Sholto," she murmured, and then she 
 looked with a certain appeal at me. 
 
 " We are all his slaves here," I whispered, " wait till he 
 is gone ! " 
 
 Then there came a voice from the window above. 
 " Come up hither an hold the babe while I see to the 
 chambers. These lazy sluts leave half their work undone. 
 This 1 is to live in a castle with a guard of men-folk in 
 the hall beneath." 
 
 We both knew well the voice of Maud Lindsay and very 
 hurriedly and with long strides Sholto departed to do the 
 duty of parent auxiliary. 
 I laughed aloud when he was fairly gone. 
 " Ah, little girl," I cried, " it is well that there is some-
 
 THE SCENT OF THE WHITE THORN 145 
 
 thing up yonder which can tame even a captain of the 
 Guard. Hearken ! " 
 
 And clearly through the open lattice there came the 
 sound of a babe's crying. 
 
 " That makes us all slaves ! " I said. Then at the 
 words I flushed hot as fire. 
 
 And swiftly, causelessly, as if also ashamed or affrayed, 
 Magdalen nestled up against me.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 
 
 It becomes not me to write of the doings of William 
 Douglas — of how he began to realise his ideal, by taking 
 the King out of the hands of Crichton and Livingston, of 
 his being made Lieutenant General of the realm — of how 
 he besieged and destroyed Crichton Castle, and afterwards 
 took that of Edinburgh. Of course, William Douglas 
 would succeed. I never doubted that of him, being my 
 husband. 
 
 Twice only did he take me with him when he was 
 received in state, and stood at the King's right hand. But 
 I liked not James Stewart's appearance — no, not though 
 he was a King and twice the descendant of kings. On his 
 face was the birth tache which gave him his nickname — 
 James of the Fiery Face. His temper was naturally 
 uncertain, yet capable of rages which made him danger- 
 ous as a cur that runs amuck in the dog-days. Never 
 could I bear the name and kind all the days of me — 
 Stewards and turnspits mating with foreign kings and 
 princes, yet ceasing not to intrigue with the scum and 
 filth of the land, in order to put down their own noblest 
 and bravest. Out upon the Stewarts, I say ! And as to 
 this, it was Malise who first opened my eyes. 
 
 Sholto was now often away in the north or in Edin- 
 burgh and Stirling with the Earl William. For my 
 husband came but seldom to Thrieve since he grew so 
 great in the land, even as it was written that he should. 
 Yet this I think was for my sake, and he never came with- 
 out bringing me a present of the rarest and best — such 
 things as he knew would please me, curious oriental 
 caskets, egg-shaped, carved out of ivory, carpets of 
 Turkey work, and for myself all manner of beautiful gar- 
 mentry, which if I had put upon me, I would have been 
 
 146
 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 147 
 
 gayer than the peacock that pivoted his tail upon the sun- 
 dial in front of the arbour beneath the Hex in my garden. 
 
 I knew he meant to be kind. For ofttimes it seemed 
 that he would arrive at Thrieve with something to say to 
 me, and yet sit in the garden talking of indifferent things, 
 while he took my hand, holding it in his — but only as a 
 cousin might do, even in France. I think he remembered 
 always the Lady's Bower, and what had been said and 
 done there. For me I sometimes wished he had for- 
 gotten. 
 
 I have said that my south-looking chamber had beneath 
 it a terrace with a balluster, the same whereon I had 
 heard the cousins A'Hannay take up their parable con- 
 cerning Magdalen McKim. At least it was so, and by 
 opening my window, either in the little outer chamber or 
 in the bedroom one could hear excellently what went on 
 beneath. For my part I did not mean to hearken, but 
 sometimes there was little else to be done at Thrieve. 
 
 So one September gloaming — still and gracious it was, 
 I mind it yet — William Douglas and I sat together on the 
 low seat by the window of my chamber. He had brought 
 me stuff of Persia, soft like a cushion, yet strong, to lay 
 upon it from end to end. All to pleasure me he did it, 
 having taken the measure secretly, or else carried it in 
 his head. For such at this time was his wont. 
 
 Almost, indeed, I had forgotten that he was my hus- 
 band. It was so long since anyone had reminded me of 
 it — least of all William Douglas himself. So now it was 
 more as friends that we sat together, talking easily, or 
 rather he talking and I listening. For, to speak truth, 
 there was in my heart a great desire to hear him speak of 
 James, his brother, whom I had not seen since my mar- 
 riage day. Yet because I would not ask and he would 
 not tell, I was silent while he recounted of all that 
 Archibald was doing in the north, where he had been 
 made Earl of Murray. Then he told of Hugh, who was 
 now Earl of Ormond, and Little John, who must needs 
 have a barony of his own and set up as " My Lord of 
 Balveny ! " 
 
 " And what," said I, to lead the converse, " have you
 
 148 MAY MARGARET 
 
 done for James? Is he alone to be left plain knight 
 when the Lieutenant-General portions out all Scotland 
 among his brothers ? " 
 
 As I was speaking a strange look passed over my hus- 
 band's face. He gazed out across the green garden, over 
 the wall of the square enceinte of Thrieve to where, on 
 the green grass, Maud's elder children were sporting, 
 rolling, biting, and clawing at each other like young 
 puppies. 
 
 " Ah," he said slowly, choosing his w^ords, " there is an 
 old title in Scotland that I have reserved for James, older 
 than Murray, or Ormond, or Balveny. It is enough for 
 mv second brother that he is, and shall remain, the Master 
 of Douglas ! " 
 
 This, as I knew, was the title reserved for the heir of 
 all. So, after this answer of William's concerning his 
 brother, we sat a long while silent. I know not of what 
 my husband thought, but for me I said nothing, because 
 1 had nothing to say that would comfort him. At last he 
 spoke, looking at me gently enough. 
 
 "You weary here?" he asked. "Have you no desire 
 sometimes to change Thrieve for Douglas Castle or Avon- 
 dale? If so, I will give the orders! " 
 
 "Then I may not go again to Edinburgh or Stirling, 
 where the Court is? " I asked, to try him. For, indeed, I 
 knew the answer already. 
 
 " I judge it not safe," he said. " There be many about 
 the King's court that would be glad to trap the Doug- 
 lases, all at one bird-catching. Therefore, if I am here, 
 James is at the Court, and Archie and Hugh busy in 
 the North. As for you, little as you are, do not forget 
 that you carry with you as your dower all Galloway and 
 the Borders, together with such hard-won honours as 
 can be wrenched from the thieves of Annandale and the 
 lads of the forest." 
 
 He smiled faintly and almost wistfully, holding my 
 hand the while ; but, still, only as a brother might. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " it is indeed no small thing to 
 have laid upon another's back the burden of so much ! 
 But for me I am content with Deeside, and Maud and
 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 149 
 
 Sholto — and the spectacle of another woman's love, all 
 siccar and untroubled ! " 
 
 " There is no such thing on earth ! " said William Doug- 
 las, " as you will find, my sweet cousin, when " 
 
 " Hark, listen ! " I whispered, interrupting him ; " it is 
 the cooing of the turtle-doves ! " 
 
 "What — what?" he answered quickly. "I will not 
 listen ! It is not fitting — to overhear the Captain of my 
 Guard and his wife at their private conversations ! " 
 
 And he moved precipitately to go out. 
 
 But I caught him by the arm and dragged him down. 
 
 " It had been for your good if you had heard more and 
 listened more, my Lord of Douglas," I whispered to him, 
 " aye, and stood thus behind window-bars with your 
 finger on your lip. Good William — you know not every- 
 thing! Listen, there are the makings of the prettiest 
 quarrel down on the terrace yonder." 
 
 " A quarrel? " he said in wonder. If I had said a tour- 
 nament, I do not think he would have been more 
 astonished. 
 
 " Yes," said I, " a quarrel first, most-petulant and pro- 
 vocative — afterwards — well, you shall see ! " 
 
 " How do you know this ? " 
 
 " Have I not watched little housewife Maud trimming 
 her sails for a storm all day long — aye, ever since she 
 rose and laced her stomacher?" 
 
 " St. Bride," quoth honest Will, " do women spend their 
 time on such trifles? " 
 
 " Aye, and enjoy it too," I answered him. " It is their 
 life to them, as bands and treaties and Lieutenant-Gen- 
 eralships are yours. And they have on the whole the 
 greater certitude of happiness ! But hush, here are our 
 doves of Thrieve ! " 
 
 "I cannot stay! I will not!" said William Douglas. 
 
 But I put my hand on his arm and held him forcibly, 
 bearing all my weight upon it. 
 
 " Stay," I said, " yes, stay, William. You may learn 
 more in half an hour than you have learned at the King's 
 council-board all your life." 
 
 By this time the evening had fallen still, soft, and with
 
 150 MAY MARGARET 
 
 a wide peace through which the swallows seemed to swoop 
 down from unseen heights, as from another world. You 
 could hear the laughter of the men-at-arms sent on forage 
 duty, paying court, after their kind, to the milk-maids, 
 none too coy, across the water at the Mains of Thrieve. 
 
 Beneath us, and dark against the silver of the water, I 
 could just see Maud. She leaned on the stone balluster, 
 even as the A'Hannays had done. Sholto was further 
 within, occupied with some matter of the adjustment of 
 armour, concerning the exactitude of which (as became 
 a good soldier) he was a mighty stickler. Maud looked 
 two or three times over her shoulder; but Sholto, busied 
 with some intricate fabrication of leathern belts and steel 
 buckles, whistled on, paying no heed. 
 
 " Come here, Sholto," said Maud Lindsay quickly, " I 
 want you ! " 
 
 Sholto glanced up. with his usual swift, authoritative toss 
 of the head, an action which showed the firm setting of 
 the chin on the neck, and the squareness of the shoulders. 
 
 " In a moment, Maud," he said. " I am busy. What 
 is it?" 
 
 " / zvanf you ! " 
 
 Sholto rose instantly, throwing down the soft leathern 
 setting of the armour he was designing, and laying aside 
 the pieces of shining steel he had been fitting upon it. 
 
 " What is it, Maud? " he said gently, as he approached. 
 
 " You would not come," she said. " You are not as 
 you used to be. You think more of your armour and 
 weapons than you do of me " 
 
 " Dearest ! " cried Sholto, aghast at the very sud- 
 denness of the attack. 
 
 Maud turned upon him and held out her arms. 
 
 "Do you love me?" she cried — "really — truly — 
 tell me ! " 
 
 " Of course I love you ! " said Sholto with the true bald- 
 ness of a man long wedded, who has had time to use up 
 his vocabulary. 
 
 "Say it otherwise, if you mean it, Sholto!" persisted 
 Maud. 
 
 " Je t'adore!" said Sholto promptly. He had not been
 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 151 
 
 in France for nothing. Maud looked at him smiling, and 
 then suddenly burst into tears. Any excuse was better 
 than none. Sholto gazed at her frankly bewildered, and 
 then would have put his arms about her, but she repelled 
 him indignantly. 
 
 " You make light of our love," she said, " You would 
 not have done it when you first knew me. But now — I 
 am old. I am the mother of children. And, what can a 
 woman expect. Men change ! " 
 
 ''Maud!" 
 
 " Oh, 'tis easy to say ' Maud,' and take a poor foolish 
 woman in your arms. But to love her and hold to it year 
 after year — that is another matter ! " 
 
 I could feel William Douglas growing restless as the 
 twilight deepened and from beneath the voices came 
 clearer. But I would not let him go. 
 
 " For my sake," I said to him. 
 
 " Oh, if Maud and Sholto would only behave them- 
 selves," I thought, " I would yet go to Edinburgh with my 
 husband." 
 
 And for the rest of the time in the chamber I thought 
 no more of any man — of James Douglas or another. The 
 voices came again. It was Maud who spoke. Appar- 
 ently somehow without words Sholto had made his peace, 
 and perhaps he thought (poor man!) that Maud had 
 altogether delivered herself. 
 
 " Sholto," she said, looking at him softly, " do you 
 know that sometimes I dream of going far away with you 
 • — to another country? I know not where that land is. 
 Only that there we will have no wars or rumours of war, 
 no steel breastplates or sharp-piercing lances, no killings 
 and treacheries. But just you and me for ever living on 
 in a sweet peace, in a little house by ourselves, with 
 the children growing up about us. And then there 
 will be always a blue sky above, and close by a river 
 running." 
 
 "That will do to drink, but what shall we eat?" said 
 Sholto with practical tenderness. " Eh, tell me that, 
 baby?" 
 
 At another time Maud (if such had been her mood)
 
 152 MAY MARGARET 
 
 would have resented his tone as trifling with all that was 
 of highest and holiest. But as it happened, she only 
 clasped him in her arms the more tightly. 
 
 " Oh, Sholto, I could live upon your love," she said ; 
 " you are better to me than meat or drink — more neces- 
 sary than the air I breathe." 
 
 " Good," said Sholto, imperturbably. " I did not know 
 I was so nourishing. But how about the children ? Could 
 they diet upon me too ? " 
 
 We heard the clear ringing impact of fingers on cheek. 
 
 " That is for being insolent," said Maud, whose mood 
 changed every moment. " You know what I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Sholto, dutifully, but still somewhat 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Of course, it is all just a dream, a foolish dream," 
 said Maud, looking out on the river, " a dream born of 
 the sunset and the — the — having you here with me — all 
 alone ! " 
 
 " Margaret," whispered William Douglas, " this makes 
 a shame of me. I will stay no longer." 
 
 " A shame," answered I, softly. " Are we not married 
 — you and I — even as they? Hush, you cannot go now, 
 they will hear you ! Bide. This is only the beginning — 
 she means to quarrel with him yet, or I am a Welshman. 
 A quarrel and a reconciliation are what I call ' Maud's 
 nightcap ' when she hath been fretted." 
 
 " You do not mean to say ? " began William Douglas. 
 
 I covered his mouth with my finger in the dark, and 
 whispered in his ear, " Of course I do ! What else is 
 there to do in Castle Thrieve, think you, but quarrel with 
 those we love ? " 
 
 Then the voice of Maud, as I had supposed, took up 
 her plaint. 
 
 " Sometimes," she said, " I wake in the night and think 
 you are dead ! Does not that show how I love you ? " 
 
 As Sholto appeared to contemplate this subject without 
 extreme enthusiasm, Maud proceeded. 
 
 " Then I have beautiful visions of flying with you 
 through the air, on angels' wings, the two of us all clad 
 in whiteness, and the children, too, clad like little angels
 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 153 
 
 (which they are now, indeed, only not able to fly). Do 
 you ever have a dream like that ? " 
 
 Conscientiously Sholto turned over the treasures of his 
 midnight memories. 
 
 " No," he answered simply. And then, perhaps feeling 
 the word a little bald, he added, " But I have dreamed of 
 riding on a horse " 
 
 Maud pushed him from her with vigour. 
 
 " Always of horses and armour and fightings," she said. 
 " You never think beautiful things as I do. Why, I 
 sometimes dream that we shall die the self-same day. It 
 will be in the morning — no, the evening. That would be 
 sweeter for you and for me ! " 
 
 "And as to the children?" said Sholto, quietly. "It 
 would be a cheerful awakening for them, poor brats, next 
 morning ! " 
 
 " God would care for them ! " said Maud with vague 
 piety. She was certainly hard bested for a cause of 
 quarrel. 
 
 " Well," said Sholto, " at least I think the babes would 
 be none the worse off, for one or the other of us to be 
 spared to them ! " 
 
 Maud leaped upon the argument fiercely. 
 
 " Ah, there it is," she cried. " You want me to die 
 before you. You would soon fill my place. I know that 
 well ! " 
 
 She pushed him back, and in the reflection of the sunset 
 sky on the water, we could see her bend a little on her 
 knees and look up into his face. 
 
 " Ah, I believe it " she cried, beginning quite sud- 
 denly to sob uncontrollably. " You would — perhaps you 
 know of someone already. You are only waiting for my 
 death to — to bring her here ! " 
 
 Maud flung one arm out. She had acted so well that 
 (like a woman! ) she was beginning to believe her own 
 chance assertions. Her hand struck him on the breast. 
 
 " I will not stay," she cried hoarsely. " Let me go. I 
 will take my children away. I will save them — from — 
 from that woman ! " 
 
 " Maud," gasped Sholto, " I tell you — I swear to you —
 
 154 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I beseech you. I never thought of such a thing! You 
 yourself know I did not ! " 
 
 " Do not deny it. Do not dare to defend yourself. Do 
 not add lies to your wickednesses. I have seen it for 
 long, long years. There — let me pass ! I will go where 
 the innocents sleep. If I am to die, at least let me die 
 beside them." 
 
 " Maud— Maud ! " 
 
 She made as if to go in, but he held her to him. 
 
 " No," said Sholto, " you mistake. All I said was that 
 these poor five bairnies would be the better of either you 
 or me to care for them ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Maud scornfully ; " and it is evident 
 that you must often have been thinking of this before, 
 to have your answer so ready ! " 
 
 " I swear to you, Maud," said Sholto, " never before 
 to-night " 
 
 Maud pointed slowly upwards to where a star was 
 beginning to shine, sole and lonely amid the purpling 
 deeps of heaven. 
 
 " Do not be profane," she said. " There is One yonder 
 who hears ! " 
 
 " I care not if the four corners of heaven heard," cried 
 Sholto passionately. " I will swear " 
 
 Maud laid her hands together with a sweet smile. 
 
 "Swear what?" she said, suddenly becoming gentle. 
 
 Sholto scratched his head in some perplexity. 
 
 " Upon my faith and word," he said ; " I have not an 
 idea what it is all about ! " 
 
 Maud burst into a peal of merry laughter, and clasped 
 her husband in her arms. 
 
 " You great gowk," she said. " Silly boy, will you 
 never learn? I love you. Only I was fretted. I have 
 been vexed and fretted all day, and you would not attend 
 to me, but thought only of your stupid armouries. But 
 I made you. Now let us make up. There, there ! Will 
 that do? Come, let us go in ! " 
 
 . . • . • 
 
 William Douglas, constrained by my hand silently pro- 
 testing rather than obedient, had sat till now. He rose,
 
 c 
 
 2 
 
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 O 
 
 W 
 
 o 
 
 55 

 
 INSTRUCTION IN LOVING 155 
 
 and we went back into the little chamber of reception 
 which adjoined my bed-chamber, 
 
 " Are all people who love each other incurably insane ? " 
 he asked with some heat. " Does love make of Maud 
 Lindsay, that incomparable housewife and good mother, 
 a puling, yammering fool? Of Sholto McKim, the best 
 lance and stoutest heart in Scotland, a reed blown by the 
 wind, a withe twined round a woman's fingers? " 
 
 " Even so," I answer, " but you will never know it! " 
 
 " For that, thank God," he said. " There are quarrel- 
 lings enough, and argle-barglings to spare in broad Scot- 
 land without domesticating them at your own hearth- 
 stone, and having the house you live in turned into a 
 bear-pit." 
 
 " William," I said, " there are some things hid from the 
 wise and prudent and revealed unto babes. Maud and 
 Sholto have never quarrelled once since they were 
 married." 
 
 He snatched his hand from mine hastily — why, I know 
 not. 
 
 " I am not a babe," he said, " but I can believe my ears ! 
 If words mean anything these two have been at open 
 enmity for an hour by the clock. And you — you — their 
 friend, have made an eavesdropper of William Douglas ! " 
 
 At this I laughed, serenely content. 
 
 " My dear husband," I said, " shall we go down and 
 ask them if they regret their quarrel? For me, I 
 judge " 
 
 " Well, what do you judge? " 
 
 " That it would be better and happier for you and me, 
 if we quarrelled oftener after the manner of Sholto 
 and Maud ! " 
 
 This time I was not prepared for him. 
 
 " Child," he cried, gripping me by the arm so hard that 
 he hurt it, " you torment me past bearing. Either you 
 mean a thing or you do not. Which is it to be — all or 
 nothing? " 
 
 I thought him noble. I had no other thought. I felt 
 a strange numbness, at once lax and faint, steal over my 
 limbs. My husband held me in his arms. There was a
 
 156 MAY MARGARET 
 
 fierce energy in his action. He hurt me, so strong he 
 was. 
 
 Then from the chamber beneath there came, deep, 
 throbbing, and somehow infinitely moving, the laugh of 
 Maud Lindsay — suddenly cut in the midst as if a hand 
 had been laid across her mouth. 
 
 The sound seemed to break the spell that was on him. 
 
 " No," he cried, loosing me abruptly — almost indeed 
 thrusting me from him. " Shall William Douglas break 
 his word, sworn and plighted ? Shall James keep the oath 
 which I have broken ? " 
 
 And with no further word he turned and strode out of 
 the chamber, I was left alone. There was silence 
 underneath, save that a little while after a charger 
 neighed, and, looking from my window, I saw William 
 Douglas, my husband, halt his horse on a little knoll out- 
 side the walls, and stand a long while looking back — the 
 beast, fresh from the stables, meantime tossing his head 
 and chafing visibly at the restraint. 
 
 Then he rode out of sight and I was alone indeed — 
 which was my loss.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 DOUGLAS RIDES LATE 
 
 The days went by at Thrieve — some few, like my Arab, 
 galloping, most like a funeral train, as is the wont of 
 days all over the world. Some the pigeons in the court 
 would shorten, flying down in windy, whistling crowds 
 to peck the grain, with which, in spite of Sholto's teeth, 
 Magdalen and I persisted in feeding them. With Maud 
 at our back we could do much. 
 
 Larry came from Sweetheart, but not for a long season, 
 and, indeed, not till I had sent for him a full score of 
 times. There was something most unmonkishly manful 
 about Laurence, and now, when Will came no more to 
 Thrieve, and I was shut off from James, my heart desired 
 to see the lad. For, though I could not help caring for 
 James when he was with me (being so great and strong, 
 and, as it were, encompassing), and though I wished to 
 be a good wife to my husband, yet, it is no shame to con- 
 fess it, as a friend and comrade Laurence was more 
 to my mind than either of them. 
 
 I am not even now sure that Laurence would have 
 come to Thrieve even for a day, in spite of all our 
 entreaties, had it not been that his father sent him ill 
 news of Magdalen. It was not that the * child was 
 stricken by any disease, but she languished, and failed to 
 win back the strength she had lost. 
 
 It was then, for the first time, that I saw her father 
 appear perturbed ; for the armourer was bound up in the 
 maid, as, indeed, were all her brothers. But Laurence, 
 I think, she loved best of all, and he her. 
 
 At all events, swift upon that summons Laurence came, 
 first to the Three Thorns, and afterwards to Thrieve. I 
 found him paler than of old, and more quiet, while his 
 face lacked its bold, fresh boyishness. I could also 
 clearly see that he was passing anxious about his sister. 
 
 157
 
 158 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " There is something I cannot understand ! " he said, 
 and then forthwith was silent. 
 
 " We cannot even get her to come to Thrieve, can we, 
 Maud ? " I said. " Perhaps she will accompany you." 
 
 But Magdalen, though she would visit us with Larry 
 for a day, would not remain. She loved (she said) to 
 take long solitary walks among the pine forests which lie 
 betwixt the Mollance and Crossmichael. There was, as 
 William Douglas had said truly, none to do her wrong. 
 For not only did the fear of the Earl lie heavy upon the 
 land, but still more immediately the fear of Brawny 
 Kim, that strong smith of Carlinwark and his seven sons, 
 who would follow an ill-doer to the gallows or the stake 
 — as indeed they had done with the Marshal de Retz in 
 the country of Brittany. 
 
 So Laurence came and went amongst us once more — 
 sweet, loving, and gracious always. But somehow, it was 
 not now as it had been in the days of Cour Cheverney. 
 My wedding, which was no marriage, separated us. He 
 had, as I guessed, some inkling of how James had come 
 between William Douglas and his full heritage. 
 
 At all events there was no more making of boats to sail 
 on the broad peat-brown Dee Water. No little mills 
 were set birling in the burns of Glenlochar and Boreland. 
 But it was " Yes, my lady Countess ! " And " No, my 
 Lady of Douglas," instead as of old, " My princess " and 
 (at least once) "Margaret of Margarets!" But of all 
 that, no trace. 
 
 Yet, knowing that Laurence was right, I liked the lad 
 none the worse because of his carefulness for me. 
 
 Still there were good days at Thrieve — set in between, 
 as it were — when we would wean Magdalen from her 
 lonely haunts and Maud from her Martha-housewifery, 
 and set off all together to cull the flower or pull the nut. 
 Any excuse or none served us — so that we could win 
 away for a long day on the hills of Balmaghie or in the 
 woods of Kelton. 
 
 Yet I loved the hills best, and chiefly, I think, because 
 I could stay a little apart from the others, and look away 
 to the north where lay Edinburgh and Stirling. James
 
 DOUGLAS RIDES LATE 159 
 
 Douglas and William Douglas were there, and lo ! I was 
 shut off from them by the blue hills of Carsphairn and 
 the dun muirs of the Windy Standard. 
 
 Now Magdalen had wandered so far and constantly 
 that she knew every haunt of the sweet rough-rinded 
 hazel-nuts, the dark purple blackberries (which in their 
 season the birds ate so freely that every grey rock and 
 boulder was spotted as though a whole army of scriv- 
 eners had jerked their pens this way and that). She 
 found also with ease the creeping cranberry, the whortle- 
 berry, and the rare, pale, deep-hidden strawberry. 
 
 Not only so, but when fruits were lacking, Magdalen 
 could discern the Grass of Parnassus long ere the rest of 
 us had sighted it. She knew where to find the St. John's 
 Wort, the Great Bluebell and the Herb Paris. Yet there 
 was nothing enthusiastic about her search. With all her 
 wondrous beauty, Magdalen moved rather like one in 
 a dream, going to the flower she sought directly, like a 
 scent dog when the coneys crouch among the heather. 
 
 Then, when we came back tired from the hills, Magdalen 
 would make straight for the Three Thorns, moving easily 
 and swiftly over the knolls like a young deer, while, all 
 gravely and sedately, Laurence would return by my side. 
 
 Thus went the months, Laurence going back all too 
 soon to his abbacy, till it was another spring and another 
 fruit-time — then another and yet another, so that it 
 seemed as if nothing would ever change. The world 
 must stay for ever thus. And then I could have cried 
 out for the castle to crash in upon our heads, or Michael's 
 trump to break up the grey firmament of clouds into the 
 flaming fires which shall consume the world — anything, 
 if only all things would not be so eternally the same. 
 
 And I think I prayed, though indeed at this time I con- 
 fess I troubled the saints not much — the convent and the 
 Bald Cat, together with Sister Eulalie, having put me 
 out of kilter with a too frequent clicking of beads — which, 
 indeed, I judged to be chiefly work for priests and such- 
 like, who had but little to do. And so thought Laurence 
 also, at least for many years. 
 
 But as it happens mostly, in such cases, the days were
 
 i6o MAY MARGARET 
 
 not far off when I was to long for one short day of 
 the peace of Thrieve, the kine flicking their tails on 
 the verges of the water-meadows, the swaying pull of the 
 laden hazel branches as Laurence held them down on the 
 Airieland braes — even the skirl of the whaup or the flap 
 of the heron seeking their nests out on the moorland or 
 down among the reed-beds of the Dee. Yes, I longed for 
 them all — all that world of peace — and had it not. 
 But of that — anon. 
 
 . • • • • 
 
 It was Malise who first put into my heart the fear which 
 ever after sat heavily upon me. 
 
 " Little lady," the armourer of Thrieve began one day 
 as he stood examining the bolts of the great door of 
 Thrieve, " have you never given to your husband that 
 advice of the wise king of auld time, the which Laurence 
 read me out of his learned books in the Latin tongue — 
 or the Greek, I mind not which." 
 
 " And what might that be, Malise? " 
 
 " To switch aff the heads o' the mucklest poppies ! " he 
 answered gravely, " an' that richt early. For if he 
 winna, of a surety there shall fall a head so high that it 
 touches the stars ! " 
 
 " You mean my Lord the Earl William's," I answered ; 
 " fear not for him, Malise. He holds them all in the 
 hollow of his hand ! " 
 
 " That may be sae," persisted the smith, " I doot it not. 
 But, mind ye, I have seen ere this a hundred yelpin' curs 
 pu' doon a stag-o'-ten-tines ! " 
 
 And the advice was good. For at this period William 
 Douglas was like to none in all the land, and when he went 
 forth the Crichtons were as nothing before him, hiding 
 away in holes and corners. Even Livingston the Tutor 
 had made friends with him, or at least seemed to do so. 
 The worst of the ancient abuses were stubbed down, 
 digged up, or rooted out of the land. And all was done 
 without cruelty or the least hardship to any, save only to 
 those who did evil to their neighbours or to the poor at 
 their gates. On such William Douglas had no pity. 
 
 Yet for all, so simple was he, he never guessed that
 
 DOUGLAS RIDES LATE i6i 
 
 when the King delivered to him all authority, and, pre- 
 tending to make much of him, sent him off on great 
 embassies to London, to Paris, to Rome itself, it was 
 always that he himself might escape from control and 
 return to his favourites as a dog to his vomit. But, in 
 spite of King and favourites, William Douglas waxed 
 ever greater and greater in the land — for a time. 
 
 Then came a cooling in the ardour of the King's good- 
 will. But of this, also, William took no heed, continuing 
 to make treaties with England and France for the 
 country's advantage in trade and well-being. Also he 
 banded the more sober parts of the North into one league 
 with himself, so that even the barbarous and pagan Isles 
 (called of Skye and the Long Island) were made to obey 
 and pay dues as regularly as the Lowdens and Fife. It 
 was well said afterwards that the land made a greater 
 advancement during these short years of William Doug- 
 las's vice-regality than it had done since the Battle of the 
 Standard. 
 
 But much of this came to us in our island-prison only 
 in over-words and snatches. Save that which concerned 
 itself, little gossip reached Thrieve. Packman and car- 
 riers from Lanerick and Dumfries brought us most of our 
 news. On important occasions a messenger for Sholto 
 would come in with his beast all of a lather, or if it were 
 night or winter, in a perfect breathing mist of steamy 
 vapour. 
 
 One night in particular I remember. It was in the deep 
 middle of winter — that is to say, in February. For 
 mostly winter begins in Scotland with the inbringing of 
 the Yule log. Sholto was at Douglas Castle on some 
 business of the Earl's. Andro the Penman was in com- 
 mand at Thrieve, and, with his stick and hard words, 
 scarce managed to secure that discipline which Sholto 
 enforced with the mere glint of an eye or the indrawing 
 of a resolute lip. But then Sholto was a knight and in 
 full authority, and Andro the Penman only one of the 
 Guard — as it were, first among his peers. 
 
 It was a night of snow. The afternoon had fallen upon 
 the face of the country greenish-grey and dour, with a
 
 i62 MAY MARGARET 
 
 bitter nip in the air. Andro the Penman sniffed and said, 
 " Snow ! " Maud, with her nose to the wind, looked out 
 on the terrace towards the north, in turn shook her head 
 and said " Snow ! And I pray that that goodman of 
 mine may be somewhere snug in hold to-night." 
 
 Then she went and saw to it that the bairns' window- 
 shutters were properly fastened inside the shot bars 
 which kept them from falling out ten times a day. 
 
 Then, softly at first, small dampish snow began to fall 
 drizzlingly, drifting on the ledges, forming into little 
 piles behind the gargoyles, and making long lines with 
 waving crests in the roof gutters. The men on guard 
 on the towers and about the fortifications had an ill time 
 of it. The storm seemed to take them every way at 
 once. 
 
 " God help all such as are abroad to-night ! " I said, as 
 I drew my furs close about me. For even in the great 
 hall, with fires blazing at either end, piled high with 
 beech-logs and crackling bog-oak, hissing birchen twigs, 
 and steady burning peat, it was bitter cold. 
 
 And so that February afternoon the twilight darkened 
 early into the solid blackness of Egypt. Wrapped in 
 shawls, Maud and I sat about the fire, after we had 
 supped, the candles feeble behind us, and the tapestries 
 on the walls moving in long regular waves, that seemed 
 to go from one end of the room to the other, giving boars 
 and hunters and steeds a wonderful appearance of life. 
 
 It was creepy and eerie enough sitting there in the 
 leaping firelight. And Maud did not help matters, with 
 her Highland tales of second-sight and death warnings, 
 added to my own reminiscences of the wicked Lord 
 Soulis, with his familiar spirit. Red Cap. More than 
 once we looked fearfully over our shoulders expecting 
 to see that famous imp leaping out of the old charter- 
 chest to ask for new labours and to remind his master 
 of his promised wages. 
 
 Such tales, told in the flicker of the twilight, in a castle 
 full of dark deeds and memories, might well try the 
 strongest nerves, and it is small wonder that presently 
 Maud murmured, " Oh, I wish that Sholto were here! '*
 
 DOUGLAS RIDES LATE 163 
 
 But it was not Sholto who was to visit Thrieve that 
 night. Red Cap had, indeed, been at his tricks, and, at 
 any moment, we might expect his head out of the chest 
 with a demand for his wages. 
 
 Long time we sat thus, Maud and I, listening to the 
 varying roll of the tempest without, discerning at inter- 
 vals a shriller note as the wind, halting as if to catch its 
 breath upon the outer walls, leaped with a fierce hoot 
 upon the huge square keep of Thrieve, whistled through 
 its window bars, clanged every unpinned door, and al- 
 most tore from its staff the banner that flapped and 
 lunged noisily above the highest battlements. 
 
 At intervals Maud would raise her head as if listening 
 for Sholto's return. But it was really toward the chil- 
 dren's chamber that her ear inclined. Then after three or 
 four hearkenings, her anxiety would compel her to rise 
 and steal up on tiptoe into that place of sweet children's 
 breathings, with the shutters closed upon the windows 
 and the peat fire smouldering red upon the hearth. From 
 bed to bed she would steal, laying a kiss on that tress of 
 flax and yonder dark head of crispy black, all the while 
 with a mother's adoring look plain in her eyes. 
 
 At which point, if I accompanied her, I was wont to 
 betake me down with a little jealous pain pinching 
 shrewdly at my heart. But that night, whether from 
 wistful feeling akin to the storm, or in sympathy with 
 the poor houseless knaves and gangrel wenches abroad 
 in the snow, I sat still where I was, wae and silent, by the 
 fire in the great hall of Thrieve. The snow was not 
 the ordinary snow of Galloway, broad, moist and flaked, 
 but had changed into small, bitter, east-land snow, more 
 like powdered ice. I could hear it patter against the 
 closed windows, and fall with a hushing sound on the 
 wooden roof of the balcony above. 
 
 Silently Syneton, the French boy William had brought 
 with him to be groom to my Arab, would enter and heap 
 fresh logs on the fire. As silently he would disappear. 
 A Galloway lad of his years would have clanked in with 
 a pair of wooden clogs all too scantily wiped on a wisp 
 of straw brought from the barn. But Syneton went and
 
 1 64 MAY MARGARET 
 
 came like a shadow — clean, swift, and bidable — a treas- 
 ure save in this, that the truth was not in him. 
 
 Above, Maud Lindsay tarried long, and I grew weary 
 and a little afraid. I think Maud forgot herself when 
 she gat among her babes. At least, she would promise 
 solemnly to descend in one short quarter of an hour, and 
 then look aggrieved and hurt when it was pointed out to 
 her that hei' absence had extended over an hour and a 
 half! Then it was that she would say, as if that ex- 
 plained all, " Ah, you are not a mother, Margaret ! " 
 
 And- 1 would reply, " Nor you, Mistress Maud, a maid 
 that should be none ! " 
 
 Which (though truth) did not greatly mend matters. 
 
 And indeed, to be just, Maud did not boast of her brave 
 bairns, though I know her heart stirred within her with 
 pride. 
 
 At any rate, I was long alone — left with my thoughts in 
 the uncertain flicker of the firelight, while the wind down 
 the wide chimney scattered the grey wood ashes abroad 
 over the oaken floor, and over William's great rug of 
 Turkey stuflf. 
 
 Then through a pause of the storm, I heard a far-off 
 sound, clear and piercing, but so distant that I started 
 as if from a dream. It was like a trumpet blown in the 
 lists before the bars are let down, and the champions bid 
 " fall to." I smiled. Certainly I had been dreaming. 
 So anew I began to watch the clear blue flames licking 
 and hissing upwards about the new wood, the equal 
 orange of the seasoned billets, and the rich red glow of 
 the back log, half eaten into by the long afternoon's 
 fire. 
 
 Again it seemed that I dreamed. But nearer, clearer, 
 more insistent, the notes came to my ear, blown as Lau- 
 rence used to blow them when he was ready to convey 
 me across to the flower-gathering, in the boat which he 
 had stolen from old grumble-pate A'Cormack, at the 
 gate-house by the drawbridge. 
 
 Eagerly I lifted my head, and listened with long and 
 strained attention. But I heard only the hurl of the 
 tempest overhead among the high roof spaces of Thrieve,
 
 DOUGLAS RIDES LATE 165 
 
 the steady " brool " of the wind all about the four corners 
 of grim, impassive masonry, the spirting sound of the 
 snow — small, like hail — on the windows. I had been mis- 
 taken. None could possibly be abroad on such a night ; 
 at any rate so much the worse for them if they were! 
 Thrieve was a shut gate, a fortress barred. None could 
 enter there. Only Sholto had the word — Sholto and his 
 master. 
 
 But yet a third time, and very near, I heard the trumpet 
 blow — clarion clear, net as thunder-clap when thunder 
 follows flash swifter than thought succeeds to thought. 
 Something struck the window at that moment; it might 
 have been only the icy fingers of the storm, save that it 
 sounded more soHd. It struck again, and yet again. I 
 was affrighted, and I cried aloud for Maud ; but she was 
 above, effaced among the tangles of blonde and dark 
 that were scattered on the nursery pillows. 
 
 The noise came again, with a crying that was like the 
 soul of a man in pain. 
 
 But, mastering myself, I went to the window and flung 
 it open. Something huge and black, which might have 
 been a raven or a great bird of prey, fluttered away into 
 the half-luminous mist of the courtyard. 
 
 I looked down in amazement. There were torches be- 
 neath, awakening voices, apparent through the enveloping 
 snow. The window I had opened slammed to in one of 
 the fierce gusts, and caught my hand in the sill. 
 
 I stood sucking at the hurt like a baby, half crying, and 
 in the intervals of pain calling for Maud almost like one 
 of her own bairns, when suddenly the door of the great 
 hall was flung open, and the tapestry parted itself as with 
 the wrench of a strong hand. 
 
 It was my husband who stood before me, with such an 
 expression on his face as I had never seen there before. 
 Mired and slimed he was with the bogs and morasses of 
 his long travel, the snow lying white in the links of his 
 armour and along the verges of his breast-plate. He 
 held only a plain steel cap in his hand, without plume or 
 ensign. For he had ridden light like a moss-trooper, 
 with only a single attendant at his heels.
 
 1 66 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Where is James Douglas, my brother ? " he panted 
 rather than spoke. 
 
 And the anger, cold and bitter, on his face almost 
 deprived me of the power of reply. 
 
 " Come," he said roughly, " where have you hidden 
 him ? Tell me quickly ! " 
 
 " James " — I stammered with that surprise which is 
 so often mistaken for the signs of guilt, " James Doug- 
 las ? I have not seen him since my wedding day ! " 
 
 William stood staring at me for a long moment and 
 then dropping his head between his wet hands, he cried, 
 " Great God, have I wronged him ? " 
 
 There came a new voice from the doorway. 
 
 " As to that I know nothing, and as little care, my lord 
 of Douglas ! " cried Maud Lindsay. " But this I do know, 
 right bitterly and right grievously have you wronged your 
 wife."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE DOUGLAS BIDS GOOD-BYE 
 
 I LOOKED Up and saw Maud stand in the doorway, left 
 open by the tumultuous entrance of my husband. She 
 held back the tapestry with her hand. No Numidian 
 lioness at the entrance of her den, her cublings mouthing 
 behind her, could have appeared more fierce. To look 
 at Maud's mouth, upon ordinary occasions, you would 
 never believe she could have snarled. But she did. I 
 saw her. She stood for a moment without speech while 
 my husband hid his face between his hands. Yet she 
 did not relax or relent. I could not have believed my 
 Maud so impitiable. But I knew afterwards that she 
 was mindful of the time when I had been to her as a 
 babe between her hands, and she was heartsore to see me 
 fallen (as she said) between the stools of men's love and 
 their lust for power. A motherly woman can never un- 
 derstand (or forgive) that last, save in her own sons. 
 Then it becomes a " proper ambition." Besides, another 
 woman has to bear the brunt of it — not she. 
 
 Thus it was that in spite of lier husband, Maud never 
 truly appreciated William Douglas. But then too that 
 was natural enough — her test of all men, gentle and 
 simple, being merely, "Would Sholto have done this? 
 Would Sholto have said that?" 
 
 As for me I said nothing. Truly I did not understand 
 this sudden irruption, or why William Douglas had thus 
 burst in upon our quiet. 
 
 But Maud needed no instruction, she was ripe enough 
 and ready enough with her interpretations, and they 
 erred not on the side of charity. Of that, small danger 
 where William was concerned. 
 
 " There," she said, waving her hand abroad, with some- 
 
 167
 
 1 68 MAY MARGARET 
 
 thing of her old mocking vixenry, " go — search the castle. 
 It is yours — by marriage. You will not even find my 
 husband here. He is doing your errands at Douglas 
 Castle. So neither one of us has ever a man to defend 
 our repute, or speak a word in our favour. Go search 
 Thrieve from dungeon to battlements if you will ! Ques- 
 tion the scullions ! Send for the pantlers ! Mayhap we 
 have your brother hid in the cellarage -" 
 
 " Maud," I said, " be silent, I bid you. You forget to 
 whom you speak ! " 
 
 But William Douglas waved me with his hand to let her 
 go on. 
 
 " She is right. I deserve this and more," he said, in 
 a broken voice. (That ever I should have lived to hear the 
 like from so noble a man!) "But James left me at 
 Edinburgh, riding southward, knowing that I was sum- 
 moned in haste to meet the King at Stirling. So, the 
 fit being on me, I let the King wait, and followed James. 
 Yes, I followed till I lost him upon the Flowe of Lochen- 
 kit. It was just when this accursed storm broke. I 
 saw him before me not half a mile, my brother James or 
 his ghost. Where is he if not here ? " 
 
 Maud Lindsay came over to me and laid her hand 
 gently on my arm. " Go up to your chamber, bairnie," 
 she said ; " when right is, and I have spoken my mind, I 
 will come to thee." 
 
 Then to William she said, " This child knows nothing 
 of evil things — scarcely of evil thoughts. Speak the 
 things you have to say to me, and I will tell her that which 
 must be told. Remember, she is a maid, walking in the 
 midst of marvels not half understood. Go, Margaret! 
 I will follow ! " 
 
 And for a moment I think she thought of me as no more 
 than her own Marcelle — grown a little older, but no whit 
 the wiser, or the twins, Cuthbert and Bride (anything 
 but saints!) or sturdy Ulric, or even little piping David 
 with the castle Bubbly Jock goldering at his tail. At any 
 rate, one she loved was being harassed and so Maud 
 ruffled her feathers, drooped her wings and made ready 
 beak and claw. So that woe betide the intruder, be he
 
 THE DOUGLAS BIDS GOOD-BYE 169 
 
 Earl of Douglas — or as aforesaid merely the turkey cock 
 from the stables. 
 
 What passed at that interview I do not know — that is, 
 not such a version as can be set down in this place. For 
 women talk differently to each other when men are out 
 of hearing, and I suppose it is the same with writing. 
 
 But at all events it ended in this, that William would 
 stay at Thrieve only so long as behoved him to change 
 his wet undergarments, and take such refreshment as 
 could be got ready by young cook A'Cormack, the son 
 of our ancient porter of the gatehouse. 
 
 " Then," said Maud, " Earl William will ride on to the 
 Three Thorns, where he has somewhat to say to my 
 father. One or two of the McKim lads will guide him 
 to Sweetheart Abbey. There he will rest what time he 
 may before rendering himself to the King at Stirling. 
 But, before departing, he asks that he may have the 
 honour of bidding you good-bye ! You will find him 
 humble and of a good spirit. Certes I have laboured 
 your ground right faithfully for you. Go now and sow 
 well therein ! " 
 
 " I think you were overly hard upon him, Maud," I said. 
 For, indeed, so it had seemed to me. 
 
 Maud pouted her lips a little and set her hands on her 
 thighs with a defiant action she had. 
 
 "Is there aught the matter with Sholto?" she said. 
 
 " No," I answered, " but why do you ask that? " 
 
 " What I have said to-night to William Douglas is very 
 milk diet to what I have reared Sholto upon ! " she 
 answered. " But if you think barley water is better, try 
 it ! " The which was very well, but then Maud was like 
 no one else in the world. Though but the wife of the 
 captain of Thrieve, she moved as a queen among those 
 about her, and the power was given her to sway men and 
 women alike. 
 
 So upon this occasion it turned out even as Maud had 
 predicted. William Douglas met me with a chastened 
 humility which set my heart beating with pity for him. 
 I hated to see him brought so low by any woman, even 
 in my own cause.
 
 170 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Must you go to-night? " I said. " You know the Earl's 
 room is always ready at Thrieve. 'Tis but seldom the 
 sheets have been fresh-laid during these years. Stay to- 
 night ! I will serve you with mine own hands ! " 
 
 But some hidden reason — the instancy of his business, 
 his need to see the King, or that which he had to say to 
 Sholto's father at the Three Thorns or his brother at 
 Sweetheart, held him firm to his purpose ! 
 
 " I have asked to bid you farewell, Margaret," he said, 
 " because I may not have the chance of seeing you again 
 or of saying that which must be said between us before 
 I go hence ! " 
 
 " Hush, William," I answered a little tremulously, 
 " there is a God behind these things. This is not the end 
 between us ! You have gone away before, and after this 
 time you will return again ! " 
 
 " No," he said, with a kind of smile, curiously memor- 
 able and wistful to me, making the heart wae, " not the 
 end. For I leave you as a legacy — the best of my 
 heritage, intact and intangible, to my brother — my 
 brother whom you love ! " 
 
 He dropped his voice at the last words, not with anger 
 or any appeal for pity, but only with a certain grave wist- 
 fulness, like one who, having a great cellar of rare 
 vintages, may not drink of them, being vowed a Naz- 
 arene. 
 
 " What is this you say, William ? " I said, " that you 
 will not come back? You are surely not afraid — you 
 the greatest man in the kingdom — you the Earl of Doug- 
 las — you my husband ?" 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, almost as if he had groaned, " yes — I 
 am your husband — and it is on that account that I am 
 afraid." 
 
 I only looked softly and inquiringly at him, to give him 
 time. For, indeed, after the gloaming on which we sat 
 listening to Sholto and Maud, there was no self-reproach 
 in my mind with regard to William Douglas. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated after me, " I am the greatest man in 
 the kingdom. That is true. But there are many who 
 strive for the second place. The King loves me not. I
 
 THE DOUGLAS BIDS GOOD-BYE 171 
 
 scorn him. He is but a headstrong boy with the strength 
 of arm wherewith his great-greatest-grandsire killed 
 Comyn. Yet, to be a Bruce, he lacks the head that knew 
 how to win Bannockburn. Notwithstanding, he has re- 
 solved to make garden-mould of the Douglases, whereon 
 to grow the maggots of his poor unripe brain ! " 
 
 " But, yet, has he not made you the Governor of Edin- 
 burgh and Lieutenant-General of Scotland ? " 
 
 "Assuredly," he smiled; "but his favour is more un- 
 stable than the swing of the sea among tide-covered 
 rocks — rising and falling, but always deadly." 
 
 " Then why go to Stirling at all ? " I asked. 
 
 Will drew a paper from his bosom. 
 
 " There," he said, " is a safe conduct, under the King's 
 own hand and seal, with the names of all his new coun- 
 cillors attached as witnesses. Will you have it to curl 
 your love-locks withal? Or, perchance, to light the 
 kitchen fire of Thrieve ? It is worth no more ; no, nor the 
 word of any Stewart ! Yet go I must and will, if all that 
 I have done is not to be undone — all the Good to fall back 
 to the 111, all the ancient ramping misery set its foot again 
 on the poor folk of Scotland — those honest burghers, 
 those hinds of the broad ploughland, those herds of the 
 hills, whose burdens I have lightened. They look to me 
 as their helper, their deliverer. I cannot leave them to 
 perish." 
 
 "And for mef" I murmured, questioning him with 
 mine eyes. 
 
 Here William Douglas bent gently over toward me, 
 lifted my hand and touched it with his lips, yet all rever- 
 ently, as one who in church takes holy bread. 
 
 " Yes, Margaret, you ," he said ; " have I not 
 
 thought of you? Ever since that day my thoughts of 
 you have been many and sore. I have come to Thrieve 
 but seldom. For in our hearts the tides of life somehow 
 run crossways, as in that Strait of Ireland that looks 
 towards St. Patrick's Port! 
 
 " Yet, all the same, according to my possible, I have 
 loved you, Margaret — yes, and held you sacred. If it 
 be so that I go to my death — being bound by my duty
 
 172 MAY MARGARET 
 
 and the name we both bear — think not too unkindly of 
 me. And, it may be, sometime when you are happiest, 
 stand a moment by his grave and muse of William 
 Douglas. He has not done so ill by you." 
 
 " Dear Will — dear cousin," I cried, " of course I can- 
 not choose but keep you in my heart. You are the best 
 man in the world. There is no one like you ! " 
 
 He smiled sadly, and made a little motion with his 
 hands in the French manner as if that mattered little. 
 For which indeed he had some excuse. 
 
 " No," he said, " James was right — I wrong. I have 
 not taken the way to get the pleasure of a man. The 
 love of woman is not for me. I might grow old without 
 ever having known it. But I thank God I shall never 
 grow old. I leave to James to enter into that which 
 I have kept for him, and to rejoice in possessing what 
 has never been mine ! " 
 
 " See, Will," I said gently, " you are sick and need 
 rest. Speak no hard things to-night. Think none either 
 of me or of yourself, and by the morning the dark spectres 
 of your fears shall have vanished. What is it that Sir 
 Harry says at mass? 
 
 " ' Sorrow endureth for a night, hut joy cometh in the 
 morning! 
 
 " That may be so for you, little one," he said softly. 
 " God send it ! But for the men of the Douglases, they 
 are doomed — even as the Stewarts are doomed, but 
 we of the Southern House to better deaths in nobler 
 causes ! " 
 
 " Do not care for that — rest to-night, dear Will ! " I 
 pled with him. Because I had no anger against him on 
 account of his errand, at that time knowing nothing of 
 jealousies or unbeliefs. And besides (in his long 
 absence) I had grown to think seldomer of James. 
 
 But William shook his head, smiling, however, to 
 soften his denial. 
 
 " I must bear it through alone, little woman," he said, 
 as if to a child. " You are good to forgive — not to be 
 angry with me," he continued, softly. " What shall it 
 be thought of the man who had an orchard enclosed and
 
 THE DOUGLAS BIDS GOOD-BYE 173 
 
 hath not eaten of the fruit of it — a garden of pleasant 
 fruits and hath not walked therein? And now — it is too 
 late — it is too late ! " 
 
 He walked to the door and holding it open, shouted, 
 " Without there ! " and Andro the Penman appeared, 
 prompt at his master's call. 
 
 " Saddle me the grey," he said, sharply, " the Spanish 
 stallion which the Agnew sent me from Lochnaw ! " 
 
 " My Lord, the snow is deepening ! " said Andro, 
 pleadingly. Will Douglas made the stern little move- 
 ment with his hand which, with him, signified the finality 
 of his will. Andro bent his head and was going out. 
 He turned, however, at the door. 
 
 " At least let me go with you," he pleaded ; " it is a 
 terrible night. I know the ways. There may be unseen 
 foes ! " 
 
 " The more reason," answered Will Douglas, " why 
 you should stay and keep the castle where — my — wife — 
 abides alone." 
 
 The Penman went out without another word. 
 
 Then William turned to me. For the first time the 
 eyes of the man looked into my soul. Dimly I began 
 to see what I had lost, yet even then my soul within me 
 would not take blame to itself. He had kept his heart 
 from me in a locked coffer. What if, of a truth, it 
 stood open now? But in another moment I knew that, 
 as he had said, it was indeed too late. 
 
 I did not any more try to detain him. Yet, for all 
 that, he did not go. He stood, shifting uncertainly from 
 one foot to another, awkward as a village lover at a 
 country dance — he, the master of a kingdom, the Earl 
 of Douglas, the Lord of Galloway — my husband ! 
 
 Yet even for that my heart leaped within me. For 
 there came over me that mysterious sixth sense that is 
 given to all women, who, from princesses to kitchen- 
 wenches, know when it is the heart of a man to kiss 
 them. And this man so desired. Only — believe it who 
 can — he knew not how to begin. 
 
 So since I possessed neither his awkwardness nor — 
 his simplicity, presently taking pity upon the man, I
 
 174 MAY MARGARET 
 
 kissed him of mine own accord. Lightly it was and 
 somewhat laughingly. 
 
 That little act seemed to overturn all his calm — to send 
 a turmoil through the strong man's soul. 
 
 " Margaret ! " he whispered hoarsely, and then again, 
 " Margaret ! " 
 
 Whereat with a sudden anger, half at himself and half 
 perhaps at Fate, he gripped me fiercely in his arms, hold- 
 ing me hard and tight, kissing me the while on hair and 
 brow, on eyes and cheeks. Last of all he kissed me on 
 the lips — once, twice, thrice — and was gone, without 
 word, leaving me alone and dizzy, maintaining myself, 
 one hand on the table of the great hall, as I listened sway- 
 ingly to the clatter of his way-going. 
 
 But I heard nothing. The snow had deadened the 
 hoof-irons of the horse, and only the blast battered and 
 raved more and more wildly about the towers of Thrieve 
 — now for me grown more desolate than ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE FIRST STROKE OF DOOM 
 
 They brought me word. It was Laurence who came. 
 James had sent him — not, I think, knowing — or perhaps 
 in his insolence of security, not caring. And what it 
 was, I must strive to tell dryly and plainly, if at all. 
 
 My husband, William Douglas, had ridden forth that 
 night by the Three Thorns to have speech with Malise, 
 and to ask that some of the lads should accompany him 
 to Sweetheart. 
 
 But the ancient armourer of the Douglas House, 
 having had his own way ever since he came into the 
 world (or having taken it) bade saddle his own beast, 
 saying that he alone could and would guide his lord to 
 the Abbey of Sweetheart. So to Dulce Cor they had 
 gone both of them together, through the deadliest hurl 
 of the storm, taking the coast road, which, though more 
 difficult, was less likely to be blocked, because in these 
 parts the wind blows the snow behind the boulders and 
 out into the sea. Strange, but so it is, in our Galloway. 
 
 Thence after some secret speech with Laurence, and 
 a rest of several hours. Will Douglas had ridden away 
 northward to meet the King at Stirling, Malise accom- 
 panying him as far as Clyde Water, having refused to 
 be sooner parted from his master. 
 
 And after ten days in which I heard nothing, this was 
 the tale which Laurence had come to tell. 
 
 " I speak in the proper name of the Lord James," he 
 said. " For, being little better than a monk, I am counted 
 a safe go-between in these matters." 
 
 Then, dryly enough, as is common at such times, he 
 told his tale. 
 
 " The Earl William rode to Stirling under the King's 
 safe conduct," so he began. " He was received with joy 
 
 175
 
 176 MAY MARGARET 
 
 and feasting. After dinner, in a little private chamber 
 apart it chanced that there was no one with the Lord 
 William save the King, when suddenly James Stewart 
 drew a dagger, and having still one hand round William 
 Douglas's shoulder in loving fashion, struck — struck his 
 friend to the heart, calling on his hired butchers to assist. 
 Among them they killed him, striking long after he was 
 dead. Sixty-seven wounds there were on the body of 
 our dear master and lord ! " 
 
 Then there seemed to rise up before me the image, 
 erect and noble, of the husband whom I had lost. The 
 man who was to claim me, the first being dead, had been 
 long away. I felt his power only in presence. 
 
 But Will was dead — my dear cousin Will. I thought 
 of him as no other. Never would life be the same. 
 Yet somehow I was noways surprised. It seemed now 
 as if he had been doomed from the first. Even at Cour 
 Cheverney and Amboise I had seen the line of death 
 trench his brow. He had said it of himself. He was 
 not made for life and love and pleasure — it bode that he 
 should die young. 
 
 But to die by the hand of his King, his friend. It 
 seemed a thing marvellous, save that I knew all the 
 Bruces to be murderers, and all the Stewarts traitors to 
 their own best friends. It was some time before strength 
 was given me to ask how it happened. 
 
 " Little is known," said Laurence, " and that only from 
 the report of the royal spick-and-span favourites and 
 bully butchermen of the palace. But as the story goes, 
 the King asked the Earl William (being alone with him 
 after dinner) to break his treaty with my Lord of Ross. 
 Then when he would not, showing cause, he struck at him 
 suddenly with his dagger. This much only is vouched 
 for. But those who speak are all the very hangman's 
 company and there is no truth in them. Black and ever 
 blacker are the lies they tell ! " 
 
 " And is our lord the Earl — my cousin William — surely 
 dead?" 
 
 " Aye, truly," Laurence answered softly. " The Lord 
 James sent me to tell you ! "
 
 THE FIRST STROKE OF DOOM 177 
 
 " Had he no message? " 
 
 " None save that after vengeance taken, he would come 
 himself to you ! " 
 
 • • * * * 
 
 " And now," continued Laurence, " since my errand 
 is done, permit me to take my leave. It is not yet the 
 time appointed. But one day there may befall the need 
 of a refuge for you. And then — why, the door of 
 Sweetheart will open, and the women of God, with their 
 sweet pale faces, be ready to welcome you in ! " 
 
 " And you, Laurence? " 
 
 " I shall not see you," he said, almost in a whisper, 
 " but I shall know you are there. And that will be more 
 to me than the New Jerusalem and all the stones of its 
 twelve foundations ! " 
 
 Then, indeed, there were threads to draw together. 
 Sholto came back to put the castle in its final state of 
 defence in case of need, and to raise the folk of Galloway 
 — also, doubtless, to be near Maud and the babes. Nor 
 did I blame him for that. 
 
 As to what James and the Douglas brothers did in and 
 about Stirling, that needs a page to itself. And through 
 all Scotland ever as the bruit spread, so did also the 
 horror! The murder of a friend by a friend — both 
 young men — the royal safe conduct stained with innocent 
 blood — the unarmed guest slain by the hand of his host 
 and despatched by his myrmidons — never was such a 
 thing heard tell of in Scotland, or indeed scarce in the 
 world. 
 
 And as for the things which in these latter days the 
 King's chronicle-makers assert against our Lord William 
 — as anent the death of the Tutor of Bombie and the 
 rest, — I can refute all these in a word. They are but 
 Highland lies, sired by the Stewarts and damed by their 
 lick-spittle clerks — nothing more. 
 
 The Tutor of Bombie (hear the truth!) would have 
 taken that poor heritage and crumbling fortalice on the 
 sea-edge from his brother's son, its rightful heir, a lad 
 of ten. William Douglas, being the feudal lord of both, 
 saw that right was done and wrong put under. That is
 
 178 MAY MARGARET 
 
 the fact, which is known to all south of St. Mary's Loch, 
 whose mind upon the matter was that a month in the 
 cell of Archibald the Grim, and afterwards a stall in the 
 abbey of Dulce Cor, were all too good for a despoiler 
 of the widow and the orphan, like the well-served Tutor 
 of Bombie. 
 
 And as to the gallows knob of Thrieve never wanting 
 its tassel for fifty years, did ever mortal hear or speak 
 such arrant lies? 
 
 Were not the Douglases noble gentlemen, dukes of 
 the realm of France, as well as the greatest lords in 
 Scotland? Had they not been ambassadors to Paris, to 
 London, to Rome? Would they, then, think you, have 
 come home to set so much carrion swinging under their 
 own nostrils and those of their ladies in their mansion 
 of Thrieve? 
 
 Assuredly no! The Douglas did justice; yea, and 
 verily. But it was at the gallows' slot of the Furbar that 
 the scaffold was set up and the pit digged. Not within 
 sight or sound of Thrieve, where Will Douglas conserved 
 me like a rare Provencal rose. Only madmen and the 
 King's witlings could conceive and pen such manifest lies. 
 But the time came, and that soon, when to speak evil 
 (or to invent it for others to speak) concerning a Douglas 
 of the Black was the surest passport to the King's favour. 
 
 But these things assuredly did William Douglas neither 
 ill nor good, though- in after time they have caused many, 
 perhaps unwittingly, both to speak and to write the 
 thing that was not. In the beginning, however, the story 
 was set a-going by evil-contriving men, anxious to buy 
 that unstable and unsatisfying mess of pottage, a King's 
 good will, with falsehoods and jealousies. 
 
 But of this, no more ! All the world, which knew him, 
 knows the man William Douglas was — the one lion 
 among a pack of mangy and verminous curs. 
 
 And in the things which befell at this time also, James 
 Douglas bore himself stoutly and like the head of his 
 family — though perhaps with some little of the levity 
 which continually showed itself on grave occasions. 
 
 Instead of gathering the forces of the Douglas, as
 
 THE FIRST STROKE OF DOOM 179 
 
 Sholto had done on a former day of trouble, and march- 
 ing directly upon the traitor-King and his councillors, he 
 must needs, with his younger brothers, spend time in 
 taking the town of Stirling by escalade — whence, how- 
 ever, the King of the Bloody Hand had fled to shelter 
 himself more safely in the castle of Edinburgh. Once 
 established in Stirling James Douglas extricated the 
 hangman's garron, the worst and most unseemly piece 
 of living horse-flesh in the town-royal out of its tumble- 
 down hovel, and tying the King's safe-conduct to its tail, 
 dragged the seals and the royal signature of the Stewart 
 through the mud of the streets, to be trodden on and 
 bemired of men and beasts. 
 
 And ever as they marched, James called aloud, " Bur- 
 gesses and lieges of Stirling, behold the sworn promise 
 of your King! Who will come forth and defend it? It 
 is the word of a liar — the word of a traitor, the word of 
 a murderer ! I, James Douglas, proclaim it so, and give 
 the lie and defiance to every man among you ! " 
 
 But instead the wise burghers either stayed indoors, 
 seeing as many fierce and well-armed Douglases in and 
 about their town as there were stones in the causeway. 
 Or some (the wilder rabble of them) came forth, hoot- 
 ing and voiding of gardyloo vessels upon the promise of 
 their forsworn King, written, signed and sealed by his 
 own hand. Such shame was never seen in a royal city ! 
 
 Yet nevertheless it came to pass that the weeks went 
 by, and, though there was great indignation and many 
 thousands of true Douglases asked no better than to be 
 led to battle against the traitorous Stewart and his low- 
 bom crew of Crichtons and Livingstons, there was none 
 to be a head to them. The lads Archibald and Hugh 
 and the Little John were sent to their Earldoms and de- 
 pendencies in the north, thus dividing the name and clan, 
 at a time when every Douglas should have been clam- 
 bering up the feeble defences of Edinburgh town, and 
 breaking down that castle wa', wherein so mickle ill had 
 been contrived and wrought upon the Douglases of the 
 Black. 
 
 William, had he been alive, would have had the top-
 
 i8o MAY MARGARET 
 
 most tower of the foul nest about their ears in a week. 
 Indeed, not so long before, he had taken the castle with 
 the Crichton in it. But James, though as to his courage 
 personal no man could doubt (for, indeed, he was ever 
 ready and eager to prove it at all times upon any that 
 would cross weapons with him), had yet a calculating 
 and selfish province within his heart, though well hidden 
 and undreamed of even by me at that time. 
 
 Nay, so much so that, mewed up in Thrieve, I longed 
 for him to come and give me liberty. I had been a cage- 
 bird so long — yes, let the cage be as sweetly gilded as 
 Thrieve, and though I had with me Maud and the chil- 
 dren, yet being born to sway the hearts of men, I longed 
 to take again my power to me. I had proven my weap- 
 ons at Cour Cheverney. I had walked unashamed at Am- 
 boise, by the side of the Dame de Beaute herself. Yet 
 here, at Thrieve, somehow, with Maud and Sholto, and 
 with the sight of their happiness ever before my eyes, 
 there grew up within me a need. At first it was no more 
 than an ache, vague, dull, and seldom-coming. Then as 
 time went on, it grew more frequent and more acute. 
 There was sometime in my heart of hearts an anger and 
 almost malice against these wedded lovers. I grew to 
 hate the little bairns that played upon the green (so 
 wicked I was!) — because they were not mine. For 
 though I pulled flowers and wove rush-baskets for them 
 all day long, they would run like hares at the first clatter 
 of their father's armour, or the faintest flutter of Maud's 
 sun-bonnet coming towards us through the trees of the 
 wood. 
 
 I wanted — well, something I wanted. I knew not what. 
 Perhaps to be all that to someone — to have no rival 
 near my throne, not even a young child. To know the 
 love of men as it is when man loves once and for all — 
 to hear (after a time) the sweet noise of children's voices 
 far-ofif, cool and pleasant in the summer silences as the 
 sound of waters falling, to hear and to know them mine 
 also — not Maud's or Sholto's, but mine. God has put 
 these desires deep in the heart of a woman, and in com- 
 parison with such things, princessdoms and dignities and
 
 THE FIRST STROKE OF DOOM i8i 
 
 successes and triumphings and the queening of it as 
 Damosels of Beauty and Chiefest among the Fair — all are 
 as nothing. That is, for a woman who is a woman. 
 She may learn it late, or she may learn it never. But if, 
 unhappily, the last — then there is an ache and a pain. 
 Something unassuaged, abiding hungry and unsatisfied 
 in her heart, which she will carry to her grave. 
 
 Was that to be my fate? I feared it. I believed it. 
 William Douglas was dead. Sincerely I mourned him. 
 A friend of the graver sort he had been to me — a coun- 
 cillor, faithful, just, fearless, truth-speaking even at the 
 cost of pain, my cousin, a staff of staunchness upon my 
 way of life — as all these I mourned him, but not as my 
 husband. A husband — I never had a husband. I never 
 would have one. 
 
 The ache redoubled, grew more eager, mordant, angry 
 against all the world. I was scarce to be spoken to. And 
 Maud, dear, sweet soul, left me to myself, dreaming that 
 it was because of the death of my husband and perchance 
 some remorse that I had loved him so little. The truth 
 was, I was wearied out. I could not be sorry any more. 
 I longed for change — anything to take me out of myself. 
 
 It was his hour, and prompt at the hour which was 
 his, James Douglas rode in through the gate of Thrieve.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 HIS HOUR 
 
 A GIRL confined for years in a great house, eager of 
 heart, rebellious against binding and prisoning Fate, see- 
 ing all about her the sort of happiness her heart craved — 
 Sholto and his wife with their hourly looks, facile to be 
 interpreted, their faith in each other, their love and con- 
 tent, together with the wealth of children who should 
 one day speak with the enemy in the gate ! And then on 
 the other side Margaret Douglas, the lady of all — widow 
 and no wife, a maid with a woman's name — none save 
 Maud to direct her, and she oftentimes too proud and 
 too jealous of her happiness to be directed — surely James 
 Douglas came in the dead ripeness of the time. 
 
 William would have ridden alone, coming in unexpect- 
 edly with white froth on his bridle reins at the close of 
 a long day. But James, according to his nature, must 
 needs gather his knights, lie all night at Kenmore-on- 
 Deuch, and make a short journey to Thrieve that he 
 might enter it for the first time as Earl of Douglas with 
 curvetting chargers and the gay flap of pennons. 
 
 He took me in that first moment (strange as death's 
 first certainty it seems now!). I rejoiced, as one might 
 say, helplessly that there had come this new thing into 
 my life, this hope which made to thrill and palpitate all 
 my heart within me. No longer was I to be a state 
 prisoner, with the Isle of Thrieve for my prison, shut in 
 by the drumly Dee and hidden by the green far-off 
 Cairnsmore and the purple hills of Balmaghie — the Dor- 
 nal, Lochenbreck, Barstobrick, and the rest. Pah, how 
 I had grown to hate them ! 
 
 So I ran down to meet him, forgetting (alas, that it 
 should be so!) even my mourning for the man who was 
 dead. James had just leaped down from his beast, turn- 
 
 182
 
 HIS HOUR 183 
 
 ing the next moment to cry a jolly word of cheer to his 
 men to fill themselves with good Mistress Sholto's best 
 cakes and ales. Then quite suddenly he caught sight 
 of me. 
 
 I was standing, somewhat affrayed, on the upper steps 
 of the great entrance. I think too I shrank a little back 
 into the gloom of the arch — for I had been so long alone 
 and felt it strange to be in presence of so many men. 
 
 I shall never forget what James Douglas did, thus 
 seeing me stand uncertain. He dropped bridle rein on 
 the instant — cast his loosened helmet on the ground to 
 be picked up by any that wished — and with one bound 
 had me in his arms. He held me as if I had been the 
 little girl he had gone to the Pays du Retz to save, lifting 
 me clear off the ground, light as a feather, and before 
 them all kissing me cheek and chin. No wonder he 
 fairly dazed my heart within me. 
 
 Yet when he had set me down, I drew away from him, 
 saying in reproach, " James, that is but ill done of you — 
 so soon ! " 
 
 But James Douglas would none of my niceties as to 
 times and seasons. 
 
 " God ! " he cried, " do you think I have waited ten 
 years for only that? — Another!" 
 
 And this time he kissed me almost fiercely and with 
 greed. This was indeed a man of another sort from 
 William, my cousin. But then — women are very ready 
 to forgive this manner of love-making. Or, at least I 
 was, and so without a word passed or an apology to his 
 men we went in together. 
 
 I thought to find Maud above, but on some pretext of 
 housewifery, and the coming of so many men to Thrieve, 
 she had made shift to absent herself. The great hall 
 was empty, and as soon as the arras fell over the door, 
 and we were alone, James caught me to him again. 
 
 ''At last I" he cried with a kind of sob. And I sub- 
 mitted to his embrace with the same dizzy yet triumphant 
 happiness as in the Lady's Bower. I do not remember 
 that I thought at all of William or of Laurence, or in- 
 deed of aught, save that I wished James Douglas to go
 
 1 84 MAY MARGARET 
 
 on holding me in his arms. They were so strong and 
 firm. Also, I did not wish to be left alone any more. 
 
 Thus it was that James Douglas came home for the 
 first time as Earl of Douglas to his own Castle of Thrieve. 
 Or rather to my castle, for, with William's death, the 
 princessdom of Galloway had returned to me, with all its 
 dangers and all its powers. 
 
 Then again I was to experience the difference be- 
 tween my cousins. In such a case Will would have 
 wearied me with talk of duties and responsibilities, 
 " dieving " me concerning the great part I was called 
 on to play in the world. 
 
 But James said only, over and over again, " I love 
 you, Margaret. I have loved you all my life, and — sore 
 against my will — I have waited these years for you. I 
 will wait no longer." 
 
 " But how can we be married? " I asked, holding him, 
 as it were, for form's sake, sometime at arm's length. It 
 was only for a moment, and so did not alter things 
 greatly. " We are cousins, and besides, I have been your 
 brother's wife. It is forbidden by the church ! " 
 
 He laughed one of his own laughs, great and bois- 
 terous. Then (a trick of his) he lifted me up by the 
 elbows, easily as a child's puppet, bending to kiss me at 
 the same time. 
 
 " You have been my Lady of Douglas, have you ? " he 
 cried. " Well, if you think so, I will show you other 
 of it, little one, and that quickly. We shall be married, 
 never fear — good and sound — aye, and have benefit of 
 clergy, too, archbishops, and suchlike cattle. Why, there 
 has gone already to Rome a messenger to crave a second 
 dispensation from his Popeship, and the King himself 
 hath signed the request, praying that you and I should 
 graciously be permitted to wed ! " 
 
 " But," I cried, thrusting James away, " is he not a 
 murderer, this king, the slayer of your brother? Will 
 you have aught to say to him, save at the spear's point, 
 surely never? " 
 
 And James Douglas laughed again, so that the fine 
 glass on the corner armoire rattled.
 
 HIS HOUR 185 
 
 "Ah, little Margaret," he said, "for your sake I will 
 e'en use James Stewart whilst I have need of him, and no 
 longer. He is, at any rate, nothing more than a puppet 
 that is worked with strings, and if he will help me to 
 wed with you, shall I not pull the cord? Aye, till it 
 breaks ! " 
 
 Then I went on to speak sharply to him, still in remon- 
 strance. " Your brother is dead," so I told him, " slain by 
 the hand of the Stewart. I am but a girl, but I am a right 
 Douglas. And rather than ask the hand and seal of one 
 so murderous and man-sworn, I would ! " 
 
 "What would you do, little spitfire?" he said, holding 
 me and smiling in plain masculine admiration, very dis- 
 concerting. 
 
 "I would be drowned in the castle moat!" I cried 
 fiercely. " And hear you this, James of Douglas, I think 
 but little of the man who takes his brother's death so little 
 to heart, and who, instead of rousing the Marches and 
 putting the traitor's head on the traitors' chopping-block, 
 comes hither — to ! " 
 
 " Well, little Margaret," he said, " what is it I come to 
 Thrieve to do ? " 
 
 " To make love to your brother's widozv, instead of 
 avenging his death!" I meant the words to be bitterly 
 winged, but there was something about James Douglas 
 that took the bite out of the bitterest saying — a certain 
 blufif, careless heartiness, which, I fear it, often veiled 
 a very real heartlessness. 
 
 " Nay," he answered me, not in the least put out, " it 
 was so convened betwixt us. Will and me, that day down 
 in the meadow yonder. And I have held to it, and, God 
 knows, never seen you since ! " 
 
 "And WilHam?" I said, "is it that you think he has 
 suffered nothing?" 
 
 James waved his hand, carelessly as ever. 
 
 " Contrariwise, much and nobly," he said, more so- 
 berly. " Fear not, I will avenge him. Or I and all my 
 house shall die the death! But first of all I am bound 
 to you. To Will my brother, the House was all — you 
 nothing. Ye have to deal with another man this day,
 
 i86 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Maid Margaret. You are first with me, who love you 
 and shall wed you. Then by our twain loves made one, 
 we will send the Douglas name across the world. These 
 things are my whole soul and body. Plots, plans, domi- 
 nations, pacts, my Lord of this, and his Majesty of that, 
 bulk no more than my little finger when laid in the balance 
 against the dearest woman in the world and the sweet- 
 ness of her love." 
 
 This was good talk for a girl to hear who had been 
 so long alone, and so greatly athirst for love. 
 
 And indeed, I deny it not — I asked no better than to 
 believe him ! 
 
 So for certain enchanted weeks, as it might be written, 
 James Douglas abode at Thrieve, expecting with im- 
 patience the return of the ambassador from Rome. So 
 that to me, more and more every morning, the life of 
 William Douglas seemed as something which had never 
 been — the ruffle of summer airs which grip for a moment 
 the blue waters of Dee when the wind blows blithely 
 from the north, as the flecked cloudlets of sunrise that 
 melt into the wide blue of the highest heavens and are 
 seen no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 JAMES DOUGLAS, BENEDICT 
 
 And truly the matter came about even as James Douglas 
 had said. The Pope granted the dispensation for us to 
 be married, backed as the request was by the name of the 
 King of Scots. It was nothing to James that the hand 
 which signed had been dipped in the blood of my first 
 husband. As to the Pope in Holy Rome, it came before 
 him with fifty others, doubtless, and was swiftly dis- 
 missed. 
 
 So we were married, James and I. And for a long 
 month the hills of Balmaghie took on for me a more 
 purple tinge, while above them the sun set in a paradise 
 of gold. 
 
 I envied Maud and Sholto no more. Indeed, with a 
 selfishness I marvelled at afterwards, I saw them but 
 little, and the children not at all. For upon James 
 Douglas's arrival they had been sent to their grand- 
 father's cottage above the blue island-studded floor of 
 Carlinwark, in which on clear still days the Three Thorns 
 were mirrored. 
 
 For somehow, if Maud had been unfair to William 
 Douglas, she grew tenfold more so to James. And that 
 was a thing unusual in women — who, even when injured 
 by him, were quick to forgive a man so heartsome and 
 of a nature so large and bounteous. Perhaps — it comes 
 to me now as a thing possible — she was jealous, having 
 had my love so long to herself. 
 
 Yet, looking back after many years, I cannot deny 
 that in these days James Douglas made me happy. It 
 was not to be for long. It was not perhaps the highest 
 happiness. But — at least it was the happiness I had 
 ached for. 
 
 Nevertheless there was trouble in the air, brooding all 
 
 187
 
 i88 MAY MARGARET 
 
 about us. Thunder muttered far behind the hills. Sheet 
 lightning pulsed along the horizon as silently as a thought 
 crossing the mind of God, and at night the aurora, with 
 fingers green and red, weirdly grappled the zenith. 
 
 Aleantime, we loved each other — James and I — or 
 rather not so. For as for me I was in love with Love 
 himself, a lusty young god I had sighed for long. And 
 James Douglas — he, I judge, loved me as well as I de- 
 served. But, as throughout all his life, he kept most of 
 his affection for his own great, handsome, seldom- 
 serious, often boisterous self. 
 
 Usually there is something of wistful sadness in the 
 disenchantment which comes to a dreamy and sensitive 
 woman, her girlhood nourished on romance and childish 
 dreams, when marriage rudely tears aside the veil, and 
 instead of Cupid is revealed that godship aforetime dis- 
 creetly draped in the gardens of the ancients. 
 
 But so it was not with me. I had that which I desired. 
 If it were true (as men said and women were not slow 
 to whisper) that James Douglas could not long be true to 
 any woman, the sense being a-wanting in him — at least 
 he right royally entreated them and betrayed them most 
 delicately. No girl could wish a better lover — no woman 
 a more considerate husband. And at that time I thought 
 of nothing save that he had given me back life after long 
 years of death — life and love and observance. Nothing 
 seemed a-wanting in the man I had chosen. 
 
 Nor did we stay long at Thrieve — at least not at a 
 time. As my mood now was, I sighed for change. So 
 with a retinue almost more than kingly we two rode forth 
 — northward up the long valley past Grenoch and Ken 
 Water to Casphairn and Douglas. But Douglas Castle, 
 so I thought, could never be to me what Thrieve had 
 been. Yet I loved that ancient tower also, as the Mother- 
 hold and bees' byke whence the Douglases had buzzed 
 forth over the land — to the north, the east and the west, 
 but mainly be it said, towards the south and my own 
 Galloway to which I kissed my hand every morning and 
 evening — aye, though my heart had been wae enough to 
 bide there by myself.
 
 JAMES DOUGLAS, BENEDICT 189 
 
 Yet now when I come to think it over I judge that it 
 was not my love for James which made me so changed 
 a woman, but chiefly my hatred of loneHness. Also (it 
 may be) some little resentment against Laurence McKim 
 that he would not come and bide with me at Thrieve. 
 For I had loved to talk with Larry, and it did me good — 
 wicked one that I was — to think of his pique and bitter- 
 ness, his fierce, far-wandering days and sleepless nights 
 about the woods of Sweetheart, when he knew me of a 
 reality wedded to James Douglas, and that he would 
 never carve out puppets nor set mill-wheels birling for 
 me again till the world's end. 
 
 Yes, it was wicked, that I know. But, all the same, 
 it did me good to think of Laurence's discomfiture. So 
 much so that once or twice I knew not whether to laugh 
 or to cry — it was so good to think of, and I returned upon 
 the subject so often. 
 
 Well, to Douglas-dale we went, and to Straven, where 
 James had been born, in the little round tower that over- 
 looks the curve of the Avon Water. And I could have 
 wished to have gone on further to the north — into the 
 Highlands of the East and the country of Murray and 
 Ross, which were still Douglas to the core. But always 
 James would not permit, saying (truly enough) that it 
 was very well for Archie and Hugh to peril their lives 
 by passing through Angus country, but that for fair 
 plump pullets like me — it was better that they should 
 bide near home, where they could fly up to well-kenned 
 *' baulks " when Reynard was prowling round. 
 
 For that was ever his manner of talk, and with such a 
 wealth of love-making expressions, as " For God's sake, 
 little lass, ar't not content in the nest that thy puir 
 Jamie's love makes for thee ? " Or there were certain 
 ways of gentle and tender petting of women that he had, 
 touching a ringlet here and pouting up a chin there, 
 holding his head meantime masterfully to the side, and 
 all with such a great big-framed kindliness and lovesome- 
 ness shining out of the eyes of him, that, by St. Mary, 
 I wonder there was ever woman born of woman that 
 could resist him !
 
 I90 MAY MARGARET 
 
 And he had a philosophy of the thing too, which he 
 would dehver betwixt a kiss and a pat, being ever a 
 great one for the externaHties of love — the which indeed 
 it is foolish and vain of any woman to despise, at least, 
 in kindness to herself. 
 
 " Sparrows," he would cry out, laughing, " will not let 
 themselves be caught unless you bob them on the tails ! " 
 
 " Go, throw salt on them ! " I corrected ; " that is the 
 way the saw runs in Galloway ! " And at this he would 
 let out of him a great ran-ta-ra of laughter, patting me 
 on the cheek meantime. 
 
 " Sparrows wag their tails in the same fashion all the 
 world over ! " he w^ould say. " It is the only true 
 Vulgate ! " 
 
 But what he meant I do not know. I give it only as 
 his manner of talk. Yet these were none such ill days 
 (I deny it not), when James Douglas for a little time 
 was all the world to me — yea, even that new world 
 the Spanish folk begin to prate so greatly of in these last 
 years. 
 
 But even then I knew, somehow, that it could not last. 
 James had gotten far ben with the King, as it seemed, 
 whom he hoped to use for his own purposes. But there 
 were cleverer heads about the council-board of James 
 Stewart than that hard nut of James Douglas's. Crichton 
 had the brains of a dozen such, and sat silently drinking 
 water while James, his eyes stelled in his head, gulped 
 down the clary-wine with a "Lusty, lively, fra-Ia-la!" 
 
 My poor James, he never, I think, meant any greaj: 
 wrong. But he was made rudely and, finding within him- 
 self a particular power, he carried himself like a free man 
 at his trade, which was to be hail-fellow, stand-to-it with 
 all the world, but especially with all the women thereof. 
 
 Now there, on the other hand, was Angus, our cousin, 
 the head of the easterly House, called the Red Douglas. 
 He desired to be great with the King, but being a spirit- 
 less, unplucked clown, dared not do aught against his 
 name and kin so long as cousin Will lived. And even 
 now, if James had flown at his throat in the market- 
 place of Edinburgh, or even flashed a bright broadsword
 
 JAMES DOUGLAS, BENEDICT 191 
 
 before his eyes, that had been the end of the treachery 
 of my Lord of Angus. For he was of the sort of folk 
 who were frighted with the mere waft of James Douglas's 
 coat-tails, or intimidated with his high, big, sturdy voice, 
 and the burly, touch-me-who-dare swagger of his car- 
 riage. 
 
 But James would take no trouble about anything. 
 
 " Why should I cause my Lord of Angus go change 
 his body linen? " he would cry, in his broad jesting way. 
 " Give him instead a bairn's go-cart and, in hours of ease, 
 a pottle-pot of whey-and-water to suck at. These will 
 fit better than crossing swords with me ! " 
 
 But all the while James was idle, the enemies of the 
 Douglas were hard at it making their plans and plotting 
 their conjurations — the new Earl meantime riding the 
 country with a gay retinue of knights and gentlemen. 
 Oftentimes would I speak to him about the matter, but 
 he had ever some new turn of speech to take me off. 
 
 " They are but poor barren scoundrels," he would 
 say. " Am I not Earl to-day ? And even when I was 
 only poor Jamie, the Master of Douglas, could I not un- 
 dertake to thraw the necks of any score of them ? Will 
 did not take the right way with such-like. He was 
 always for making himself greater than they in the State 
 — Lieutenant-General, Regent, what not? Now for me, 
 I have my castles, my lands, my wife. I meddle with 
 none — and you will see to it, fearful little one, that none 
 shall meddle with James Douglas, so long as he can cock 
 his bonnet and hold a good lance in rest ! " 
 
 And as he said this he looked so gallant, so full of the 
 juice and sap of life, so flourishing, so succulent, in the 
 flower of his age and the pith of his manhood, that it 
 seemed as if he could not fail in anything. It was the 
 opposite with Will, who never seemed as if he could do 
 anything great, being simple in dress and appearance — 
 nothing indeed remarkable about him anywhere save the 
 eyes burning dark under the thick-thatched pent of his 
 brows. 
 
 And, indeed, in a way it was true. None would have 
 stirred James Douglas, Sunday or weekday, tilt or tour-
 
 192 MAY MARGARET 
 
 ney, at mass, or vespers or at sermon, had it not been 
 for James Douglas's own folly, which in the end wrought 
 his destruction. 
 
 But so it was written, and his Fate who shall escape ! 
 Certainly not James Douglas, for he rushed upon it as a 
 hill torrent seeks the sea. 
 
 Now I have said already that after James came to the 
 Thrieve I saw but little of Maud Lindsay, and when I did, 
 it seemed that she looked at me with clouded eye and an 
 averted face. 
 
 Yet I could not tell why, unless it was for some reason 
 which concerned the sorrow and pain of Laurence 
 McKim, her husband's brother. But it was not — being 
 something deeper and less easy to be spoken about, at 
 least at the time. 
 
 Now James did never choose to be long away from 
 Thrieve. And this, he said, was for my sake — because it 
 was my castle, and I loved it so much ; he, too, loved 
 everything about it. The which complacency I found 
 very good and thoughful of him. Indeed he was, as it 
 seemed to me, ever most considerate to me and to every- 
 one within the walls of Thrieve, and in all the lands 
 about. So that everyone, gentle and simple, loved him — 
 all, that is, except Maud Lindsay. 
 
 Then as a time came when I could no longer ride with 
 him, being feeble and inclined to rest long on the couch 
 of my boudoir, reading, or listening to Maud's quiet 
 murmur of talk — James, a great, healthsome, hearty man, 
 naturally enough took to hunting, sometimes in company 
 but oftener alone. For when he chased the deer with 
 hounds, he was so splendidly mounted and conned the 
 country so well that it was easy for him to leave his 
 attendants behind. Also, knowing that their master 
 loved to vaunt himself of this afterwards to me and to 
 others (such being his nature), these huntsmen and 
 attendants would let themselves be outstripped, yet not 
 easily, whipping and spurring like men that did their 
 best, yet losing the foremost rider at every stride. 
 
 And about the full tide of evening James would enter, 
 covered with the green splashed ooze of the marish
 
 JAMES DOUGLAS, BENEDICT 193 
 
 places, his horse bemired to the stirrups in the peat bogs, 
 and with such tales of hairbreadth 'scapes to tell that 
 till bedtime was all too short to hear them. That little 
 vixen Maud would rise at the entrance of the hunter to 
 leave us two alone. And then James would tell his 
 tales, and drink and yawn till, if I had not called to him, 
 he would have fallen asleep in his chair where he sat, 
 still nodding and recounting. 
 
 All which was natural enough in a man who had been 
 all day among the hills riding as only James Douglas 
 could ride. But though this was my own thought, who 
 had most to do with the matter, I could see well that 
 Sholto loved not such ways. He firmed his mouth, and set 
 himself more tightly to drilling his men, exercising them 
 at archery and pike practice. Or he gat great droves 
 of beasts from the hills of Kells and Minnigafif, both 
 sheep and grosser bestial, and brought them home to 
 Thrieve ; then he set to smoking and salting them, as if 
 he had been providing for a siege. 
 
 Every morning James Douglas would call to him to 
 come a-hunting on the braes of Balmaghie, as he passed 
 out with the joyous baying of hounds and the blown 
 breath of horns. But Sholto would ever excuse himself, 
 and let the gay train pass him by, their noise returning 
 from far over the still and sleeping waters, till it was 
 dulled and shut ofif by the heathery knowes and banks 
 of green bracken that circled the isle. 
 
 And as for me, loving James as I did, and believing in 
 him, I would lie dreaming of him, wondering where he 
 was, and smiling as I thought how assuredly he was 
 outstripping all his companions, and bringing down a 
 monarch of the hill, some stag of ten or twelve. 
 
 Yet I might have known. It was no mighty buck that 
 James departed in pursuit of, kissing his hand to me from 
 the top of the Hiding Hill, but the tenderest doe of all 
 the covert ; no wild boar stirr^ 1 from his lair in the Dee 
 marshes, turning with red eyes and gleaming tushes to 
 do battle for his life; rather he sought to take a poor 
 man's one ewe lamb, which parted his meal with him, and 
 in the night season lay in his bosom.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE ONE EWE LAMB 
 
 It was early borne in upon me that James Douglas would 
 not long make any woman happy — no, nor yet any people 
 over whom he might bear rule. He was that most insid- 
 ious of self-deceivers, the ill-doer who never means ill to 
 any. 
 
 I remember yet the day when the knowledge first came 
 upon me. A great, high gallant day it was in early sum- 
 mer, the white clouds slow-sailing through the azure like 
 galleons freighted from wealthiest Ind. James had, as he 
 told me, gone to hunt certain dangerous wolves which 
 infested the fastnesses of Buchan and the Dungeon of 
 Enoch. He would be away for several days, and I was 
 to rest in peace at Thrieve, awaiting his return. 
 
 I did not greatly regret his absence. The castle was 
 so different a place, with James for over-lord — so full of 
 the bravery of noise and pageant, of horns blowing, of the 
 filling of bumpers and the crying of healths, that a day or 
 two of the old quiet were to me (at least in my present 
 case) dreamily grateful. So, in fine, my husband kissed 
 me, patted me on the head, pulled an ear, and bade me go 
 lie down and sleep till he should return with a pack of 
 wolf-skins to make a brave bass for the cradle. For such 
 (there is no need to make secrets of the matter) consti- 
 tuted my dearest hope at that time. 
 
 I still remember the long-drawn peace of that reprieve 
 — the open windows of the castle, through which came, 
 in puffs and breathings, the warm perfect wind of the 
 summer days. I recall — with the exactness of one who 
 recovers from long illness, and who, content with the sur- 
 cease of pain, lies lax and faint with every sense rendered 
 more acute — the plunging splash of the cattle wading 
 
 194
 
 THE ONE EWE LAMB 195 
 
 clumsily in the shallows of the ford, the iterated calling of 
 a cuckoo far away in the woods of Glenlochar, belated 
 and forlorn, and above all the dark flashing of the swifts' 
 wings athwart the blue oblong of my open window, their 
 screaming stoop and swoop from dizzy heights, two oft- 
 times clinging together, as if playing at " barley-break " 
 or " pretty pigeon," the oft-repeated whish they made as 
 they crossed before the sill, like the hissing rending of 
 fine silk, and then, seen, but all unheard, the same black 
 wings half a mile away, beating the air as they went. I 
 took all in with the net precision of the convalescent — 
 sights and sounds and scents coming up keen and eager 
 to my over-excited senses. 
 
 It was, as I say, a great drowsy day, already hot and 
 hay-scented by nine in the morning. They were ^cutting 
 in the meadow, I mind, opposite the Isle, as well as on 
 the flats of Thrieve, and a fine smell it made in the morn- 
 ing heat. 
 
 So I lay long awake, half content with what was, and 
 half a-dream of what was yet to be. The sharp cri-cri 
 of the mower's sharpening strake on his blade hardly dis- 
 turbed me. It recalled one of those cicada-crickets of the 
 south, which in harvest used to awake me at Cour Chev- 
 erney even before the bell tolled for matins in the July 
 mornings. 
 
 Thus, half asleep and half awake, I lay in a great and 
 sweet peace. The castle was very silent. Maud had bid- 
 den me lie long and take my rest, saying that that morn- 
 ing she would go to the Three Thorns for the children. 
 They were to stay at Thrieve till James returned. Maud 
 desired not to have them where they might hear (espec- 
 ially the twins, Cuthbert and Brice, who loved the stables 
 and armourer's sheds) an occasional rough-spoken word 
 from some of the company that followed James Douglas. 
 He himself, with all his carelessness, used none such — 
 only great midrifif-shaking laughters and oaths by St. 
 Bride and St. Loy, which he had learned in France or 
 elsewhere on his travels. 
 
 Well, so at least it was. Finally I began to bestir me, 
 and had the wherewithal to break my fast brought.
 
 196 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Then I dozed off again into that sweet warm summer 
 silence, soothed by the crisp coolness of the linen sheets 
 on the bed, that had been freshly spread. But all sud- 
 denly I awoke with a cry. I cannot tell why or how. 
 But I must have been in great terror. It seemed that I 
 stood on the brink of an abyss — deep, deep, so deep and 
 palely blue, all swimming with vapours, but with no 
 bottom. And lo! James came suddenly behind me and 
 pushed me over the edge. So I fell — fell — fell — till with 
 that cry I awoke to find the sun shining outside and the 
 cattle splashing and flicking their tails, yea, even the soft 
 champ, champ, of their jaws I could hear as they chewed 
 their cud under the shadow of the castle. All came up, 
 clear and unforgettable, lying so. And this strangest thing 
 of all I remember, that when James pushed me, it was not 
 into the abysses of the air that I fell, but, as it were, into 
 fathomless water, and through the cool, aft"righting blue 
 deeps there swam up to me as it had been an angel 
 with the head of Larry McKim, and he said to me, " I 
 have made a new mill-wheel, better than either of the 
 others ! Shall we two go and set it a-going ? " 
 
 And just then I cried out, and so awaked, trembling 
 and in an access of terror and dismay. 
 
 Yet all without cause, for there, aloft and already right 
 high, was the summer sun, though it was }'et morning. 
 I had not slept long. The castle and island were silent 
 all about ; there was no cause or excuse for fear ; yet I 
 was in a cold sweat of terror, so that my teeth chat- 
 tered in my head, and that in spite of the warmth of 
 summer. 
 
 Somehow Thrieve seemed suddenly accursed. If a vol- 
 cano vomiting smoke had arisen under the ilex oaks and 
 while lilacs of the southward garden, I had not been sur- 
 prised; indeed I would have preferred it to this uncanny 
 silence, which to me somehow grew more and more 
 unbearable as the moments, leaden-winged, went by like 
 a funeral procession. 
 
 At last I could bear it no longer. I arose and dressed 
 myself swiftly as I had always been wont to do. I looked 
 forth. The river went largely past, flowing by without
 
 THE ONE EWE LAMB 197 
 
 haste or noise, as was its habit. On the other side of the 
 castle the courtyard was quiet. No ring of bit or stirrup 
 iron, not even the hiss of a groom gentHng a restive beast 
 — nothing in the world to make afraid. Nevertheless I 
 remained terrified — in a great fear because there zvas 
 nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 I went down the stair into the great hall. Silence and 
 gloom brooded there in Maud's absence. Only one window 
 was open, and the sunlight fell upon a glove of James's, 
 cast aside carelessly, or simply not picked up as he went 
 out humming a tune or whistling to his dogs. 
 
 Somehow this little thing smote me to the heart. I 
 grew faint and dizzy with looking at it. My pulses 
 thrummed in my ears, quick and light, so that through all 
 my body there went an impatient envy to lie down and 
 die — that I might be done with it. But I mastered the 
 feeling, and, going to the cupboard, took down a glass 
 of the strong wine of Malaga, which afforded me some 
 strength in my causeless fear and foolish weakness. 
 
 But for all that I could not rest in the castle — no, not 
 for a moment longer. So I went out, and just within 
 the stable precincts I came upon a quartette of grooms, 
 some asleep and some merely chewing of straws on a bed 
 of fodder. And when they saw me they stood up blink- 
 ingly, and as it seemed, with a sort of dull loutish resent- 
 ment, like servitors disturbed at a meal. For me they had 
 noways expected, having kept track only of Sholto and 
 Maud, their accustomed superiors, and of My Lord 
 James, who was to them as a god, and observed as 
 such in his comings and goings, his horse-ridings and 
 tiltings. 
 
 It seemed somehow that there was a power compelling 
 me to go and search for Maud and her children. Some 
 disaster had surely overtaken them. It was in vain that 
 Andro the Penman pressed upon me that, Sholto being 
 with them, nothing disastrous could possibly happen. 
 Nevertheless I was far from content. The heart within 
 me fluttered like a shadow in clear water. 
 
 So surpassing grew my distress that I bade Andro 
 saddle the white Arab, saying that I would ride by myself.
 
 198 MAY MARGARET 
 
 He prayed and besought me to allow him to accompany 
 me. But I refused. Somehow I knew that I must go 
 alone to the Three Thorns that day. It was not a long 
 way. Across by the ford I went, riding easily, because 
 Haifa loved to dabble her four white feet in the cool peaty 
 brown of the shallow rushing water. 
 
 Then through the rushes and the reeds, with plenty of 
 brackeny dry places were the rabbits scuffled hastily into 
 the undergrowth, over bloomy knowes, where all day 
 long one heard the Whit-zvhit-whce of the stone-chat or 
 the Chec-chee-cheec-ic of the ox-eye searching for insects 
 among the fresh fir-cones of the wood edges. 
 
 Then splash — splash — splash we went through the 
 marshes, alive with the waxy flowers of the bog-bean, 
 bristling with spiky horse-tails, and having whole fleets 
 of water-lilies orange and water-lilies white, afloat on the 
 shallow meres. 
 
 Then came the ascent of the little hill of Carlinwark, 
 through the avenues of beeches which temper the summer 
 heats, and even in winter made so gallant a show. 
 
 I paused as I came to the summit. I had seen the fair 
 landscape so often that it almost seemed like my home. 
 Down by the willows Laurence and I had launched our 
 first boats, his kilts every whit as short as my skirts. 
 Further to the left, behind the armourer's shop (they 
 called it only a " smiddy" then) I had kept watch, throw- 
 ing a stone far into the water if any intruder seemed 
 likely to disturb Sholto and Maud in the ardences of their 
 earliest love-makings. 
 
 Yonder where the beeches were tallest and oldest, a 
 fair and gracious lady, the mystic and fated Sybilla, had 
 first appeared to my brother William, presaging the death 
 to which his love for her had ultimately lured him. 
 
 The children — yes, there they were ! I could see them 
 on the green playing at " My Fair Lady," just as the 
 bairns of the Three Thorns had done for ages and do, I 
 dare say, unto this hour. 
 
 Flow glad I was to hear their voices! There could 
 be nothing very far wrong with Maud or Sholto, so long 
 as they were at their dainty bairnly plays out on that
 
 THE ONE EWE LAMB 199 
 
 gfreen sward, dandelion-studded and daisy-pled down to 
 the ring of pebbles on which the wavelets beat. 
 
 But I listened in vain for that other far-heard, well- 
 kenned sound, the ring of iron on anvil from the 
 forge. The great grimy door stood open. I could see 
 within. But the fire was black out. There was no one 
 of the blithe brothers at the bellows, bare of arm and with 
 cap set rakishly over the left eye, as is the wont of 
 armourers' apprentices all the world over. Moreover, I 
 could see nothing of Malise, that mighty smith, his apron 
 (so they said) made of the whole hide of an ox of girth, 
 and his blanched hair spraying over his temples as he 
 tossed his head back to survey the final stages of some new 
 masterpiece. 
 
 Then I remarked something. In spite of the ring of 
 the children's laughter, there lay upon the cottage of the 
 Three Thorns the same uncanny silence as had brooded 
 upon Thrieve. Or, at least, so at the moment it seemed 
 to me. 
 
 I got down hastily. Yet none came forth to welcome 
 me, as I tied Haifa to the iron ring let into the gable at 
 the peatstack end. None ran to offer me a chair when I 
 went within. The family were gathered about the great 
 holystoned houseplace which Dame McKim kept in the 
 fashion of a new pin. White-faced, aghast, terrified into 
 silence, they sat watching Malise, their father, who, his 
 head sunk between his hands, was torn with a grief so ter- 
 rible, so rending, so inhuman that there is no word in any 
 language known to me which can describe it. 
 
 Nevertheless I went in, and the momentary darkening 
 of the chamber caused by my figure in the doorway 
 warned Malise that some other human being had entered 
 in upon their grief. 
 
 He started up, his face dark and swollen with some- 
 thing sadder than anguish and more terrible than rage. 
 I think for a beat of pulses he meant to dash out my 
 brains. But Sholto rose and stood between us. 
 
 " Hush, father," he said, " remember — she does not 
 know! She also is smitten — even as we! " 
 
 He added the last few words almost in a whisper.
 
 200 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Then as my eye went round the family of Malise the 
 smith I saw that Magdalen was absent. 
 
 And suddenly, in a moment, as the lightning- flashes 
 full circle from the East to the West, without further 
 word, I understood all.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE WHITE FACE OF FATE 
 
 And I was not mistaken. 
 
 Sholto stood with his hand on the old man's arm. 
 Maud sat still-stricken in the window comer. The 
 younger lads read their father's face with a kind of awe. 
 Only Sholto was master of himself, and, Ijy consequence, 
 of all within the house. Even his mother had been sub- 
 dued from her torment of mourning by the young man's 
 steady quiet. 
 
 "What is it? Tell me !" I cried. " Tell me quickly 
 — all that has happened ! " 
 
 Though indeed, as I have said, I knew before any had 
 time to speak. 
 
 Then Maud, seeing it was for the best that Sholto- 
 should be left with his father and mother, wordlessly 
 beckoned me to follow her out upon the green. So' 
 forth from this dark House of Doom we stepped at once 
 into the great blue sunshiny day, with the whaups and 
 water-birds crying aloft, and the airs blowing brisk and 
 caller from the Braes of Cull and Castle Gower. But 
 what struck me most was the sound of the bairns play- 
 ing innocently together. They were singing as of yore 
 the refrain: 
 
 " What will the robbers do to you, do to you, do to you ? 
 What will the robbers do to you, 
 My Fair Lady?" 
 
 And it was wondrous wae to see the young things thus- 
 sporting on the grass, joining hands, advancing and 
 retiring, bowing, and waving hands, according as their 
 dance led them, and yet know that within that house there 
 was not one, old or young, who had not a broken heart. 
 
 20I
 
 202 MAY MARGARET 
 
 To escape their importunities Maud and I walked a 
 little apart into the glades of the wood, without looking 
 the one at the other. Then, all suddenly, she spoke. 
 
 " The Earl James hath taken away our little 
 Magdalen ! " 
 
 Yes, I had known it. As I said before, I understood 
 at once, as soon as I had looked at those poor folk gath- 
 ered in the cottage of the Three Thorns. But to hear it 
 spoken for truth and fact was another matter. The 
 words turned me sick, not perhaps with anger, or even 
 sorrow, as it ought, but first of all, and before I thought of 
 the McKims, with the ignominy of it. 
 
 To Maud I^made no answer; words failed me. I felt 
 as if I must drop down and die. But to die thus is not 
 given to women when they will, not even when they pray 
 hardest for it. There were the playing babes, there the 
 green lakeside strath, yonder the birds, the red-painted 
 heather, the blue sky; all as it had been. Yet to be 
 shamed every day and all the days, till I died; that was 
 the difference. 
 
 ^ God help us all ! We are weak creatures. Oftentimes 
 it is the surroundings of misfortune, the pattern of the 
 cup from which we drink, that make the draught most bit- 
 ter! That Another should know, that nature should be 
 so cruelly careless and indifferent — these things pique 
 us with sharper agony than even the friend's knife in the 
 heart. One is never betrayed but by one's own, they say ; 
 and so I was slain by James — James, who had brought me 
 new life, the very beginnings of life, indeed, after those 
 ten years of slow death at Thrieve, when I was a woman, 
 and did not know it until he showed me. And now, now 
 he had taken the life he gave — taken it, and rendered it 
 vile. 
 
 Such a short time ago it seemed since he came riding in 
 that first time with his retinue through the great archway 
 of Thrieve! And yet, walking there by the side of the 
 water, I never once thought of questioning the truth of 
 the accuser's word. Besides, I had known Maud Lindsay 
 all my life; I had known Sholto; I had known Dame Bar- 
 bara — Malise ; they did not lie.
 
 THE WHITE FACE OF FATE 203 
 
 Yet I made no protestations ; scarce had I care or 
 interest sufficient to ask how the thing had become known. 
 But at last I found the words. 
 
 " Tell me, Maud," I said, with that curious chill calm 
 which comes at such times, as if some other than I were 
 speaking-, " who hath brought this story to the Three 
 Thorns ? " 
 
 She took from her pocket a little crumpled scrap of 
 paper. It was written in Magdalen's hand-of-write. 
 Laurence himself had taught her, and she wrote clearly 
 and like a clerk, forming her letters one by one without 
 running them together as the manner of some is. 
 
 " Read it ! " she said, " God in his heaven, surely you 
 have the right! " 
 
 At first the words refused to form themselves before 
 my eyes. I gat no sort of meaning out of the written 
 characters, but after a while they seemed to swim up to 
 me out of a glancing mist. 
 
 My Father [wrote Magdalen McKim] : This will bring you 
 pain — to you and all, to my mother — but most (and most bitterly 
 I grieve for that) to the gracious lady of Castle Thrieve. But 
 till he came into my life, I had never loved any man. And I 
 stood out long — long against his will — till the thing grew too 
 strong for me. I can do no more. I love the Earl James, as a 
 woman loves a man when she will gladly give her life for him. 
 He is great. I less than nothing. Let him do with me what- 
 soever he will. Be not sorry overmuch or overlong for the 
 pain I have left behind me. Be sorry rather that God hath made 
 such a thing as I am desirable in the eyes of any man ! But be 
 never sorry for her who, till this day, had the right to sign 
 herself 
 
 Your Daughter Magdalen, 
 
 Little and Only. 
 
 Slowly the truth entered in — sharp as the knife of a sur- 
 geon, or perchance, more like a probe moved cunningly 
 to find the root of some hidden disease. Through the 
 unchanged brightness of the glad high day came slov^^ly 
 the intolerable certainty that this thing was mine — 
 my shame, my sorrow, ;;/3' cross that I must carry till I 
 died. 
 
 And James had done this to me. Well, even at the
 
 204 MAY MARGARET 
 
 first I found the thing not inexplicable — so far, that is, 
 as he was concerned. But Magdalen McKim, the girl 
 who wandered far from her home to be alone with the 
 wild things of the hills and the woods, what had she found 
 in James Douglas ? Ah, that question was more difficult, 
 yet for the present it did not greatly trouble or even 
 interest me. 
 
 " What will they do ? " I asked of Maud, as she sat 
 with her face firm, fixed, and pale as wax, looking across 
 the loch to the sapphire ridge of Ben Gairn solid against 
 the southern horizon. 
 
 " God help us all, I know not ! " she answered ; " the 
 McKims have made an oath to find her first and kill the 
 Lord James afterwards — that is, all but Sholto! Malise 
 the smith it was laid it upon the lads. He swears he will 
 hunt the traitor as he hunted De Retz. They have sworn 
 a bond of vengeance, each pricking himself and signing 
 with his blood." 
 
 " But Sholto," I said, " will he leave me alone in my 
 time of need? Will he hold as naught the love of a life- 
 time ? And you, Maud, what will you do ? " 
 
 She shook her head, very sadly and slowly. The tears 
 flowed silently down her cheeks. She did not weep. 
 Only when one glanced at her, lo! there was the water 
 running down her face. But not looking closely, one 
 might have noticed nothing. 
 
 " Ah, Margaret," she made answer at last, " that I 
 know not. I am your friend always, but a wife must go 
 with her husband ! " 
 
 I could not restrain a sharp intake of the breath as 
 she spoke the words. They fell hard on me, remembering 
 those things which I had just listened to. But Maud, 
 for once not wholly enwrapt in her husband and her 
 babes, turned and caught me. 
 
 " I meant it not," she said, " forgive me ! But believe 
 me also — Sholto will never be less your friend. I know 
 him. Ten times for one it is I who bid him do this or 
 that. But when there comes a look — a certain look I 
 know well on his face, I am glad — yes, very glad to be 
 silent and obey ! Thus it is with women ! "
 
 THE WHITE FACE OF FATE 205 
 
 Then I had a kind of access of foolish tears — the first. 
 And perhaps, I have since thought, it was that weeping 
 which saved me. 
 
 " Maud," I cried, " is it not strange that I am like the 
 woman in the Scripture — she who had so many husbands 
 — and he whom she now hath is not her husband ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " commanded Maud, " it is not good that one 
 in grief should speak of such things. The sorrow comes 
 from God ! " 
 
 " And James Douglas ? " I queried, " perhaps he and 
 his sin also come from God ? " 
 
 But seeing my mood, she would not answer, but held 
 her peace and that wisely. 
 
 " This becomes you not, Margaret," she said, gently 
 holding me with her strong young arms laid motherly 
 about my shoulders ; " you can do nothing here. Get you 
 back to Thrieve. Sholto shall go with you. As soon 
 as may be I will follow with the children. This is to-day 
 no fit place for babes. Come — let me find you Haifa. 
 Nay, do not go in again. The old man is mad. He 
 sees red. There is the lust of blood in his eyes! 
 Hasten ! " 
 
 And as we w^ent round the little cottage of the Three 
 Thorns there came from the interior, hoarse and terrible 
 to hear, the cursing of the smith : ' 
 
 " Man and boy, three score years and three have I, 
 Malise McKim, served the Douglases, but I will serve 
 them no more ! They have taken all from me that I gave 
 them — all — self and sons and years a-many. One little 
 ewe lamb was for myself. I kept her. She was as the 
 children of Mary the Virgin, as the little ones who scat- 
 tered the palm branches in the way for Mary's Son, sweet 
 and lovely and innocent. She was unto me — to me alone. 
 Freely I gave my sons to the Doviglas. I gave them to the 
 death. But this white lamb, sole of the fold, born out of 
 her due time, I held nestled safe — as I thought — within 
 these old arms ! And now, by the God that put strength 
 in these wrists and anger in this heart, I will hate even 
 as I have loved. Honey is turned to gall ! Service to a 
 hunting with dogs. I will bring down this dark house —
 
 2o6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I will level it with the ground for what it hath wrought — • 
 God be my witness ! " 
 
 At this point I could hear Sholto's voice say something, 
 but the words I could not hear. 
 
 " Come away, Margaret," said Maud, striving to draw 
 me out of the reach of that terrible malediction, " this is 
 not fit for you to hear ! " 
 
 " Nay," I answered, " let me stay. Part is for me, is 
 it not? Am not I a Douglas? Did not you yourself say 
 that a woman must go with her husband — ah, her 
 husband!" 
 
 At this moment I could hear Malise break away from 
 his eldest son with a kind of a roar like that of a wild 
 beast. 
 
 " No, by Him and his Hosts, I will not ! " he shouted, 
 in answer to some appeal. " Stand away from me, boy, 
 or you shall die by the hand of the father that begat you ! 
 I care not though I have served six Douglases, all of them 
 good men. They are dead and gone to their own place. 
 But this — this coward — nay, even now I will give him his 
 dues. James of Douglas is no coward with his hands, 
 but only with his heart and with his soul ! Yet he — my 
 master — that I thought to serve and to die serving, hath 
 done this shame unto me ! Out of the way, boy. I will 
 go to the King — aye — Stewart though he be ! I will go to 
 Crichton. I will go to my Lord Angus. He at least is a 
 Douglas, if he hath not the pith of a peeled willow wand. 
 But I swear it, though James Douglas were as strong as 
 Thrieve, and carried in his veins all the blood of all the 
 thirty lords of the Black House, I would bring him down. 
 I would slay him. The curse of Malise the smith be 
 on every Douglas, small and great, that hath in their veins 
 a drop of the blood of Avondale. Nay, you mistake. I 
 said ' of Avondale.' The poor Maid of Galloway, little 
 Margaret — no, I do not curse her. She, at least, hath 
 done nothing amiss, and the blow falls heavy also upon 
 her. It was an ill-done thing to fear her, being as she is. 
 But, if I know the Douglas blood — if I know the sister of 
 William and David, who died in Edinburgh, she will 
 hold still to the man who hath done the wrong — because
 
 THE WHITE FACE OF FATE 207 
 
 he is her husband, because he also is a Douglas. So shall 
 the curse of Malise also fall slantwise upon her — the 
 curse of the old man left daughterless, the curse of him 
 that had but one ewe lamb and now — hath her not!" 
 
 Sholto had come out, knowing by some instinct the 
 nearness of Maud, or perhaps our need of him. 
 
 " For the present I can do nothing with my father," 
 he said. " It is useless. There is indeed no need for me 
 there. Gladly will I ride with our dear lady, and do you 
 follow after, Maud, my wife ! " 
 
 So, ever gentle and kind, and of a nature at all times to 
 be depended on, was Sholto McKim — like him there was 
 none among the knights in any hall of king or prince the 
 world over. 
 
 So as he and I went gently up the green brae, we could 
 see Maud gathering the babes about her. They came 
 coursing to her knee like greyhounds to the call, leaping 
 upon her, shrieking in their joy. But when we paused at 
 the top, lo ! she had gotten them calmed by some grave 
 word. Doubtless they were already making their prep- 
 arations for returning to Thrieve. A sedate little com- 
 pany they made, walking cottagewards — Maud in the 
 midst, a bairn clinging to either hand, the twins holding 
 her gown and the tall Marcella, walking discreet and 
 downcast, a little to one side. 
 
 Ah, it would have been easier for Maud — ^that which 
 I had to endure. She had so much — so many, rather. 
 She was buttressed against fate. These babes were all 
 hers. But I had — zvhatF 
 
 It turned me cold to think what. 
 
 And there looking back from the top of the hill, the 
 little cottage with the flowers showed white as ever in the 
 sun. Who could have guessed that the folk therein, old 
 and young, would never again be glad with the ancient 
 gladness, never loyal with the old loyalty — never the same 
 as the day before, separated for ever from those who 
 had been to them at once masters and friends. Even 
 when Death had set his foot on the anthill, and all these 
 human creatures had been stamped back into clay, the 
 blue above would never again be as innocent and clear.
 
 2o8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 nor the white clouds as pure and glad and billowy as they 
 had been — yesterday ! Hardly even then would these 
 human hates and human pains have an end. For what 
 is the hell the priests speak of, save the Evil growing ever 
 more evil, from everlasting to everlasting — even as the 
 good and the godlike and the unselfish shall flourish for 
 aye in the paradise, the Garden Inclosed of God. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Of that ride with Sholto I remember scarcely anything. 
 Haifa had been chafing, as was his custom, and when we 
 left the Carlinwark and turned our faces towards the tall 
 tower which was Thrieve, I had a difficulty in holding 
 him in — which perhaps was as good for me as anything 
 else. 
 
 " We shall soon be home ! " said Sholto, for once mak- 
 ing a mistake which a woman would not have made — at 
 least, I know, Maud would not. 
 
 An eclat of laughter took hold of me — scornful, bitter 
 as when one awakes with the taste of gall in his mouth. 
 
 "Home!" I cried; "home! Ah, you have said it, 
 Sholto, lad ! Yonder is my dear home ! I will hasten 
 thither. My husband will be waiting for me ! " 
 
 It was cruel, too cruel to speak thus. But, before God 
 I could not help it; and that which followed is my com- 
 plete excuse. I leave it to women to judge, to men also. 
 Half mad, I set my white Arabian to the gallop, and, 
 nothing loath, he took the fenland and the knowes of the 
 heather, the deep matted ditches, and soft peaty common 
 lands in his stride. He dashed through the Ford of Dee 
 without waiting for the drawbridge, and I laughed at 
 3'oung A'Cormack, who came to the door of his guard-hut 
 in amaze. Yes, I laughed, and tossed my hand at him 
 mockingly. I was not in my right mind. 
 
 Then, as Haifa stopped, all foaming and breathless, 
 .at the great gate of Thrieve, I slipped down to the ground 
 in a dead faint. I remember no more ; but I know that 
 I lay there till Sholto — who, to keep me in sight, had 
 almost killed his heavier charger in the bogs and marl- 
 pits betwixt Carlinwark and the Castle — lifted me up 
 and bore me in. For my poor Haifa — he at least faithful
 
 THE WHITE FACE OF FATE 209 
 
 — had stood quite still beside me, doing me no harm, only- 
 snuffing, and blowing his white foam upon me in a kind 
 of dumb protest and wonderment. 
 
 And when I awoke it was as from death. Ah, that I 
 had been indeed dead ! All the pleasure I have known 
 since cannot make up for the pain of that moment. 
 
 Maud was sitting beside me. The race of the Doug- 
 lases of the Black was of truth extinct. But at least I 
 was free from James Douglas. His babe and mine was 
 dead — dead, as if slain by his hand. I read it in Maud's 
 eyes. 
 
 I think I sighed a long sigh and shut my eyes again. 
 
 ''Better so!" 
 
 That was the thought which arose within me.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 I SEE A STAR 
 
 We were still at Thrieve. The woods were yet one 
 manifest emerald. Only the birds began to take up again 
 their later after-summer song. It was a fair place. But 
 — how shall I describe it? — to me there was a veil over 
 everything. Over the river something smoked black like 
 a chimney that will not draw aright. A grey netting 
 of mist was flung over the trees. At times there came 
 a thicker drift of the same slate-coloured reek, as if the 
 pain and the sin went crying up from the ground like the 
 blood of righteous Abel. 
 
 Even the splendours of sunset over the purple ridges 
 of Balmaghie, and the dewy clearness of sunrise welling 
 up out of the east behind the wood-crests of Carlinwark 
 were tached and bedabbled by that black spume, the 
 breath as of the burning of Babylon the Great, mother of 
 abominations. 
 
 Only at one spot did the countryside about Thrieve 
 keep its ancient sweetness, and that was up towards the 
 little kirkyard of Balmaghie — outside of which they had 
 buried him, my babe. 
 
 There comes a wetness in these old eyes, as I write, 
 that was lacking in them forty years ago. Then I could 
 look with scarcely more than a dry hot twitching of the 
 throat at the place. But now, grown old and once more 
 verging on childhood, the tears come great and salt — 
 though not easily as they used to do at Cour Cheverney, 
 or at Thrieve during those ten years when I fretted wait- 
 ing for that which was to bring me so much pain when 
 I gat it. 
 
 For the rest I can hardly tell the wonderful thoughts 
 that came into my head durmg these days. I had 
 
 2IO
 
 I SEE A STAR 211 
 
 changed my chamber from the south side, where the 
 black reek seemed to whirl and drift most thickly 
 ( though all the time I knew it was only in my head ! ) 
 to the north, from which, up the splendid pathway of the 
 broad undivided river, glancing crystal-clear, I could 
 see the ridge, behind which was Balmaghie's little white 
 kirk, with the birds singing in the lilac bushes under 
 which he lay, just outside the wall of consecration (but 
 within God's heavenly acre), my bairn — the Douglas who 
 had never had a name or a title when they laid him in 
 earth. 
 
 Then at morn, at the very first breaking of it, green 
 and infinite as if the Dawn of Dawns were indeed come, 
 I was used to rise and look out of that northward window. 
 Yonder, pearl-clear and unsullied amid the green, glowed 
 his grave — yes, his. And I could not help but think of 
 him as like That Other who had His grave in a green 
 garden — the Sinless One who died for the sins of others. 
 
 And Above, where she sat at her Son's feet, the Mother 
 Mary was not angry when I thought of this, but smiled 
 and was well-pleased. So that for a moment the clouds 
 weie rolled aside. The sky glowed white and blue, the 
 Holy Virgin's colours, and, till the darkness shut down 
 and the eager pain banked up again in my heart, I could 
 even put up a prayer to Mary and her Son. 
 
 To God I could not pray. For He, I knew, was going 
 to punish James for his wrong-doing — and in that, 
 though I could not forget, I desired to have no part. It 
 was not that I did not forgive. For myself I did — yes, 
 from the first. But that dear dead babe cried from the 
 ground. And once, in the silence of the night I heard 
 him cry, and I awoke and looked, and lo ! to the north, 
 clear and wonderful, a star. 
 
 Then I put on my clothes very quietly, and, passing on 
 tiptoe the door of the chamber where Maud slumbered, 
 tired out with her manifold anxieties, then out by the little 
 private gate, I slipped past the sentries like a ghost fill 
 on the shingle without I found a skifif moored. I pushed 
 across the black pool, striking the water at random, 
 sometimes with one oar, sometimes with two, but keeping
 
 212 MAY MARGARET 
 
 my eyes always on the star. How it shone — large and 
 pure and gracious, like the rising of the harvest moon 
 over the serried sheaves of corn ! By-and-by I came to 
 the land, or rather it pushed itself softly against the boat. 
 A place deep-hidden among lush meadow grasses it was. 
 Often, and in vain, I have tried to find it since. 
 
 Dew-wet above, sponge-soft underneath it must have 
 been, but of that I have no memory. Certain tall marish 
 grasses I remember shaking their heads as I went by. 
 Then came the acrid smell of bog-bean at night, of wet 
 Queen-of-the-Meadow also, which thrust a tassel of 
 blonde dripping fur into my face. I gathered my gown 
 and sped northward — mine eyes on the star. I feared — 
 oh, how I feared that it would fade before I gat there — 
 the way was so long! 
 
 Yes, I prayed that it might not! For I thought — I 
 seemed to feel that all was in that. If I saw the light 
 when I reached the spot, my babe (whom they had buried 
 unblessed by priestly hand) would see the Face of God 
 and lie on the bosom of that Other Mother, whose bene- 
 diction would not be lacking. Also I thought that James, 
 after God had reckoned with him on earth, might also 
 be forgiven. Perhaps. At least I prayed so. 
 
 So I ran on, eager and forgetful of all, save what God 
 was to do for me, and the babe and James — and, yes — 
 for that poor unhappy girl also, that Magdalen, whose 
 beauty had tempted my — no, I could not call him that 
 — had tempted James Douglas to his fate ! For such are 
 one woman's best thoughts of another ! 
 
 Then was strength given me, not of myself, not the 
 strength of my poor limbs, made weak by sufifering. But 
 something quite different — out of me, of divine gift, mar- 
 vellous. 
 
 On and on I went, till the marshes gave way to the 
 dryer field-pastures with the starting sheep, and then, 
 hedged with thorns and prickles, came little patches of 
 yellowing corn. And once in a hollow I lost the light, 
 and I fell prone on my face. But not till long after- 
 wards did I know myself hurt. For in a moment I was 
 up again and ran on. y\nd lo ! the light as I came nearer,
 
 I SEE A STAR 215 
 
 grew more bright; but, as it were, divided and scattered 
 here and there among the gravestones. 
 
 And I heard a sound of singing as if a myriad of the 
 heavenly host was chanting a psahn in honour of a Httle 
 babe. So I ran fast and faster, lest all might vanish like 
 a dream of the night, be ended like the song of a bird, 
 when, being frighted, it flies from one wood to another 
 far away. 
 
 For this reason I grew cautious, as those who see 
 visions must often be. I had heard of the tricks the 
 Little People play. So I went a-tiptoe to the gable end 
 of the kirk, knowing I could come to no harm there. 
 The kirkyard lay beyond. The kirk itself rose black 
 above, as it seemed, cutting hard against the stars, mak- 
 ing a blank in heaven. And over the rigging, lo, a soft 
 gleaming of light from below ! All the winds were still. 
 For sure, for very sure, I was to see the angels, and die. 
 What matter? Better so, indeed! Better for me and 
 for the babe. 
 
 Secretly I looked, hiding my poor clogged body behind 
 a gravestone. I remember now I was at once chill with 
 cold and burning with fever. My gown clung wet 
 about me. My teeth chattered. Yet for all that my 
 blood ran hot and my heart beat fast. I was to see the 
 angels — perhaps also — perhaps? But no, that could not 
 be, and I did not want it to be. Maud had told me he 
 was dead, and Maud did not lie. But if I could only see 
 the angels blessing him, carrying his soul upwards, my 
 little one whom men held not fit to lie within the hallowed 
 precinct, dying unbaptised — I should be happy. It would 
 be enough. 
 
 I looked again. And behold, the little lich-gate of the 
 kirkyard was open ! I could see many men in priestly 
 robes come chanting, bearing great candles in their hands. 
 One in the midst, whose apparel was most glorious, bore 
 on his arms something small, wrapped about in white. 
 And as he led the way into the church, priests and holy 
 brethren followed with their tall candles — till they came 
 to a new-made grave dug within the altar rails. And, 
 looking through a little window, I saw how the man in
 
 214 MAY MARGARET 
 
 the beautiful raiment, whose face was hidden, knelt with 
 the white bundle in his arms, and how another, more 
 simply dressed in white, with bands of gold and purple 
 over his shoulders, read out of a book. And after a while, 
 even as I looked, the man whose face had been hidden 
 rose up, and lo, it was Laurence ! 
 
 And I saw him lay the little wdiite, oblong bundle in the 
 grave, and the priest blessed it again, and sprinkled holy 
 water, and scattered earth upon it. And even as he stood 
 there with his hands outspread, something gave way with- 
 in me, and I rushed through the door and up the aisle 
 till I threw me, as it were, across the very grave wherein 
 he lay — the babe who was now blessed, anointed, and 
 baptised, mayhap against the canons of Holy Church, but 
 of a certainty according to the desires of Him who drew 
 the little children unto Him. 
 
 I lay stretched out before the priest wet and shiver- 
 ing, they tell me, though burning hot with fever. And 
 with my mouth to the ground I cried (I have no remem- 
 brance of it) : 
 
 " Bless me also, O, Holy Ones; bless me, and the babe, 
 with Jiis father, and — Yes, I will say it, her who hath 
 taken him from me!" 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 They lifted me up and brought me home, to lie long in 
 the north-looking room betwixt life and death, and of the 
 two infinitely nearer to death, for many weeks. 
 
 And Laurence, ere he left the kirkyard, bade all the 
 fathers and brethren keep silence, for if these things were 
 known at Rome every man of them would lose their 
 frocks. " But," he added, " the God who made a man 
 his vice-gerent on the earth be my Court of Appeal 
 whether this night I have done right or no ! " 
 
 And while they were carrying me home to Thrieve, 
 they intoned very solemnly the Laiis Deo and the Gloria. 
 They knew not whether or no I lived, but they knew that 
 here or hence, having seen what I had seen, a great 
 weight would be gone from my soul. 
 
 And so, indeed, it was. For when, faint with the hand 
 of Death scarce withdrawn from my heart, I was carried
 
 I SEE A STAR 215 
 
 to the southward balcony to look forth, lo ! the black reek 
 (which was Sin Unforgiven) had clean gone from off the 
 land. 
 
 All was as the soul of my babe, newly washed like 
 my own, my little chrisom, with the holy oil of anoint- 
 ing, though late, still moist upon his brow. So that evil 
 at least had passed away, and for a time my soul had ease. 
 
 And as I lay long, holding Maud's hand, I asked her 
 under my breath by what name they had called him. For 
 a while she did not answer, and then said only, " Laurence 
 thought it wise to call him William — because " 
 
 Then, as she hesitated, I interrupted. 
 
 " Do not fear for me," I cried, " as ever, Laurence 
 did the right. Though I loved him not, William Doug- 
 las was my true husband. It is well that the babe that 
 was another's, dying unspotted from the world, should 
 bear a good man's name in that nursery where such 
 God's children are kept and watched and tended ! I am 
 glad indeed ! " 
 
 At that she kissed me and I kissed her — for the first 
 time for long out of love and with a full heart. And 
 from that time forth I think I was to her even as one of 
 her own children.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 DIES IR^ — GLOAMING 
 
 Long, long it was, that I lay tossing in fever, or shaking 
 in chill, till one day I came forth feeble and white, the 
 very shadow of myself. And during these weeks and 
 months many things had been happening. 
 
 Without, the woodlands of Carlinwark had grown rus- 
 set. The birches, struck with sudden frost, flamed 
 among them like Bale-fires on St. John's Eve, After 
 that, the trees, the lakeside bushes and marish greenery, 
 had all grown stark and leafless in the grip of the frosts. 
 Then, through the bitter spring winds and the hurl of 
 the March snowstorm, milder days had come again, 
 and these, when they arrived, found me still like a babe 
 under Maud's hands. 
 
 Meantime of the Douglas, what? Of the fate of our 
 great House, what. James had fled (so they said) and 
 was reputed on English soil. The King had taken certain 
 of his castles, but on the other hand Archibald, Hugh, and 
 Little John (now little no longer, but a man of his 
 inches) had convened men and taken other fortresses 
 belonging to the King, so that all was a convulsed hither- 
 and-thither within the bounds of Scotland. 
 
 This all came to me in bits and snatches, as Maud 
 sat by my bedside and I posed her with question upon 
 question. But there were some which she put aside and 
 would give me no answer to — as when I asked her where 
 he was, and whether he would ever return to his own 
 again — I meant to Thrieve, 
 
 To that she answered nothing, nor would for all my 
 fleeching. 
 
 " And Malise and his sons ? " I asked. 
 
 Again she bowed her head and was silent. 
 
 " I understand they are with the King," I answered. 
 
 " I do not blame them. But, Maud, why are you here, 
 
 216
 
 DIES IR^ 217 
 
 and why is Sholto not with his father — not with the king 
 — against us ? " 
 
 She took niQ in her arms and held me very close, as her 
 wont had been ever since the day I rode Haifa back 
 from the Three Thorns, and that which was to befall, 
 befell. 
 
 " Little one," she said, " now you will know Sholto, as 
 I have known him these many years. This was the 
 answer he gave to his father when the old man called him 
 to come out and help break down the Douglases in the 
 name of a brother's vengeance. 
 
 My father,' he answered, him speaking as ever, 
 gently and yet in fear of no man, ' vengeance shall be 
 done on the head of the transgressor. Go, if you will and 
 do your part ! ' 
 
 " ' That will I,' cried the smith, ' and, hear you this, 
 Sholto McKim, if you stay behind, a curse that shall not 
 lift be on your head and on your children's heads to the 
 third and fourth generation ! ' 
 
 " Then Sholto, my husband, being of his nature noble 
 and strong as a man, and yet gentle as any woman, 
 bowed his head and made him this answer. ' For myself 
 I take your curse, my father. But as for my little chil- 
 dren, that is not in your power to lift or lay. Yet harken, 
 when I came to Thrieve to put upon me the cap of the 
 Earl's guard I was but a lad, and there was given to me 
 and to the girl I loved the care of a little maid — even of 
 her who is now Princess of Galloway, and hath twice been 
 Countess of Douglas. That her second husband, James, 
 has done us the bitterest wrong and dishonour is good 
 reason for your fighting against him, but is no reason 
 for my forsaking of my charge — one who hath done no 
 wrong, but rather suffered much and long ! ' 
 
 " ' Then, Sholto McKim,' cried his father, ' you will 
 not come with me and the lads. You will abide by the 
 Douglas. Quick, make your choice — it is once and 
 for all ! ' 
 
 " ' The choice was made from the first, father,' said 
 Sholto, ' I can no other. I will not help a murderer like 
 the King even against James Douglas. I will abide by my
 
 2i8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 lady Margaret, in the place where she abides. I will 
 fight for her to the death ! ' 
 
 " ' Know you that the King has proclaimed her also 
 rebel and outlaw ? ' cried Malise, yet more bitterly. * He 
 has made accursed all of that family. Think of that, 
 Sir Sholto ! ' 
 
 " ' I have stood your curse, my father,' answered 
 Sholto, ' for the sake of her who was the Little Maid. At 
 the king's I snap my fingers ! ' 
 
 " ' I also had a little maid,' moaned Malise, the great 
 smith, * and as a reward for half-a-century's service, my 
 master that was took her from me. Shall I stay and 
 thank him, make brave his breastplate for the tourney, 
 hold his stirrup when he dismounts at Thrieve? By God, 
 not so ! My sword to his rather — the sword I made for 
 him, I can shatter. The armour I forged, I can pierce. 
 Who, if not I, can search the joints thereof, and drive 
 home the steel to the dividing of soul and marrow ? ' 
 
 " ' It is well,' answered Sholto, ' well for you — well for 
 the lads! Let the McKims stand together for their sis- 
 ter's sake ' 
 
 " 'And will you, who claim to be a knight and a sol- 
 dier, be found recreant in that day ? ' cried the armourer, 
 and it seemed as if indeed he would slay his first-born. 
 (" If he had," interjected the tale-teller, " he would have 
 had to kill me also.") 
 
 " ' I fight not for James, Earl of Douglas, whom in his 
 good time God shall judge,' said Sholto, ' but for the 
 woman, my lady mistress, who hath none but me to 
 stand by her. Where she abides, I will abide. Her 
 cause shall be mine — her quarrel mine so long as I can 
 strike a blow, or lift a spear as you my father taught 
 me.' 
 
 " ' And if he, the evil-doer, returns hither,' the armourer 
 went on, ' here to Thrieve,' and if (like a woman) she 
 forgive him, where will you stand? Will you fight 
 against your own folk — against me, your father — against 
 these, your brethren ? ' 
 
 " ' Aye,' said Sholto, very gravely, * if she, my lady, 
 who hath no other hand to draw sword for her, remains,
 
 DIES IR^ 219 
 
 I, too, shall remain by her side to the last — I and mine. 
 She has been left by one brother — deceived by another ! 
 She shall have at least one friend — nay, Maud (here he 
 turned towards me), she shall have two! And if it so 
 come about as you have said, which God forbid — in her 
 cause, the cause of the unfriended, I will even fight 
 against you, my father, and against you, the sons of my 
 mother ! ' 
 
 " The old man stood for a while regarding him stonily. 
 Then all swiftly he shot out his huge hairy hand, grimed 
 with a life-time's handling of armour-iron. Sholto took 
 it, his face also steady as an anvil. 
 
 " It was a great thing, little one, to see two such men 
 front one another, neither yielding a jot. Then Malise 
 spoke. 
 
 " * By the Holy Name,' he cried, ' but you are a man, 
 Sholto! I lift the curse I laid. You are your father's 
 own son. But mind, if in the shock of battle I meet you 
 face to face, I will strike and spare not — because that 
 you fight for the betrayer's cause ! ' 
 
 " * I expect no other,' said Sholto, ' and though I know 
 the death in it, I would rather take your blow than your 
 curse. I thank you for lifting that.' 
 
 " Yet a moment longer father and son stood eye to eye, 
 no feature of either quivering. There was no yielding 
 anywhere. Deep called to deep, and was answered. 
 
 " ' Till we meet ! ' said Malise the smith, suddenly drop- 
 ping his son's hand. But Sholto said nothing. For in- 
 deed it was noways in his heart to raise a hand against 
 the father who begat him ! " 
 
 Here it was that, had she been permitted, Maud would 
 have ended her narrative. I clasped and kissed her hand 
 and said, " There is no one like Sholto, Maud — none so 
 brave and loyal and true." 
 
 But she only smiled as who would say, " Of course ! 
 It is so written in the Scriptures. The stars have declared 
 it. It is a law of the Mede and of the Persian. I am 
 noways surprised. I have known that and more these 
 many years ! How could any think that man, born of 
 woman, could think or speak or act like my Sholto ? "
 
 220 AIAY :\IARGARET 
 
 But I had a question yet to ask which concerned another 
 than Sholto — yet a McKim. 
 
 "What of Laurence?" I whispered. For indeed in 
 my dreams I had seen him oftentimes of late, and pkicked 
 with him the green birk to wind about my head, and 
 placed therein the red berries of the rowan, and set whole 
 wildernesses a-bickering with w^ater- wheels and the jolly 
 flap of windmill sails. 
 
 " What should there be of Laurence ? " said Maud, in- 
 stantly altering her voice to the hollow sounding and 
 querulous intonation wherewith straightforward women 
 strive to put off a question. But, being also a woman, I 
 detected her in a moment. 
 
 " The truth with me, Maud," I said, " in this as in all 
 else! On whose side stands Laurence in this quarrel?" 
 
 " I think," she answered, not looking at me, " that after 
 the things you were witness of in the kirk-close of Bal- 
 maghie, you have no need to ask that question." 
 
 " But just for that reason I do ask it," I said, pressing 
 her ; " tell me, Maud, I beseech you ! " 
 
 " Certes, Margaret," she made answer, " for a sick 
 woman you have many askings. I will tell you that 
 which I do know. Laurence has given his adhesion to 
 the pact against James, Earl of Douglas, but he bides at 
 Sweetheart to keep sanctuary for you there in time of 
 need. That done, or out of need, he will shed his monk- 
 ish robes like the husk of a hazel-nut and fight against his 
 house's enemy by his father's side ! " 
 
 "Then Laurence is against us?" I could not help say- 
 ing with tears. " I had not thought it of him. Yet now 
 I remember, he never had any true liking for me. He 
 would not even come to Thrieve to see me but once or 
 twice during these long years. If he had cared at all, 
 he would have come, being so near ! " 
 
 Then Maud gave me a curious look — long and piercing, 
 as if doubting whether I was not less innocent than my 
 words implied. I understand it all now. I did not then. 
 I had so much else to think of. 
 
 " You mistake," she answered slowly. " Laurence is 
 with you as truly and as fully as Sholto. And for that
 
 DIES IR.E 221 
 
 reason he is against James Douglas, even as his father 
 and his brethren are — of that let there be no doubt ! " 
 
 "But why — why?" I urged. "Tell me, why is not 
 Laurence even as Sholto? These two have the same 
 reasons for hating my — for hating James Douglas, 
 stands it not so? If otherwise, surely I ought to be 
 told ! " 
 
 Again Maud smiled slowly and subtly. 
 
 " No," she said, shaking her head, " not the same ! " 
 
 " What ? is not — she as much the sister of Sholto, as 
 she is of Laurence McKim ? " 
 
 " Of a certainty," she said, " but " 
 
 " But what ? Speak the truth to me, Maud, I bid you ! " 
 
 " Well, little one," said Maud, caressing and quieting 
 me, " do you not understand that Sholto has had me, to 
 love and to be loved by, any time these fifteen years? 
 As to Laurence — well, it is not the same ! " 
 
 She paused, and I snatched at her gown, begging and 
 commanding her to go on. But she would not, fearing 
 that she had said too much, or mayhap had overtaxed 
 my strength. Nor could I get another word out of her, 
 though I tried time and again, but only a sleeping 
 draught to compose me, and the quiet of the north- 
 looking room with the curtains drawn all about the bed. 
 
 But ere Maud left me to my sleep she murmured in my 
 ear, " Rest and grow strong-, little one, there are more 
 who love you to their heart's last pulse-beat than you wot 
 of. And, as for Sholto and this poor Maud Lindsay of 
 yours, they will hold you safe through the Day of Wrath 
 which evil-doing is bringing upon the House of Douglas, 
 or, if God wills it, they will die with you ! " 
 
 Then, greatly comforted. I scarce know why or how, 
 I slept with Maudie's hand in mine, and the little Mar- 
 celle on guard at the door to see that none approached 
 to disturb me with so much as the ring of a halbert or 
 a hasty footstep on the stone corridor. 
 
 For blessed indeed are they on whom God bestows the 
 love of even one friend. And, as for me, had I not two ? 
 But I wished — oh, how I wished I could have said three !
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 DIES IR.^ II — WITH GARMENTS DIED IN BLOOD 
 
 It was on an evening mild and sweet as only (and 
 rarely) late June afifords that Sholto and Maud had taken 
 me out through the great gate of Thrieve, a little way 
 across the Isle, to breathe the fresh air, scented with the 
 gorse and broom of the opposite Balmaghie shores, and 
 the more memorable fragrance of the white thorns. 
 Which last struck my heart with a pang to think of the 
 little house at Carlinwark, under its three sheltering 
 thorns all desolate — the love of generations turned to 
 hate, honourable service to embattled enmity, even my 
 Laurence biding his time to strike — only Sholto with me 
 — and Maud. Yet I blessed God for these. Maud's 
 gentle arm it was which supported me as I tottered 
 towards the ford, turning to watch the grey old castle 
 of the Douglases stand up against the orange hand's- 
 breadth of evening light in the west, and to drink in the 
 mild coolness of that mid-summer season when in Scot- 
 land the sun stays out of bed till within three hours of 
 midnight. 
 
 The three of us stood talking of this and that — of the 
 fierce fighting about the Castle of Abercorn, of which 
 Sholto had gotten private word, of the Lindsays and the 
 Crawfords, Maud's Highland kin, who were hard at it 
 fighting for the Douglas in the North — chiefly, as she 
 herself allowed, because their enemy Huntly was of the 
 King's party. And in especial we spoke of the tide of 
 war that ever seemed to be driving nearer and nearer to 
 us in our high and strong fortalice of Thrieve, the ulti- 
 mate and natural stronghold of the Douglas race. 
 
 But, as always, Sholto and Maud strove to draw me 
 from the subject, telling me of the children, of their sweet 
 sayings and brave doings — how that Marcelle could read
 
 DIES IR^ II 223 
 
 Latin as well as any Mess John — almost, indeed, as well 
 as Laurence himself — how the twins fought fierce battles. 
 for which their mother did soundly thwack them, but 
 which she blamed their father with secretly encouraging 
 — of gentle Ulric and David of the sturdy legs, just 
 beginning to be a care as these carried him to the dan- 
 gerous pool-edges of Dee and dark peaty deeps of the 
 castle ditch. 
 
 But for me, though I knew their loving meaning, all 
 would not do. It was the first time I had seen Thrieve 
 thus, as it were from without — the place where I had 
 loved and given myself without reserve, the place where 
 I had been heartbroken ! And there, beyond, clear upon 
 its guarding ridge (on which the sun was spending his 
 last beams), was the place where he lay, the son of one 
 Earl, the name-child of another greater and truer — yet 
 (let me say it) one not easier to love. 
 
 And as I looked this way and that, it seemed as if the 
 old dimming smoke began to rise out of the east, behind 
 Carlinwark and Kelton, spreading south till the bold 
 ridge of Ben Gairn melted behind it. Whirling and cir- 
 cling it came, like a dust-storm wind-driven along a road 
 by which many horsemen have passed hasting to battle. 
 
 Yet there was one thing strange to me. The smoke 
 was no longer, as formerly, black, like the reek of hell. 
 But rather of a purplish colour, like the ascending incense 
 of some sacred service in a great cathedral, such as I 
 had seen in France, at Chartres, at Orleans, and in the 
 long solemn aisles of Notre Dame. 
 
 All the same it was there without a doubt, whirling dun 
 across the green fields, masking the clear compassing 
 waters, and even (so it appeared to me) making my eyes 
 smart with some bitter odour in the nostrils. Yet Sholto 
 and Maud prattled on all unconscious, which, when I 
 had observed, I knew that the appearance was solely for 
 me, sent for my sake, perhaps because of the wickedness 
 and lack of forgiveness I had been cherishing in my 
 heart. 
 
 The sun sank swiftly, as if pulled under out of the way, 
 like a child's puppet of which its owner has grown tired.
 
 224 MAY MARGARET 
 
 There was a fear on me, and I wished it to remain above 
 the horizon, so that it might be day. Yet it would not 
 bide a moment longer for all my wishing, but with one 
 great seven-league bound the twilight strode across the 
 earth. There was an after-glowing of sunset — I could 
 see, but all made dim and misty for me by that strange 
 upboiling of purple spume. 
 
 Nevertheless, I knew the thing existed not at all save 
 in my own head. But all the same I saw it, and its acrid 
 bite (as of fresh-spilt blood) stung my nostrils. 
 
 " God out of his quiet heaven help poor harassed, 
 thrice-driven, tormented Margaret Douglas ! " I prayed 
 deep down in my heart's heart. " Why are all these things 
 heaped on a girl like me? Surely there are backs more 
 stout for the burden? Surely sins more sinful than mine 
 to be expiated ? Why is this also laid on me ? " 
 
 And yet in some wise it was merciful. The veiling 
 mist was also on my spirit, whirling and benumbing. If 
 I had been possessed of my old easy careless sanity, I 
 could not have borne that which was about to befall me. 
 
 " Come your ways home, Margaret. It grows late. 
 The dews begin to fall ! " said Maud gently. And on the 
 other side her husband drew nearer me till he could 
 touch my shoulder and waist. I know now that he only 
 waited Maud's signal to take me in his arms and carry 
 me within, even as he would have done for Marcelle or 
 little Ulric if they had gotten a hurt at play upon the 
 leas. 
 
 For so was I cared for in those days — love striving 
 vainly by easements of the body to minister to the deeper 
 hurts of my soul. 
 
 But as I looked towards the Fords of Dee there came 
 upon me overwhelmingly the feeling that Something or 
 Someone was approaching by way of the Hiding Hill — 
 coming on my account too. I could not see. The purple 
 mist boiled and tossed tempestuously before my eyes, 
 so that even Sholto and Maud seemed to dissolve and 
 resolve, alternate, to pass and change even when I 
 gripped them by the arms. 
 
 "There — there! It comes — yonder!" I whispered,
 
 DIES IR^ II 225 
 
 ^' down the Hiding Hill ! I can see it pass Earl Wil- 
 liam's Rock, where he used to turn and kiss his hand ! 
 Do you not see it, Maud ? Do you not see it, Sholto? " 
 
 But Maud made answer only, " I see nothing, dearest. 
 It is but your overwrought fancy. Come within! It 
 waxes chill. Take her up. Sholto ! " 
 
 But Sholto with the soldier's ear, quickened to catch 
 far-off sounds, moved his hand slightly. 
 
 " Hush, Maud," he murmured, " perhaps our dear lady 
 is right. It seems that I do hear something; wait but 
 one minute ! " 
 
 But I, for whom IT came, could both hear and see 
 clearly, in spite of that false boiling mist that was in my 
 head, or behind the pupils of mv eyes. 
 
 " It is coming," I cried. " Yonder, Maud ! " 
 
 I pointed with my hand. 
 
 "Do you not see it?" I almost screamed in terror. 
 " Yonder — by the blasted thorn tree on the nether slope. 
 It is shaped like a giant, all dark, and rides on a white 
 horse tached with blood. Ah, let us go in now. I fear ! 
 I fear ! Take me ! Keep me ! Let It not come near ! " 
 
 IMaud caught me in her arms ; at the same moment, as 
 if by instinct, Sholto drew his sword and advanced a 
 pace in front of us. 
 
 " Stand back, Sholto ! " I cried in yet deadlier terror, 
 " out of the way for Maudie's sake and that of the babes ! 
 Why should you also die? It is no mortal born of mor- 
 tal — I tell you, but Death riding on his pale horse ! And 
 he comes for me — for me. Let me go, Maud. Let me go ! 
 I am stronger now. I had fear — I own it — foolish fear. 
 But it is past now. I am glad, glad! I shall see my 
 babe — oh, let me go ! " 
 
 And but for Maud's strong arm thrown about me, I 
 would have run forward to meet and welcome That 
 which was coming toward me, through the dark waters 
 of the ford. 
 
 As for Sholto, he stood still in the way, his sword ready 
 in his hand. And the figure, looming huge and dark 
 through the blinding smother of the reek and the gather- 
 ing dark, came splashing through the ford. I strove to
 
 226 MAY MARGARET 
 
 cry out, but my tongue clave instead, stick-dry, to the 
 roof of my mouth. 
 
 But Sholto, duty making him strong, hailed the intruder 
 like a sentinel on guard, " Who comes to Thrieve so 
 late ? Stand still, or reckon with Sholto McKim ! " 
 
 But the tall shape came on, wordless, making no answer 
 — incognizant, as it were, of mortal speech, reckless of 
 mortal threat, careless of life or death. 
 
 Through the gloom it loomed up like a man in dark 
 armour — as, indeed, I had seen long ago — a man riding 
 on a white horse, all splashed and furrowed with running 
 blood, some dried and dark, some as if it had oozed 
 fresh from between the joints of armour. 
 
 Figure liker unto Death on his pale horse with Hell 
 following after, saw n*; man ever. But even as on the 
 night when I saw the Star I wa.-= miraculously sustained, 
 so now in some measure the eddying mist surged less 
 dense and dun, thinning out so that by turning my head 
 I could see, as it were, a little to right and left, though not 
 yet evenly before me. 
 
 Out of the river, up the steep and stony bank, climbed 
 the vision. But not noiselessly — far otherwise indeed. 
 At Thrieve they heard the horse snorting as it made the 
 last spring to land, and the rattle of accoutrement as 
 the rider swayed on the saddle. 
 
 The white horse, its red splashes but little cleansed by 
 the water of the ford, now stood trembling in every limb. 
 The rider, helmless and pallid, sat silent as if dumb and 
 unconscious — Death himself not more awful ! 
 
 " Keep us, God in his Heaven, lest our eyes be blasted ! " 
 I tried to murmur. 
 
 But the sword of Sholto McKim clattered from his 
 hand upon the shingle of the water edge. 
 
 " Help me," he cried, " it is James Douglas — come home 
 to Thrieve alone, wounded, stricken unto death ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 DIES IR^ III — THE FIRST DAY OF THE WRATH 
 
 Aye, truly, it was James Douglas, all incarnadine with 
 the blood of battle, his own and that which his right arm 
 had shed. His splintered sword was glued to his hand, 
 the finely netted reins were slashed and cut. His good 
 horse had found its way to Thrieve wholly of its own 
 accord, for its master was far past speech or guiding 
 motion. How he had sustained himself through the 
 dumb agonies of that ride God only knows ; for James 
 Douglas, who did the deed, could not tell, and, indeed, 
 never knew. 
 
 Without a glance at me, without a moment of hesita- 
 tion, Sholto received his master into his arms, laid him 
 bareheaded in his hacked mail upon the grass, sprinkled 
 the clear water of the river upon him, while Maud gently 
 disengaged the englued hilt and shattered blade from 
 his wounded right hand. 
 
 At the first sight of him the revolt of an intolerable 
 disgust seemed to engulf my spirit. The reek swirled 
 thicker, more blinding. Acrid, hateful odours swept 
 across me in the dun, drifting spume. For one awful 
 moment I felt that I could take his own knife and slay 
 James Douglas as he lay there — that is, if he were not 
 dead already. 
 
 The next, clear and lambent against the last vestige of 
 the sunset, glowed the kirk-ridge so dear to me, that little 
 kirk aboon Dee Water where our baby lay. There 
 leaped a prayer up into my heart : 
 
 " Forgive us our trespasses as we also forgive those who have 
 trespassed against us ! " 
 
 And I stooped to kiss his brow, in token that I also 
 was not outside the forgiveness of God. Ere, however, 
 
 227
 
 228 MAY MARGARET 
 
 my lips touched his flesh, there came to me a pang of the 
 old recoiling. I stopped, quivering. For a moment my 
 heart hung uncertain. Then, seeing a lock of hair cling 
 dankly to his broad white forehead, I kissed that hastily, 
 and stood erect. 
 
 Then the very peace of God seemed to visit me. The 
 pale gold of a saint's aureole glowed behind the little 
 kirk where the babe rested beneath the altar, under the 
 coffer which holds the holv bread. 
 
 Then as they bore him in, speechless, gashed out of all 
 cognisance, on the bier which Sholto had hastily caused 
 them make out of bridge-spars and birchen branches, I 
 walked beside. And a Voice seemed to cry in my ear, 
 " Better than blood spilt — better than vengeance achieved 
 — better than just hatred justly pursued, is the forgiving 
 of sins — for love's sake — for Christ's sake ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Yet James Douglas was not dead — no, nor yet even 
 wounded to the death. He had fought a great fight 
 somewhere or somehow. More than that there was none 
 to tell us, as for ten hours he lay unconscious between 
 death and life. But Sholto, who was, among other 
 things, a cunning leech (so far at least as the wounds 
 and contusions of battle were concerned), faithfully cared 
 for his master with IMaud at his elbow, holding lukewarm 
 water in a bowl, and a bundle of seventeen hundred linen 
 torn into the finest shreds. Me they would not permit 
 to do anything for James — though God knows they might 
 have done with all safety. For I had overcome that 
 which had been making a canker of my heart. Hatred 
 should no more have dominion over me. 
 
 Still Sholto could not be expected to know that, though 
 ]\Iaud Lindsay ought to have known. So I waited, still 
 and patient, while they dressed the wounds. There was 
 a terrible gash across his head, where his helmet had been 
 broken by the blow of some mighty sword. When this 
 was dressed Sholto turned his attention to the nobly- 
 formed white body of him, moistening and washing away 
 the stains of battle in the clear, soft Dee water with the 
 shredded bunch of fine linen. Then at the place where
 
 DIES IR^ III 229 
 
 the gorget fits upon the shoulder blade, between that and 
 the junction with the body annour, Sholto, gently soften- 
 ing and touching, came upon something hard, driven in 
 forcefully against the shoulder blade. 
 
 With minute skill and caution he worked it out, when, 
 lo ! the point of a pike appeared, or perhaps the broken 
 tip of a Lochaber axe. 
 
 Sholto looked at the fragment attentively. 
 
 " That is my father's own weapon ! " he said gravely 
 and softly. 
 
 " God help us all, what then hath befallen? " I cried. 
 
 He held in his hand the steel splinter, shaped to a point 
 with a curious swirl like a half-filled spindle of yarn, 
 quite distinctive and peculiar. 
 
 " I know my father's forging and his private mark 
 under the peak," he answered me. " It was Malise 
 McKim who drave that stroke which came near to slay 
 James Douglas ! " 
 
 And, as if responsive to the power of the name of his 
 adversary, the wounded man on the bed turned as if 
 pain-twitched, opened his eyes without seeing any of us 
 who were in the room, and equally without knowing 
 where he was. He jerked his bandaged hand upwards 
 stiffly. 
 
 " Come and fight with me, Malise McKim," he cried, 
 " to the death — to the death-grip let it be ! Let no man 
 come between ! " 
 
 Then, as he lay tossing, he cried again, " Lead her off 
 the field, I tell you ! Take her to sanctuary — Archie, 
 Hugh, Little John, do you hear ? I am the Douglas ! 
 Do as I bid you ! " 
 
 We looked at one another in wonderment. This was 
 a riddle we could not tmravel. 
 
 " Either the sword-stroke on the brain or the axe-point 
 
 in his shoulder hath touched his reason," whispered 
 
 Sholto McKim. " His mind wanders ! " 
 
 " Not so," said Maud Lindsay. " Give him a sleeping 
 
 draught — bind up his wounds with a plaister of healing 
 
 herbs, and to-morrow we shall know." 
 
 " Let me watch by his bedside," I said beseechingly to
 
 230 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Maud. But this they would not permit, saying that with 
 so strong a man, and one so sore wounded, nursing was 
 men's work. However, being well aware that I would 
 sleep none, I caused Sholto to promise that if there 
 was any change, or any return to consciousness, he 
 would call me. If he were yet alive, and the reason left 
 in him, I had a question to ask of James Douglas. 
 
 He slept all that night, and (Sholto refraining from 
 calling me) I slept also, though heavily and without 
 refreshment. I was waiting, I suppose, and felt the sus- 
 pense even in my dreams. 
 
 Late in the evening of the next day Sholto came to my 
 room and knocked. I had stayed there all day behind 
 closed bars. Maud and her husband in the sick chamber 
 did not need me. The babes, with their innocent chatter, 
 would have fretted me beyond bearing. 
 
 " My Lady Margaret," said Sholto, " for a time at 
 least the Earl James is returned to himself. His desire 
 is to see you." 
 
 The young captain of Thrieve spoke with much dignity, 
 almost officially indeed, as if washing his hands of any 
 responsibility in the matter. 
 
 " I will come to my lord ! " I answered him, as curtly. 
 And forthwith made me ready. 
 
 The chamber in which James Douglas lay, swathed 
 white in manifold bandages, was darkened. As I en- 
 tered, Maud rose to go out. But I stopped her. 
 
 " Abide, dear friends both," I said, " henceforth what 
 my Lord James says to me, he says equally to you ! " 
 
 But when James Douglas turned upon me his eyes, 
 bright with fever, pain-stricken and pitiful, my heart, 
 wavering, well-nigh melted within me. But there was 
 my question to ask. He murmured something of which 
 none of us could catch the meaning. 
 
 " He is just awaking ! " whispered Sholto. " By-and- 
 by it will come clearer." 
 
 James Douglas motioned me to sit down beside him. 
 The bandaged hand in fitful motion again looked won- 
 drously pitiful. But there was the question, I bent
 
 DIES IR^ III 231 
 
 towards him. His burning eyes dimmed as if the reek 
 had drifted across them again. 
 
 " Where is she?" I whispered. These words and no 
 more. 
 
 He did not affect to misunderstand. He knew. 
 
 " She is dead!" he murmured. 
 
 I stood erect with a strange buzzing in my ears. Behind 
 me I could hear Maud's sudden gasping moan. Then 
 Sholto's " Thank God ! " half fierce, half heart-breaking. 
 
 But once more James was gone from us, his spirit 
 again eclipsed. As a drowning man comes to the surface 
 to wave a farewell, so his soul seemed to have floated 
 up merely to give me this one signal. But Sholto knew 
 better. 
 
 " A cup of that white wine, the Burgundian, Maud — 
 quick, I tell you ! " he said, in an agitated whisper. 
 
 His strong arm went about his master. It lifted him 
 gradually till James was half raised from his couch. He 
 moaned a little, the new position changing the set of his 
 wounds. 
 
 " Drink, my lord, drink ! " said Sholto, loud in his ear. 
 And at the word the spirit, far-wandering, or perhaps 
 lingering near, heard and returned. James Douglas 
 drank. In a little while he opened his eyes and found me 
 sitting by the bed, at the foot. For Maud and Sholto 
 kept the head on either side, " to be ready to render 
 service," they said. 
 
 " I — have — come ! I — alone of all ! " he said slowly 
 and painfully. " We are broken, destroyed, we Doug- 
 lases — swept from the face of the earth ! " 
 
 As he continued to speak the wine began to put in its 
 work. A faint flush dusked his cheek. He lifted his 
 hand to give emphasis. 
 
 " The Red Douglas hath put down the Black ! " he went 
 on more forcibly. " Even as He hath dealt with me, 
 may God deal with the traitor Douglases — George of 
 Angus and his cousin Dalkeith, who have turned against 
 their father's house ! " 
 
 Sholto bent over him, forcing him gently back on the 
 pillow.
 
 2Z2 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Hush, my lord," he whispered ; " who talks of the 
 Douglas of the Black being put down while Thrieve 
 Castle stands, and Sholto McKim is the captain there- 
 of?" 
 
 For the first time James seemed to recognise him. 
 Again he started up on his elbow. 
 
 " God curse you, Sholto McKim ! What do you here ? " 
 he cried fiercely. " Am I then in the hands of yet more 
 traitors ? Have I come home to die, only to find Thrieve 
 in the hands of mine enemy ? " 
 At this came a look of his father upon the face of Sholto 
 McKim, the first I had ever seen there. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " I am no traitor, neither am I a 
 friend of James Douglas. But so long as the Lady Mar- 
 garet remains in this her castle, I will remain to defend 
 it. I am her servant. According to her sole word I 
 will come and go." 
 
 " Then you have separated yourself from your familv in 
 this matter, Sholto McKim?" demanded James, won- 
 dering, perhaps, at something too high for him to com- 
 prehend. 
 
 Sholto bowed. It appeared no matter of credit to him. 
 He did not wish to waste words; but James Douglas 
 persisted. 
 
 " Are you then for me or against me? " he cried, again 
 raising himself on his elbow. " I bid you tell me ! " 
 " Neither for you nor yet against you," answered Sholto 
 with swift decision. " I am for my liege lady, my dear 
 mistress in all things. In that in \Vhich she is for you, 
 I and mine are for you. In that wherein she is against 
 you, I am against you ! " 
 
 " But when the besiegers come to Thrieve, as they 
 surely will, on which side will you fight?" 
 
 " For whomsoever my lady wills," answered Sholto. " I 
 am her buckler, so long as she hath need of me. But if 
 I go forth to battle, fear not any treachery. My father 
 will smite me even as he hath smitten you — only more 
 sure and to the death! He hath sworn and I accepted 
 his oath ! " 
 The face of James Douglas darkened.
 
 DIES IR^ III 233 
 
 "Then you know?" he cried, "you have heard the 
 tale of Arkinholm ? " 
 
 We looked at one another and James Douglas looked at 
 us. It was the first time we had heard that name of 
 fear and fate. Our countenances answered for us. 
 
 " No, you are true folk," he said, " you have not heard." 
 
 He heaved himself up with a certain pride. 
 
 " Now," he said firmly, " I can sit up and tell you. 
 There is no shame — in that!" He added the last words 
 as if recollecting himself. 
 
 " I have the strength — give me another cup of wine. 
 I am drained to the white like any calf. There ! Now 
 I can speak of Arkinholm, and tell how the Douglases 
 of the Black can die ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 DIES IR^ IV — HOW THE SUN WENT DOWN 
 
 This is James Douglas's story of the last stand made 
 by the Douglases of the Black, on the green river crofts 
 of Arkinholm, by the Esk Water, in Annandale. 
 
 " No — I bid you not to touch me, Margaret. Not 
 now, I am not worthy. I am a man of fibre too coarse 
 for you or any woman like you. Maud Lindsay there 
 should draw aside from me her garment's hem. She 
 should take away her little Marcelle from off the green 
 down there, lest these eyes should light upon her un- 
 seemly, this breath of mine defile the pure air she 
 breathes ! 
 
 " But with men it is other. With men I can speak face 
 to face, and if need be, hand to hand. To them I 
 am answerable. I have answered and I will answer 
 again ! 
 
 " But it was of Arkinholm that I would speak. Not 
 long time I have, lest my wounds break out afresh, or 
 the wheels in my head whirl backwards again. You have 
 heard — you must have heard how we were beaten in the 
 north — how Douglas Castle, Lochindorb, and Abercorn 
 were taken one by one. The lads fought hard and well 
 — aye, like Douglases and men — while I, in England, 
 was striving to get the King to help me retake my castles 
 and enter again upon that which was mine own. 
 
 " But Henry of Lancaster, being the man he is, could 
 not be satisfied to render a gentleman service and take 
 therefor the consideration of a gentleman. 
 
 " He sat niffering and argle-bargling with James Doug- 
 las as if he had been a Crichton or some other dyke-side 
 vermin. I must, forsooth, so he said, give him the pick 
 of my castles to set English garrisons in. I must sur- 
 render the Border peels, the Annandale holds, Avondale, 
 
 234
 
 DIES IRJE IV 235 
 
 Douglasdale, Eskdale — last and chiefest, Thrieve . . . 
 that they might be filled to the brim with English 
 pock-puddings, drinking beer, twanging bows, and 
 calling us no better than lousy Scots and rough-footed 
 reivers ! 
 
 " ' Your Majesty,' so I answered the poor silly Henry, 
 who had Somerset standing behind to prompt him, * you 
 mistake your man, my Lord of England. I am a Doug- 
 las, and though to go back to my own country alone is 
 surely to die, I would rather die with all my house — I 
 would rather see, of all my castles and fortresses, not 
 one stone left upon another, than that any soldier of 
 England should hold one foot of Scottish soil ! ' 
 
 " Then I saw Somerset smile meaningly, as one who 
 would say, ' What do you here then ? ' And him I 
 answered, ' If my Lord of Somerset will come out with 
 me into the fields for half an hour, I will better inform 
 him as to the exactitude of my meaning.' 
 
 " So I came back to Annandale and summoned my 
 brothers to meet me at the Johnstone's Tower. They 
 came from Douglasdale, from Straven, and the North — 
 those that were true — my brothers, every man of them, 
 Archibald of Murray, and Hugh of Ormond, and staunch 
 Little John. Not one was a-wanting ! " 
 
 " And why? " said Sholto, his voice of a sudden net and 
 dry, as the rattling of castanets. " Why did not your 
 lordship summon your men from Thrieve? Were any 
 that came with your brothers better soldiers than the 
 five hundred you have here ? " 
 
 At this the face of James Douglas paled and flushed 
 alternate. Sholto watched him closely, and not Sholto 
 alone. 
 
 " Because," he said, at last, turning in his bed with a 
 grimace of pain, " it was a far cry — and I knew not " 
 
 " Nay," said Sholto, " it was not so far as to Avondale 
 — not so far as to Moray — not so far as to Wigton. Tell 
 me why you sent not the gathering cry to Thrieve, my 
 Lord Earl ? " 
 
 But it was a man who questioned James Douglas, and 
 at the anger in Sholto's voice the sick man gathered him-
 
 236 MAY MARGARET 
 
 self, tossing his head like the war-horse that scents the 
 battle from afar. I think for the moment he had quite 
 forgotten me. He answered as he might have answered 
 Malise McKim. For of courage of that kind James 
 Douglas had no lack. 
 
 " Your sister was with me ! " he said briefly. 
 
 " I thought you said she was dead, and I thanked God, 
 my Lord Earl," returned Sholto with further challenge 
 in his voice. 
 
 James moved his hand feebly. 
 
 '* Ah, for such speech betwixt you and me, my good 
 Sir Sholto, you must e'en wait some while. I have dis- 
 cussed the matter with one of your house already. As he 
 left me, I am not yet ready for the next ! " 
 
 " But," said Sholto more gently, " as I understood 
 your first spoken words — Magdalen, my sister, was 
 dead." 
 
 Again the unwounded left hand moved with a kind of 
 deprecation not unpitiful. 
 
 " Abide," he said, with a sigh of weariness, " I will tell 
 you all ! — Where was I when — when you garred me 
 think — of — herf " 
 
 I sat at the bed foot listening in a strange quiet. It 
 seemed to be of another woman's concerns that I was 
 hearing. My heart, as it were, had grown numb and 
 frozen, tingling too, but not with pain — more as if in 
 sympathy with the pain of some other. I was listening 
 to a tale such as I had heard when the troubadours came 
 and sang to ladies at the broidery in dear sunny France, 
 or in Scotland when a minstrel wandering to Thrieve 
 stood below the salt, chanting his dolorous ditty and 
 thawing the icicles out of his beard with the mulled 
 wine. 
 
 " Ah," said Sholto, " tell on, then, my lord — that is, 
 when you can — when you will. We can wait your 
 pleasure." 
 
 " A cup of Burgundy ! " cried James again. " Nay, let 
 me have it, it will do me no harm. I tell you, man, there 
 is no blood left in me. Ah, that warms! Ill for the 
 fever of the wounds, you say? Nay, Sir Sholto, and if
 
 DIES IR^ IV 237 
 
 it were — why, what great matter? The sooner under 
 sod — where " 
 
 Sholto poured another full tankard of the wine of 
 Nuits. The Earl drank it at a draught, as in old days, 
 flinging his head up to take the strong vintage down, 
 and dusting the drops from his short crisp beard with 
 something of his old careless grace. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " that finds its way to a man's heart, 
 even if it makes the blood to flow and the green wounds 
 to pinch somewhat shrewdly. Now I can tell you all, 
 and after I have told you. Sir Sholto, I will beseech you, 
 as King Saul did his armour-bearer, that you slay me 
 with my own sword." 
 
 " I was never your armour-bearer, my Lord Earl," said 
 Sholto, " but (as I think) already a knight when first 
 we met. Yet it is recalled to me that when his armour- 
 bearer refused, Saul did more and better ! " 
 
 " As to that, we shall see," said James. " They fought 
 for me, these true brothers, and are dead ! One by one 
 they fell, and I — am alive in Thrieve ! Yet I have never 
 yet been called coward. Only when all was lost, when 
 Arkinholm was black with dead bodies scattered among 
 the crushed daisies and dimpled among the green grass, 
 when Esk Water ran red, and the Douglases were broken 
 — then, wending my way out of the press my horse 
 brought me hither, knowing nothing. Tell me how I 
 came, Sholto ! I would know." 
 
 " Why, like yourself, my Lord Earl," said Sholto, who, 
 being a man, liked a man to be manlike. " Your sword 
 broken in your hand, reeling in your saddle, wounded as 
 it seemed unto the death. Tlie steel point that smote you 
 still in your shoulder. Thus did you come home to 
 Thrieve ! " 
 
 The Lord James sighed a sigh of content. It was his 
 form of conscience, and so far he was satisfied. He lay 
 for a while with his eyes closed. Then suddenly and as 
 if seeing a vision he brake out, his voice stronger than 
 before. 
 
 " They came as I tell you — Archibald from the north, 
 and with him Hugh, who had threshed the Percies at
 
 238 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Sark as corn is threshed in a barn. From Wigton came 
 Little John — all with their men behind them. As for me 
 I came from England, and brought with me but one — 
 and she a woman ! 
 
 " Nay, sit still, and hear it this once, Margaret ! Per- 
 haps after that you may be in better case to forgive. At 
 any rate hear it now ! 
 
 " I would have left her in sanctuary in England, and 
 did so at Carlisle. Yet stay behind she would not, but 
 followed after — aye, even to Arkinholm, to the last mus- 
 ter of the Douglases of the Black. I begged of my 
 brothers, Archie and Hughie and Little John, to take her 
 again to sanctuary. But she gat them on her side, being 
 determined to abide wnth the host. 
 
 " In the strath of the Esk they closed upon us, trapping 
 us on either side — Douglases to take Douglases — George 
 of Angus on one flank and Dalkeith on the other. They 
 had the King's men with them too, Crichtons and Stew- 
 arts and men without name or holding, every cur that 
 could yelp or snap — any jackal which, turning, could set 
 his teeth in the lion at bay. Gordons, too, w^ere there — 
 Huntley's men, come to avenge their defeat at the hands 
 of Mistress Maud's kinsfolk in the marsh of Dunkinty, 
 And as we saw their Highland plaids we sang this 
 lilt : 
 
 "'Where left thou thy men, thou Gordon so gay? 
 In the bog of Dunkinty, mowing the hay ! ' 
 
 " But they came more and more, like swarms of wasps 
 from a thousand nests, from north and east and west. 
 They hemmed us in. And when we went to count our 
 array, lo ! false Hamilton was oflF in the dusk of the 
 evening, gone to make his peace with the King, taking 
 with him a full third of our men ! 
 
 " For that which followed I blame only myself. If I 
 had been as good a general as I am a man of my hands 
 in the day of battle, we might have burst through them 
 all. But though Archie urged, and Hughie and Little 
 John added thereto, I would not budge. Because She
 
 DIES IR^ IV 239 
 
 was with us and in the rough-and-tumble of the fray — 
 well, enough said ! We abode where we were and about 
 us the ring of foes thickened every hour, waiting for the 
 dawn and the trump of battle. 
 
 " The worst was that the pick of these men there were 
 of our name and family, Douglases led on by Douglases. 
 But I warrant you George of Angus strove for no occa- 
 sions of converse with me that day. Dalkeith fought 
 like a man, but Angus lurked behind the troops — because, 
 forsooth, he was the general. Strategem, you call it. 
 When I fought in France by the side of the young 
 Dunois we had another word for such generalship. 
 
 " Hand to hand, is James Douglas's mind on't : Lay on 
 — no lack — the ringing steel and plenty of it — as indeed 
 I gat that day a bellyful of from your father. 
 
 *' So then we had to lie on our arms on Arkinholm, with 
 one you know of in the midst, chanting snatches of song 
 and wild rattling catches of which Hughie had great 
 store. But Magdal — she, that is, for whose sake we 
 awaited our fates on those wide holms by the Esk, be- 
 sought us with tears to get to our prayers instead of 
 singing such words. 
 
 " But wild Hughie cried out that as the Douglases had 
 lived so they had better die. 
 
 " ' What came after all of our own Will's niceness 
 with womankind ? ' he cried, ' his conscience as fine as 
 a threaded needle? Ask the little back window in Stirl- 
 ing that overlooks the ladies' court? What was the end 
 of cousin Will's devotion and single-heart service to his 
 love and his lady? The Black Bull's Head on the board 
 of Edinburgh Castle will answer you that.' 
 
 " ' Hush, Hughie,' I bade him under my breath, ' mind 
 whom we have with us or I will break that addle-pate of 
 thine ! ' 
 
 " ' Break it and welcome, Jamie,' he retorted, ' as well 
 you as another. 'Tis you have broken us all. Up in 
 the host yonder is one Malise McKim and his seven sons 
 with him (there were but six, but Hughie knew not that 
 you, Sholto, abode in Thrieve). And doubt not that he 
 who has made the armour for generations of Douglases,
 
 240 MAY MARGARET 
 
 who has tempered the steel we fight with, and hammered 
 the armour that covers us, will to-morrow send us all four 
 to gather the green birk and the yellow by the banks of 
 Jordan's river ! ' " 
 
 (This to a turn, was Hugh Douglas's wild way of 
 speaking. We could almost hear him as his brother 
 spoke. ) 
 
 " Then at these words she started up. 
 
 " ' I will go to him,' she cried. ' I will beg of Malise 
 McKim to slay me, me only, and to let James go free. 
 In bitterness I will tell him my fault. Let me go. I 
 will seek my father ! You have no right to restrain me, 
 Hugh of Ormond ! ' 
 
 " ' Lie you still, lassie,' said Hughie, who, indeed meant 
 no unkindness, ' lie you still where ye are. Jamie may 
 chance to save you the morn's morning, but ye will never 
 save Jamie. He hath tripped us all up by this day's 
 wark.' 
 
 " Then fearing to hurt me, his brother, he added 
 quickly : 
 
 No, that diel yin o' us is fit to better anither — except 
 only Will, and Will's dead. Aweel, here we be four 
 Douglases of us, brothers, sons of one father and of one 
 mother. I fear we are but rough colts, and when we die 
 we will go where they do not sing many psalms or play 
 muckle upon instruments of ten strings. But this virtue 
 at least we have. We blame Jamie no more than we 
 blame oursel's. We will stand to Jamie's quarrel and die 
 the death for Jamie — aye, and for the puir bit lass here ! 
 Nay, bide ye still, Magdalen, we will not let ye gang to 
 your death, gin we can help it, my bairn. Stand up, 
 Archie ! Stand up, Little John ! Stand up, Jamie — that 
 has the most need ! Hands about — this lassie-bairn in 
 the midst ! There ! ' 
 
 " Even as he said, so we did. He went on. 
 
 Now we hae nae priest. Nane o' us hae tormented 
 Him-Up- Yonder wi' mony supplications. Therefore He 
 is like to hear this last yin the readier. Join hands and 
 say after me — " Tak' pennyworths o' us, guid Lord, but 
 save an' forgie the lassie. She is but a bairn." IVIiat
 
 DIES IR^ IV 241 
 
 are ye greetin' for, Jamie? Ye should hae ta'en thocht 
 on that afore ! Noo, after me, ilka yin o' ye, say Hughie 
 Douglas's prayer — his first, last, and only : 
 
 " Tak' ye pennyworths o' us, guid Lord ! But save the lassie, 
 and, oh — forgie her. For, kennin' what is in men, brawly ye ken 
 it's no her faut!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 ARKINHOLM 
 
 " After that we channted no more wild songs, but lay 
 still all the night till the greying of the day. Once we 
 heard, as it were, the sound of a great voice on the 
 heights cursing us, in words that carried far. 
 
 " We knew itfor the voice of Malise McKim, and looked 
 at Magdalen. But she seemed in a kind of daze, as if she 
 kenned not that or anything. 
 
 " It was in the earliest morning that they attacked. We 
 were posted on a little hill, the top of it plain and clear, 
 but the sloping sides overgrown and cumbered over with 
 whin and broom. From the east the light had begun to 
 ooze up grey and chill. It was no ground for the 
 manoeuvring of horses. Knowing our weakness in num- 
 bers we had chosen it accordingly. So with her in the 
 midst, and I know not what strange thoughts in our 
 hearts, we waited. 
 
 " It was about the third hour when they came at us on 
 all sides with a rush and much crying, shrill as are the 
 east country winds in Angus and the Lowdens. Our 
 archers, all border men, had good cover to shoot from, 
 and thick and fast they sent their arrows into the swann. 
 Then arose shouts of encouragement and cries of pain. 
 
 " ' Aim at the horses of the knights ! ' cried Hughie, 
 who saw a chance. 
 
 " And so for a time they did. and brought many to the 
 ground. So we held to it while the east pearled and we 
 could see the faces of our neighbours. 
 
 " At first it seerhed as if Hughie's good advice might 
 turn the day. Because the horses of the Angus men and 
 of the Guard Royal, refusing the hill and stung by the 
 shafts from the long bows and the quarrels of the cross- 
 bowmen, turned tail from the attack. It was not the 
 
 242
 
 ARKINHOLM 243 
 
 knights or mounted men who put us down at Arkinhohn, 
 but the hthe and swarming footmen who came leaping 
 with pikes and leathern jacks to the hand-to-hand en- 
 counter. 
 
 " So blind were we on the hill-top that we set up a cheer 
 looking across the level straths and holms of the Esk 
 Water upon the retreating horsemen, and giving little 
 attention to a great company of men on foot armed with 
 pikes and swords who came to take us in the rear, by the 
 way that is called the Way of the Sea. 
 
 " It was, indeed, Magdalen who first gave the warning 
 that they were close upon us. Malise McKim led them, 
 and at the same moment from every quarter of the 
 heaven, the assailants swarmed about. They pushed 
 through the green bracken of the braefoot, up the side 
 that looks toward the hill called Burnswark. They as- 
 cended swiftly, clambering through the tangle of birchen 
 scrub and scroggy thorn. They leaped the prickly hedges 
 of gorse, and raced across the last thirty yards of turf, 
 men falling at every step, stricken by the bolts from our 
 bows or transfixed by the clothyard arrows shot by the 
 men from the Marches. Another moment and they were 
 upon us. 
 
 " Then a great misfortune befell. Our archers, who 
 were men unskilled with the sword, and loving not at all 
 to fight hand-to-hand, broke and fled down the hill, some 
 flinging themselves headlong into the Esk and some try- 
 ing the wildernesses towards the swamps of Lochar. 
 
 " But all was not yet lost. As quickly as we fell, so 
 quickly we closed the ranks. The gaps filled, and we 
 Douglases of the Black stood steady shoulder to shoulder. 
 Could I have been sure that she was safe behind me, and 
 would be content to bide there, I had even known a sort 
 of gladness. For ever since I was a boy I have loved 
 the crash of steel on steel. But in leaving my charger 
 tethered, I had foregone some part of my advantage. 
 For, like Sholto there, I am ever best when the lances 
 are in rest and the visors down. But at Arkinholm that 
 could not be. We were too few, and, if anything, our 
 position must fight for us. Save Hughie's prayer that
 
 244 I^IAY IMARGARET 
 
 He might keep the lass, we prayed no prayers to God. 
 Hard had we Hved, we Douglases of the Black, we would 
 die hard, asking no favours, making no whining at the 
 last, but taking without complaining that which was 
 served out. 
 
 " And we gat it. Ah, lads, we gat it that day ! Yet 
 strange are the ways of Fate— here lie I with many 
 wounds truly and a broken head, but still — alive, who 
 alone deserved to die — the sin being mine own — the fault, 
 the condemnation. There is, I wot, more at the back of 
 God's justice than the priests dream of. Perhaps it had 
 been better if I had died. 
 
 " But at Arkinholm fierce and always fiercer waxed the 
 fight. Ten times we sent them reeling down the hill, 
 spite of Malise and his sons. The sun rose. It looked 
 on a trampled swelter of whins, on grass meadows delved 
 in the soft places as with spades. Black patches there 
 were here and there on the green turf, almost a wall of 
 them in front of our array. These were dead men. 
 
 " But still there was no break. We stood shoulder to 
 shoulder about the little clump of trees on the uttermost 
 top. Beneath, far as we could see, swarmed the hosts of 
 the enemy. They debouched out of little ravines on the 
 sides of barren hills. They appeared like so many wild 
 fowl out of the marshes of Lochar. Over the ridge out 
 of the vale of Annan Water they climbed. There seemed 
 to be no end to their coming. 
 
 " ' Lads, we are sped ! ' cried Archie, after a while. He 
 was not of a sounding witty speech like Hughie. But 
 his heart was staunch, and (as they all did) he held his 
 faith to the end. 
 
 " It was in a little breathing space when the foe stood 
 still to gather strength and let their reserves come up. 
 Ten-o'-the-knock it was, and we had been at it since three- 
 and-a-bittock of the morning, hard as drums a-beating. 
 
 " We stood together a little apart, we four Douglases. 
 None whom we had there could we trust — we who a year 
 ago could have whistled up two thousand men, all belted 
 knights with squires at their heels. 
 
 " ' Harken to me,' said Archie the Silent (Earl of
 
 ARKINHOLM 245 
 
 Murray he was and a good man !) ' we are to die. So 
 much is clear, good lads all ! Counter me, any of you, if 
 you can make other of it ! ' 
 
 " But none answered, for indeed no better was to be 
 made. 
 
 " ' So,' he said, * you agree. Then the best we can do 
 is to die like Douglases, for our House and our honour — 
 what is left of it ! ' 
 
 " That was the one thing of bitter that he said, and then 
 in a moment he made it up again as was ever our fashion 
 in quarrels between ourselves. 
 
 " ' See, lads,' he continued, * you, Hughie — and you. 
 Little John — neither Murray, nor Ormond, nor Balveny 
 shall see us any more. Our sweethearts shall not kiss us 
 nor we them. We shall never walk with them at mom 
 or e'en, nor pluck the pink and the gillyflower to set in 
 their waist-belts. But as for James, he is the head of 
 the House — the Earl of Douglas. Moreover he hath 
 what we have not — another with him here. Well, give 
 good ear — his beast is in the thicket there in the midst of 
 the array. Let the charger be saddled and prepared. Let 
 him ride light. Let him take the lass up behind him with 
 her arms about his waist, that his hand may be free for 
 the fighting, which shall be brisk. Then we, that are 
 his brethren, will see him safe through the thickest of 
 it. We there shall die. So much is sure. We may 
 as well die doing the best for the House. When they 
 come again, will you help me to save the Chief? What 
 say you, Hughie ? ' 
 
 " ' Aye to that ! ' quoth Hughie. 
 
 '' 'And aye ! ' quoth Little John. 
 
 " But I cried out that we should all die together. But 
 Magdalen — she who had followed me there — said no 
 word. For though (as you shall speedily know) she 
 cared naught for her own life, she desired that I should 
 be spared to win through. 
 
 " It was not, perhaps, the kindest wish — but that is the 
 way of women. 
 
 " So they four overbore me, and the beast was saddled 
 to be ready.
 
 246 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Then Archie spoke to the Douglas men who were with 
 me. 
 
 " ' The enemy will come again and that speedily,' he 
 said. ' We four will drive straight into the thickest 
 of them, if so be we can save the Chief. Bide you here. 
 Give us five minutes' grace to hold the pursuers in check. 
 Then scatter, and every man for himself! Your best 
 chances are the marshes of Solway and the hags of 
 Lochar. Will you do it ? ' 
 
 " * Can we no thresh them yet, think ye, Maister 
 Airchie ? ' cried one from the ranks in the broad accent 
 of Douglasdale. 
 
 " ' Nay,' answered Archie, ' it but behoves us to die 
 like men. Yet will ye give us five minutes? Remember, 
 it is for the Chief.' 
 
 " ' Aye, ten, twenty — an ye will ! Never fear ! The 
 dam-dyke will baud ! ' cried the man from the Upper 
 Ward — John Steel of Muirkirk the name of him. ' If 
 it pleasure the Yerl, we will dee as we stand, every man 
 o' us, married an' single, for the honour o' the Douglas 
 and the luve o' the auld name ! " 
 
 " And at this time I was greivously ashamed — I who had 
 thought so little of that, of which these poor men thought 
 so mickle. 
 
 " And it befell even so. For though the battle was 
 thick and insolent about us, so long as consciousness 
 and the knowledge of one man from another remained 
 to me, the last stand of the Douglases on the broomy 
 knowe of Arkinholm had not been broken. The dam- 
 dyke was still holding when I came away. 
 
 " But for me, the end came so swiftly that, save for the 
 heady din of arms, the crowding turmoil of the fight, 
 I have but little to tell that is of any clearness. 
 
 " One thing, however, I remember, before I mounted — 
 that is, Little John leading my horse up to me ready 
 saddled. For on all our campaigns together, he would 
 let none other perform the office, ever since the time 
 that he had been my esquire. 
 
 "'James,' he whispered, 'Airchie (I speak it as about 
 to die) never liked ye ava', an' Hughie no mickle. But I
 
 ARKINHOLM 247 
 
 aye loved ye, Jamie — sairly I loved ye. So mind, if ye 
 win awa', that theirs is the greater deed ! It is easy to 
 die for them ye luve, brither mine. But juist for honour 
 and that — no so easy ! So gin ye leeve dinna forget 
 Hughie, Jamie — nor yet misjudged Airchie. For me, I 
 ken ye will whiles gie a thocht to Little John.' 
 
 " I had no more than time to take him by the hand for 
 a moment — little said, I lifted myself into the saddle. 
 Hughie and Archie set Her on the pillion behind me. 
 I took sword in hand, and we waited. 
 
 " We had no long time to put it off. They came soon, 
 with stormy cryings and shouts, lashing all about us like 
 waves about a sea-rock — as Ailsa or the Bass. 
 
 " ' There lies our way ! ' said Archie, who had, what I 
 have lacked, the general's eye, ' yonder, where they are 
 spread out on account of the swamps. Take the left 
 where the gravel bank is more compact, that it may better 
 bear the feet of the beast.' 
 
 " Then he distributed his men. 
 
 " ' In front with me, Hughie. Lead the horse, Little 
 John — that is, till it is time to let him have his head and 
 the spur in his flank ! ' 
 
 " He reached up a hand. 
 
 '' ' Fare ye well, Jamie ! ' he said, shortly, his eyes 
 turned away from me. 
 
 " The other was kinder, though just as brief. 
 
 " ' Dinna forget Hughie's prayer, gin ye win awa' ! ' said 
 Hughie of Ormond. 
 
 " But as for Little John he said nothing, having already 
 made his good-byes, 
 
 " And behind from the pillion I could feel arms that 
 clasped me. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 " We started, slowly at first, for we wished to let the 
 assailants win near to the foot of the knowe, just far 
 enough away to get the charger to his pace on the open 
 holms. And then to it with a will ! 
 
 " They came shouting on. We four abode silent, and 
 behind us on the ridge the Douglases waited, few and 
 desperate — those who were set to die for their House.
 
 248 • MAY MARGARET 
 
 " We four went down the hill, Hughie on one side, 
 Archie at the other, Little John guiding the beast as care- 
 fully as if he had been foresman at a ploughing. 
 
 " Presently out of a little clump of alder and birch we 
 emerged. As we descended, the wood had partly hidden 
 us, but now, across a couple of hundred yards of green 
 turf without an obstacle, all suddenly we fronted the 
 enemy. They saw us and shouted. The die was in the 
 casting. All of us gripped our weapons. 
 
 " * Stand wide for the axe-play ! ' cried Hughie, and 
 spat upon his hands. 
 
 " The rest of us had swords, save Little John, who, for 
 the nonce, trusted to a dagger, having to guide the beast 
 and keep out of the way of my strokes. 
 
 " And so we drave at them. 
 
 " The crash came as quickly as ' two ' comes after 
 ' one.' We shore through them as doth a scythe through 
 a harvest rig. But 'they were more and ever more, as 
 it seemed, behind and before us. 
 
 " Archie was the first to go down. We came on Malise 
 McKim and his sons (aye, your folk, Sholto, and they 
 did the right. Never will I say other!) Malise struck 
 at me with his lochaber, but Archie gat between and 
 received the stroke. He fell, cloven. Then Hughie, left 
 sole, with his axe hacked a way through the first en- 
 gagement. 
 
 " But Malise had seen and known. It was enough. 
 He turned, he and his sons with him. All on foot they 
 were, one only in armour, a slight lad in black whom I 
 knew not. 
 
 " ' This way,' the smith cried, ' kill — that is he on horse- 
 back! If ye let him escape, I will slay you with my 
 hand.' 
 
 " So they turned to follow, all the seven of them. More 
 there were also with them, many more. But them I 
 considered not. 
 
 " Doubly laden as he was and the way difficult, my good 
 beast could make but little progress. Moreover, the end 
 was not far off. Malise came like a thunderbolt with the 
 rush of an angry bull. Poor Hughie turned to guard
 
 ARKINHOLM 249 
 
 himself, but went down, his helmet (the same the 
 armourer had made him) cracked in twain like a nut. 
 But the blow and the recovery had delayed Malise a 
 moment. Little John and I reached better ground — out 
 of the thickest turmoil of battle. Only Malise followed. 
 All else were clear behind. He would have slain me 
 easily, for I was sore wounded already in the unequal 
 fray — half a dozen McKims hammering about us like 
 laddies at a wasps' byke. My sword was broken in my 
 hand. For I had given and taken great strokes. 
 
 " Yet once again mine enemy was upon me. I heard 
 a scream. A weight shifted from the pillion to my 
 shoulders. The blow of Malise the smith fell, but not 
 first of all on me. Magdalen had done yet one thing 
 the more for me. With her hand she had turned aside 
 the point of the pike. It passed through her body into 
 mine. So I did not die. But these all died for me — 
 my brothers died, and She also ! 
 
 " I knew not how she fell. I knew no more. I mind 
 only Little John as he cut the lightened charger over 
 the flank to make him gallop, and turned upon the swarm 
 of his foes with a smile in his face. Of Magdalen I saw 
 no more. The beast had leaped across her body in his 
 stride as he turned his head towards Thrieve and safety ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The end of the Narrative of the Putting Down of the 
 Douglases at Arkinholm on the Water of Esk, as told 
 on his sick-bed by James, ninth Earl.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A MAIDEN LEFT ALONE 
 
 It is not, of course, to be supposed that a man so griev- 
 ously wounded as James Douglas could at one time and 
 without repose, deliver himself of a narrative so pro- 
 longed and circumstantial as this. On the other hand, 
 that repetitions may be avoided, I have chosen to set it 
 in a place by itself. 
 
 And so that being completed, it falls to be related what 
 happened the afternoon of the day when James began 
 the story of the Arkinholm. It chanced that Sholto, in 
 arranging the bandages of the wounded man, ripped off 
 the shirt of soft doeskin he had worn under his body- 
 armour. It was hard and drawn in places with the 
 sweat and blood of the battle. But in a kind of double ply 
 which had been recently sewn up, something crackled. 
 Sholto, who had been about to throw the rags of doeskin 
 into the fire, quickly ran the point of his knife along the 
 line of unskilful stitches. A letter fell out, folded small 
 and addressed in clear clerkly characters. 
 
 To Sir Sholto McKim at Thrieve, or in his absence to the 
 Abbot Laurence of Sweetheart, in trust for Malise, Armourer- 
 smith of IMollance and Carlinwark. 
 
 Sholto fell back, his face suddenly white and drawn. 
 
 " It comes — from — from our — little — Magdalen ! " he 
 said. 
 
 Till that moment I had never suspected how Sholto 
 had suffered. But it is certain that he as well as Lau- 
 rence had loved the maid, he as well as his father had felt 
 the sting of pride, the thirst for vengeance. Yet, so 
 devoted was he to his purpose once taken, that he had 
 made all else subordinate to the championing of my 
 
 250
 
 A MAIDEN LEFT ALONE 251 
 
 cause, because I had been committed to him and to Maud. 
 And other friends I had none. It was a true word he 
 had spoken. 
 
 But he had suffered, and not till that moment did I 
 understand how much. 
 
 Maud went quickly to him, and looked over his shoul- 
 der. But before she had read the first word she came 
 back to me. 
 
 " I think it is fitting," she said, " that Sholto should 
 first read this letter by himself. It may not be for any 
 of our eyes." 
 
 At 'this moment James Douglas, rousing unexpectedly, 
 saw Sholto stand with the open writing in his hand. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you have found — her letter — I had 
 forgotten. I was to give it to you if I won through. 
 Read it ! She wrote it at the Nunnery of our Lady near 
 to Carlisle town, and rendered it to me ere we took our 
 departure for the field." 
 
 He was wondrously collected, and spake as of a trifle 
 he had overlooked. It brought back some of the old 
 bitterness to hear him. I did not then realise that it was 
 his nature so easily to put behind him the past. He 
 could not help it. And indeed that is one of the greatest 
 gifts the gods can give to any mortal. The man who 
 would bring up the waters of Lethe to the world, would 
 deserve better of his fellowmen than Prometheus, who 
 from heaven brought down only fire. 
 
 Sholto went to his own chamber in order to read Mag- 
 dalen's letter. James, who had tossed and murmured, 
 was safely asleep by the time he came down. Sholto 
 handed me the written sheet. 
 
 " Go," he said to Maud, " read it together — you two 
 women. I can do no more. It is for your eyes also ! " 
 
 The writing began without date or preliminary. 
 
 " I, called Magdalen McKim, believing and hoping 
 that I am about to die. write for the last time to you, 
 Malise McKim, whom I have called father all my life, 
 and to you Sholto and Laurence — to such also of my 
 younger brothers as are old enough to understand.
 
 252 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " I am presently in the Convent of the Good Sisters 
 near to the town of CarHsle. But I cannot abide here, 
 having chosen a road which I must follow to the end. 
 wheresoever it may lead me. 
 
 " Having much to say — little time to say it in, I must 
 needs be brief. 
 
 " But first let it be understood and agreed that I blame 
 no one — not even greatly myself ! What hath been. I 
 could not help ! The wind carries the feather — the river 
 the fallen leaf. The bum follows the valley to the sea, 
 through deep gorge, smiling dell, and gloomy cavern, 
 through dark pool and over foaming precipice it must 
 needs follow on. till it reaches the Sea — which is Oblivion. 
 So, hoping for that Sea, I follow my Lord of Douglas. 
 
 " Think a little, my father, before you cast your little 
 Magdalen off — or disallow her utterly from the number 
 of your children. Was she not younger born — left much 
 to herself? The lads were in the smithy — Laurence and 
 Sholto already grown men of their years. You loved 
 me, my father. You also, my mother. But you dwelt 
 apart. Your thoughts were not mine, nor indeed could 
 they be. 
 
 " So I sought my friends on the mountains. Wild 
 things loved me — even deer and shy-starting birds of 
 the woods. On the moor the red grouse sat only the 
 closer as I went by. I could put my hand on the head 
 of the brooding mavis and her speckled breast heaved 
 no whit the faster for that. 
 
 " But I needed love. All my life I had loved, it is 
 true, according to my knowledge. I gave love to all that 
 were in the woods and the earth and the air. But, after 
 their kind, they gave me little in return. Perchance, 
 even my Lady of Thrieve, reading this, will understand 
 somewhat, and, if forgive she cannot, at least she will 
 remember me with a less unkindly heart. 
 
 " Slowly it came to me that I was growing old. I 
 had grey hairs in my heart. Nevertheless, there came 
 enough and to spare of men and lads from here and there 
 to tell me I was fair and desirable. And I — I had not 
 even the desire to laugh at them. I only wished them to
 
 A MAIDEN LEFT ALONE 253 
 
 begone, and if they stayed overlong, or troubled me, I 
 bade my father see to it. This out of his love, fearing 
 that he might lose me, he was all too willing to do. 
 
 " But now I see that I did wrong, for more than ever 
 after that I was left alone. Yet I could not bear such- 
 like wooers near me — these roystering soldiers of the 
 guard, these holders of twenty shilling lands with the 
 grease of the mid-noon dinner on their gowns, loutish 
 lads from the farm towns of Kelton and Balmaghie, 
 smelling of the stable — faugh! — I was glad to render 
 myself again up to the clean air of the hills, the green 
 shades of the woods, and the kindly beasts and birds that 
 never taigled or wearied me, asking for what I could not 
 give. 
 
 " But all the time I carried, unknowing, an empty heart. 
 
 "Till one gloaming I was going homeward, singing 
 the song of an idle peace. A dove was perched upon my 
 shoulder, and a young kid that had lost its mother fol- 
 lowed bleating behind, desiring my hand between its soft 
 lips. Then — all suddenly, I was stayed by the most glor- 
 ious and goodly sight that the heart of woman could 
 desire to see. 
 
 " A man came towards me on a white horse, his stature 
 great and goodly as the cedars of Lebanon. His visor 
 was up, and his face like that of a young bridegroom com- 
 ing forth from his chamber, high and comely to see, yet 
 noways proud. I had never seen any like him. He was 
 clad in armour all lined and floreated with silver and 
 gold, and his helmet shone upon his head like light. It 
 had wings, too, on either side, starting up as high as the 
 crest. A cloak of silk was thrown carelessly over his 
 shoulders, blue lined with white, but the trappings of his 
 horse were of a pale clear blue, lined with crimson. And 
 he seemed to me like one of those great knights of old 
 of whom the harpers sing on the village green when 
 the good folk are gathered together — St. George of 
 England or Sir Amadis of Gaul — one to rescue ladies 
 and to kill great flaming dragons with a stroke of his 
 lance. 
 
 " He spoke, and his voice was so sweet and moving
 
 254 MAY MARGARET 
 
 that I could not but stop and listen. Nay, I was not 
 affrighted at all. Only the dove that was on my shoulder 
 took flight, and I saw it no more. 
 
 " And then the next evening, I passing by the same 
 way, he came again. And this time he was no longer 
 in armour, but clad in shot silk of a gorgeous web, and 
 with an eagle's feather in his bonnet. And from that 
 day forth he began to speak sweet loving words to me, 
 and I to listen. He told me that he was the Lord James 
 Douglas, but that I must on no account reveal the matter 
 to my father, or I should see him no more. 
 
 "And knowing him unwedded (for so by artful ques- 
 tions of my mother I learned), I thought nothing amiss. 
 Also he told me (what I loved to hear) of his love for 
 me, and how he would surely own me so soon as they 
 gave him a title and earldom of his own, as they had 
 done to his three younger brothers, Murray and Ormond 
 and Balveny. 
 
 " And when, after many days, I found that he was in- 
 deed on the eve of marriage, and that to his brother's 
 wife, lo, it was too late. I had no more any pride at all, 
 and could not choose but obey him in all things — the 
 which, indeed, the most part of women would have been 
 glad and proud to do, as I have seen since in England 
 many times to my inward hurt. 
 
 " Nor do I wish him to be blamed for concealing this 
 and other things from me. For (this also I learned in 
 England) it is the ordinary way of a man with a maid — 
 at least, of such a man as my Lord of Douglas with such 
 a girl as L 
 
 " Now I should stop here, having, indeed, nothing 
 more to add. I have written these things that you, my 
 father, my mother, and my brethren, might know that it 
 was no sudden-springing evil, nor wholly of his doing. 
 
 " But this there is laid heavily upon me, that where 
 he goes I must follow. I cannot abide among this Good 
 Sisterhood, all clad alike in black and white, who say 
 their prayers and sing from morn to night, from night 
 to morn. Once I used to sing also, but not now. They 
 tell me that he has gone to fight a great battle — that it
 
 A MAIDEN LEFT ALONE 255 
 
 bodes me to stay quietly here, and that if he is killed 
 they will cherish me here all the days of my life ! 
 
 " It is of their loving- heart. God reward them for 
 the wish ! They are good women, and I am not worthy 
 of one tithe of all. But stay I cannot. If so be he goes 
 to a field of death, I will go too, and help him to find it. 
 That we may die together, I do not wish, for in that 
 case he would die unsained. But I — I have this day 
 confessed and been absolved by the good priest-almoner, 
 who dwells in a lodge near by. But I pray God that it 
 may be given to me to save him from death, at least for 
 a while — and lead him out, so that he may make a good 
 end, and meet me in the presence of God a man shriven 
 and cleansed from the sins of man, a man as wholly for- 
 given — as if I, the little Magdalen who loved him, had 
 the forgiving of him. As, indeed, I do forgive him from 
 my heart. 
 
 " Finally, pray for me, my father ! Pray for me, my 
 mother. Pray for me, Sholto and you Maud, my sister. 
 Sing a mass for me, Laurence, whom I loved perhaps 
 the best of all, yet knew the least. Perhaps if you had 
 been at home, my brother Laurence — but who knows? 
 Well — God, perhaps. To him I do commend and com- 
 mit myself, being, as is my thought and esperance, very 
 near to death, to Mary the Mother, and to her Son who 
 brought into the world kindliness for sinful women. 
 Neither will he condemn me — hath he not said it? 
 
 " Dear hearts, from my heart I do bid you all a fair 
 good-night. I shall not see another, if God please. 
 
 " This last word receive right lovingly from the Mag- 
 dalen who was yours." 
 
 And when, all in tears, we gave the letter back to 
 Sholto, who waited motionless by the bed of his master, 
 he said, pointing to James Douglas, " Say nothing of 
 this to him. He would not understand. . . . ! " 
 
 And I also, being the man's wife, knew within my 
 heart that Sholto was right !
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE EAGLES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 
 
 It seemed strange that after these things we yet lived — 
 yea, and breakfasted, and dined, and supped. It was as 
 if we had within the Castle of Thrieve one dead. Up in 
 the chamber lay James Douglas — tended, ministered to, 
 watched, the strength coming back slowly to his great 
 frame and the manly beauty to his countenance. 
 
 Yet to each of us the man was dead. I think there 
 was none who saw him but in heart despised him — Sholto, 
 who had seen him ride forth as champion of Scotland 
 against France, the bravest of the brave, Maud and I, 
 who had seen him come home through the gloaming, red 
 from the battlefield, tragic and desperate. 
 
 But the soul of the man was in none of these — grown 
 small instead, cradled contentedly in luxury and the 
 gratifying of self. 
 
 Yet even so, and knowing all these things, there was 
 nevertheless something of the salt of humour and kindlv 
 intent about James of Douglas which kept any one of us 
 from altogether hating him. Of all at Thrieve I was 
 perhaps the most pitiful, though I spent least time beside 
 his bed. 
 
 He mended fast — his clear, well-exercised flesh healing 
 and throwing off disease with the same large careless ease 
 with which he did everything. But there were yet many 
 storm clouds on the horizon. The enemies of the House 
 of Douglas, the false and fickle friends and waiting indif- 
 ferents alike hastened to take up arms by thousands for 
 the cause of the King after the fatal day of Arkinholm, 
 so that a few months found him at the head of such an 
 army as no Scottish monarch had ever led against a 
 subject. 
 
 256
 
 EAGLES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 257 
 
 And to oppose that array which marched up the long 
 strath of Clyde, struck to the right over by Leadhills, and 
 so down the windings of the Mennoch to Sanquhar and 
 finally Dumfries, what appertained to the Douglas? 
 
 Only that one tall castle of Thrieve, the strongest in 
 Scotland, certainly for weight and mass of masonry, the 
 strongest for position also, set on its island with the Dee 
 Water deep all about it, and such a labyrinth of fosses 
 and ramparts, outworks and guarding towers as was 
 possessed by no castle in the Northland. Indeed it is 
 little likely that out of France there was any in the world 
 that could match it. 
 
 Then the island, itself counted impregnable, was alive 
 with cattle, all the herds safely lodged behind stone walls, 
 every horn and hoof under cover, and yet with twenty 
 acres of excellent pasturage wherefrom to draw their 
 fodder. The country-folk, too, were for us, and it was 
 little likely that for a long time the King would be able to 
 make his blockade of Thrieve perfect, especially to the 
 south. 
 
 " The castle can stand a siege of two years," Sholto 
 said, with pride in his voice, " and there are many things 
 which may happen in Scotland within two years." 
 
 Our garrison, small though it was in numbers, was 
 composed of such men as the Douglases had never yet 
 brought to battle — no raw levies, but the Douglas Guard 
 itself — each man enlisted and drilled by the Captain him- 
 self, loyal to the name and the place, faithful to the noble 
 traditions of the Douglases of the Black, to their mighty 
 castle of Thrieve, both of which they believed destined 
 to an eternity of safety and renown. 
 
 Yet all told, we counted only five hundred men as 
 against the growing thousands of the King. And this of 
 Sholto's set purpose. Indeed, he was daily pestered with 
 ofifers of service by stout young fellows of the neighbour- 
 ing parishes who heard of the advent of royal troops, and 
 who desired to fight for the Douglases. 
 
 It was early on the morning of the tenth of July, 
 when the watchers on the topmost towers of Thrieve saw 
 the sunshine on the pennants and guidons of the King of
 
 258 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Scots, his army. They were yet far away to the north- 
 east, following the ridge of heights called Clairbrand, 
 which, under the guidance of some expert person (of a 
 surety Malise McKim and his sons), they had kept all 
 the way from Dumfries, thus escaping the swamps and 
 marshy wildernesses of bog and peat-hag which extended 
 to the south of Thrieve. 
 
 In an hour the vanguard was clearly to be seen, keep- 
 ing closely to the highest ground and throwing out skir- 
 mishers in order to feel for any possible enemy. 
 
 James Douglas was by this time able to sit up a little 
 each day. And in spite of the galling of his green 
 wounds, at the first sight of the glitter of the spearheads, 
 the fighting spirit, which indeed he never lacked, returned 
 upon him. 
 
 " Bring me forth my war-gear," he cried. " I will go 
 to the fords of Glenlochar and counter them there. 
 Quick, Andro ! Quick, John — the black armour with the 
 silver work of Damascus in which I fought the French- 
 man at Stirling ! " 
 
 But on the pretence of searching for the arms, Andro 
 the Penman ran quickly up to Sholto, who was on the 
 topmost tower, watching the progress of the King's 
 host. 
 
 "Sir Sholto," he gasped hastily, " my lord is up on his 
 feet, demanding arms and armour that he may lead a 
 force to block the fords of Glenlocher against the 
 King. 
 
 Sholto descended precipitately to the chamber, where 
 he found James already trussing his points, and swearing 
 because there was no squire at hand to aid a man in his 
 own house ! 
 
 " My Lord Earl," said Sholto, bowing gravely, " this 
 is not a venture for you that are still sore wounded. 
 Moreover we cannot fight in the open. There they are 
 too many for us. There be ten thousand men in sight — in 
 Castle Thrieve are just five hundred — and quite enough 
 too, seeing that each of them hath a mouth that must be 
 filled twice a day with porridge and beef and broth. Get 
 to bed, my Lord Earl, and trust to me. The castle can be
 
 EAGLES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 259 
 
 kept without the fords of Glenlochar. We would only- 
 throw away our men uselessly in such sallies. Let me be 
 your assistant to disrobe ! " 
 
 And he proceeded to put him back in his great carven 
 bed of oak as if he had been a child. And James sub- 
 mitted, murmuring only with that saving humour which 
 did not forsake him in the darkest hours — nay, which was 
 most clearly apparent then, " 'Tis pretty, i' faith, to suckle 
 and put to bed-a-bye a ninth Earl of Douglas in his own 
 Castle of Thrieve ! Pray who counts himself the master 
 here?" 
 
 " I know not who counts," said Sholto. " I am the 
 Captain of Thrieve ! " 
 
 And James of Douglas actually laughed, either at the 
 conceit or at Sholto's grim-set mouth, I know not which. 
 
 Maud and I went and stood with Sholto on the bal- 
 cony that ran round the top of the castle. Here was 
 none but ourselves and the four sentinels placed as usual. 
 All beneath was quiet, as everything from January to 
 December had perforce to be quiet where Sholto com- 
 manded. It was a clear summer day with a north-blow- 
 ing wind. We could see distinctly each company^ of 
 spearmen, each group of knights and men-at-arms. 
 Even the colour of their standards we could faintly dis- 
 tinguish, though they were too far off for us to note the 
 various devices upon them. 
 
 Soon the tents and pavilions began to be pitched by the 
 camp followers and sutlers. A white forest, crowned 
 with a multitude of flapping devices, arose on the ridges, 
 between the crossing of the road which leads to the Kirk 
 of Michael and that turning to the left towards the Fords 
 of Lochar. These lines, following the crown of the 
 country to the north and east, were well-nigh five miles in 
 length, from the ridge of Carlinwark to the little hill that 
 overlooks the woodlands of Balmaghie, a hill which in 
 after times and under a new name was to cost us so 
 dear. 
 
 But meantime by the Three Thorns and just out of 
 sight of the castle there arose in the westering sun of 
 afternoon the silken pavilions of the court. For the King
 
 26o MAY MARGARET 
 
 of Scots, murderer and traitor as he was, had come to 
 conduct in person the siege of the last remaining strength 
 of his rebel vassal, and so finish with some eclat the work 
 which had been begun in dishonour and treachery at 
 Edinburgh and Stirling. 
 
 Now, since I that have writ so far am but a woman, and 
 at that time, indeed, little more than a girl — therefore 
 unskilled in the art of war, in blockade, breach, and esca- 
 lade, I judge it right to insert in this place the descriptions 
 of another, who saw what we could not from the ramparts 
 of Thrieve — that is, the preparations which were made 
 by the King's engineers to reduce our famous fortalice. 
 
 Now there was at the time, under the shade of the 
 Three Thorns of Carlinwark, and looking with curious 
 eyes at the opening up of the long-abandoned armourer's 
 smithy and the white cottage all overgrown with untended 
 creeping plants, a certain young man, in the plain dark 
 dress of an esquire, to whom, as it soon appeared, the 
 King had taken a fancy. He had remarked him as he 
 rode by, his favourites, Crichton and the two recreant 
 Douglases, by his side. 
 
 "What is your name, sir?" he asked him, "you have 
 not the look of a soldier." (It was at half a mile from 
 Dumfries, after one has crossed over Devogill's bridge, 
 going westward, that the King noticed the young man.) 
 
 " Your Majesty," said the youth, " choose you out a 
 captain or a man of war. Let me try a bout with him 
 at his own weapons, and (save it be Malise McKim, the 
 smith) I will stand by the result, soldier or no! " , 
 
 The King laughed. 
 
 " You do shrewdly well to make the exception," he 
 cried. " But I have some skill myself with the lighter 
 weapons. We might do worse than fall to. You are 
 of slender build. The broad-axe is not for gentlemen. 
 You can, I think, speak French " 
 
 " Like a clerk ! " said one of his favourites sneeringly 
 — Douglas younger of Dalkeith he was, he whom they 
 called the Master of Morton. 
 
 " Ah," said King James, " mayhap Latin, too, and all 
 too like a clerk, Morton ! But what care I, so long as he
 
 EAGLES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 261 
 
 will help me against yonder Earl of Douglas, who defies 
 me and keeps the realm in a turmoil." 
 
 " That he doth ! " said young Morton with a fury some- 
 what affected. " I would I had him by the thrapple ! " 
 
 " His estates, you mean ! " commented the youth in 
 black, giving back the sneers. " I warrant you that you 
 would think twice before you stood up to James Douglas 
 with the steel points bare ! " 
 
 " Ha, well said, young sirrah," cried the King, who in 
 truth loved to see his favourites put down. " That took 
 you fair in the wind, Morton. And true it is. Myself 
 saw him fight with the French Champion at Stirling when 
 I was a lad, and a better lance was never pushed than that 
 which James of Douglas held that day !" 
 
 " Save that of Sir Sholto McKim ! " said the young 
 man, " he who is now captain of Thrieve ! " 
 
 At this the King's brow darkened somewhat. 
 
 " What know you of Sholto McKim ? " he demanded ; 
 " is it that you are a spy, or disloyal, thus to praise one 
 in arms against his King? Canst tell me why is it that 
 he, sole among all that family, is not with the King's 
 colours? He follows his lord, and so stands to lose his 
 head with him ! " 
 
 " Nay," answered the young man in black, with gentle 
 persistence, " he also hath his private griefs against James 
 Douglas, and would gladly meet him point to point. But 
 he stands for his mistress, the chatelaine of Thrieve, the 
 Lady Margaret, whom it was Your Majesty's will and 
 pleasure to cause marry with James Douglas, being his 
 brother's widow. She was committed to Sholto McKim 
 as a child, and now he would gladly die for her sake, 
 though he is a man with young children." 
 
 " But the Countess Margaret is also in rebellion ! " 
 cried young Morton. 
 
 " What, the estates again, Morton ! " laughed the King, 
 turning sharp upon him, " the corn must be cut before you 
 butter the bread, my lad ! " 
 
 Then he mused some time upon the young man in 
 black. 
 
 " From whom had you these things ? " he demanded.
 
 262 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " You do not speak like one of this neighbourhood. 
 These are no countryside manners. Whence come you ? " 
 
 " My name I cannot tell, at this present," the young 
 man answered, " but Malise McKim and his sons will 
 vouch for me that I am no spy. Your Archbishop of 
 Saint Andro's or my Lord of Dunkeld will do the same 
 that I am no runaway priest. And for the rest, I have 
 been much abroad — in France more than once. I have 
 ridden in the lists at Paris and Amboise. I have been at 
 Rome. But, being all the loyaler a Scot for these things, 
 if it please you to employ me without a name, I shall 
 e'en render Your Majesty such service that he will give 
 me a name — be it the meanest in his kingdom. For as 
 IMalise the smith will tell you, I have a blood-feud against 
 James of Douglas, and for that I have come with a squire 
 and twenty well-trained men-at-arms to the King's 
 muster." 
 
 " I'faith," cried the King, " clerk or English renegade, 
 or what not, you speak right well. A blood-feud against 
 James Douglas ! Why, man, such appear to have been 
 rife about here. He must have been a man of his parts, 
 this same James Douglas. And a good drinker, too, they 
 tell me. 'Tis a pity, but Doom's dues maun he paid, they 
 say. Yet I would it had been another than Earl James 
 who has to pay them. His brother, of whom they prate 
 so mickle, was but a wizened pippin to him ! " 
 
 At this the young man in black looked up with a glance 
 like the point of a spear. 
 
 " Ah, you knew him ? " he said softly ; " you entertained 
 him at Stirling, did you not? I think some such report 
 came to my ears, though I was far away and in retreat 
 at the time ! " 
 
 The fiery face of the King grew purple. There came 
 a red light also into his eyes, lurid and angry almost as the 
 birthmark on his cheek, 
 
 " You are either a very bold, or, on the other hand, a 
 very foolish and ignorant young man," he said, " thus to 
 play with your neck-jointings. Did you ever hear of the 
 Gallows' Slot of Thrieve ? " 
 
 The youth bowed.
 
 EAGLES ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 263 
 
 " I have heard of it, Your Majesty." 
 
 " Then," quoth the King fiercely, " I advise you to keep 
 a guard upon your tongue, or in that very spot your head 
 may chance to go one way while that slender body of 
 yours goes another ! " 
 
 " Your Majesty," the young man answered quietly, " I 
 am indeed little fit for a Court, where nothing is heard 
 from morn till night but that which shall be pleasing to 
 the King. Call on my Lord of Morton, and my Lord 
 Crichton, and my Lord Huntly, and the Laird of Drum 
 for such like ; they will supply you. All that I ask is per- 
 mission to stand in the forefront of the battle with the 
 men I have fetched to the muster. And at the end, if I 
 live and avenge my feud, let His Majesty call me by what 
 name he will, so it be neither Gordon nor Hamilton ; for 
 I love neither traitors nor false swearers ! " 
 
 Half a score of swords leaped from their scabbards 
 at the words, and the young man in black, as perhaps he 
 had counted on, found himself with a ring of adversaries 
 — handsome Hamiltons and Gordons, possibly gay, but 
 for the time being certainly exceeding wrathful. 
 
 " Hold there," cried the King, holding up his hand, 
 palm outward. " I forbid you to fight — anon — anon ! 
 This is neither time nor place. I, James Stewart, am of 
 this young man's faction (here he cocked his bonnet), 
 and if any of you bauld young men object to a plain word 
 for a plain thing (here he laid his hand upon his sword 
 hilt) well — he shall have yet another adversary to reckon 
 with ! Your whittles in their sheaths, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Amid half-concealed growls and murmurs they obeyed. 
 
 " French lick-the-dish ! Monkish runagate ! Scented 
 civet-cat ! Nameless loon ! " 
 
 These were a few of the choicest of their epithets for 
 the youth in whom their jealousy feared a new favourite. 
 The last came to the King's ear, who happened to be in a 
 mood to run counter to those who for ordinary dandled 
 and daintied him with their tongues, half to his pleasure, 
 and half to his contempt. 
 
 " ' Nameless loon ! ' said ye, George of Douglas ? " he 
 cried aloud, " I tell you, Angus, my man, your own name
 
 264 MAY MARGARET 
 
 is in no such good odour this day in Scotland that 
 ye can afford to cast dirt on others. And as for this 
 young man — faith, an he wants a name, for some odd 
 reason of his own, such as may happen to any gentleman 
   — why, he shall have mine own ! And I, the King, desire 
 the man to stand forth from among you who hath aught 
 to sa.x against that ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN IN BLACK 
 
 This is the written story of the Young- Man in Black to 
 whom the King (chiefly because he desired to cross-but- 
 tock his sometime favourites, in order that he might 
 show them that he and not they had the mastery) prom- 
 ised on the braes above the Brigend of Dumfries the 
 dower of his own royal name. 
 
 He hath put the script, carefully written, into my hands, 
 so that those things of which I, Margaret Douglas, could 
 not have knowledge, looking out from the ramparts of 
 Thrieve, might yet duly be set down — first, for the satis- 
 faction of those who in their time were part of these 
 things (now alas, but few!) and, secondly, for the infor- 
 mation of generations yet to come — for all histories that 
 have ever been writ do lie to the detriment of the Doug- 
 lases, save only this of mine. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN BLACK 
 Writ at length so that it might be prentit. 
 
 As I walked into the smithy of the Three Thorns nigh 
 the King's camp, I found some four young men or thereby 
 blowing up the fire and clinking on red iron. Right sulk- 
 ily they regarded me upon my entrance. For it was long 
 time since they had seen me and never in such a garb. 
 
 " The King hath given orders that none are to enter 
 here," cried the eldest, " saving those who have care of 
 his armouries, and of these only such as are fit to be dea- 
 cons of the guild of hammermen. We want no fine 
 gentlemen here, God wot — there is room and to spare for 
 such elsewhere ! " 
 
 265
 
 2266 MAY MARGARET 
 
 And the second said, " The smiddy door stands wide ! 
 Go out by it, I pray thee and that quickly, or I will break 
 thy head with a pair of cleps ! " 
 
 " Nay, keep hin ." cried a third, " we will make of him 
 a whipcord to bii d a trace withal ! " 
 
 For I had pullec my cap low over mine eyes and in my 
 altered habilimenis it fell out easily that they knew me 
 not. Indeed, for all their rough words, they kept steadily 
 to their work at the forge. 
 
 " I am no fine gentleman," I made answer, very quietly, 
 " but of your own guild, and, if it please you, not wholly 
 unfit to be a deacon therein ! " 
 
 " You are a hammerman — of the King's armourers — 
 let us see yours palms ! " 
 
 And at that they laughed, setting their own hands on 
 their hips and laughing. For, indeed, my finger pads 
 were fine and unhardened. 
 
 "Canst put shoes on war-horse?" cried one, "or so 
 much as tell the hind foot from the fore ? " 
 
 "Aye, or a jimp court filly, mayhap!" — shouted 
 another, " get thee gone ! — Thou lookest more fit to lace 
 a jupe, like a woman's tailor — wide at the flounce, narrow 
 at the gathers — than to rivet a brigantine or to forge the 
 chainwork bandolier for a King's sword. There is one in 
 the fire now — try thy hand at it, boaster, if thou darest ! " 
 
 Now this task was, and with justice, accounted one of 
 the most difficult of all the practices of armoury, and one 
 which commonly only the chief armourer himself under- 
 took. But I had been taught by one that was a master 
 of masters in the craft and feared nothing. 
 
 So with the pincers I pulled the rivet bolt which was 
 to close the main ring out of the fire, and looking with 
 apparent carelessness (but really most carefully) to the 
 degree of heat, I thrust it in again, and bade the elder of 
 the youths be ready to strike for me when the colour of 
 the steel pleased me. Then he, having a certain fear 
 before his eyes, would have drawn back, seeing me so 
 determined. 
 
 " Our father is no easy man to deal with," he grumbled. 
 " Why, he would not think the cracking of a pouce on his
 
 THE YOUNG MAN IN BLACK 2(>7 
 
 finger nail of breaking the back of you — aye, or a dozen 
 like you, if you should spoil the ring-grip of the King's 
 bandolier, which is to hold up his royal sword." 
 
 " Strike," said I, " and hold your tongue. Ye tempted 
 me to it by your mocks. That ye well know. Now I 
 will make good my word ! " 
 
 And with that I took the small moulding hammer in 
 hand — one indeed which I knew very well, and getting 
 the colour of the metal right to my mind, I held it ready 
 for the striker on the beak of the anvil. But he, being 
 afraid in his soul (perhaps in his body also) struck ill. 
 So that, with words contumelious, I bade him forthwith 
 go sweep the shoeing rank, as being all he was good for, 
 and gave the hammer to his brother. He, seeing his 
 elder's fall, did well enough — and afterwards better than 
 well. So I thrust in and took out, tempered and arrosed, 
 as I had seen them do in France, not making a plain ring 
 (which indeed in Scotland was thought a good enough 
 piece of work) but all in facets and dimples, cunningly 
 set, and each exactly of the same size, like the cutting of 
 a Venice glass. 
 
 And the lads stood and watched, saying no word after 
 they had seen me once at it. 
 
 So intent were we on the finishing that when I had at 
 last given the master stroke and laid the bandolier ring 
 aside to cool, no one of us had noticed that a certain 
 huge man, who walked lightly on tiptoe, had been observ- 
 ing us from the doorway. 
 
 " St. Bride," he cried, " if that be not my son Larry's 
 stroke, may my steel never do more than cut withes to 
 make baskets withal ! " 
 
 And with that he walked up to me, and, putting forth 
 his hand, he took off the squire's cap which I had pulled 
 low over mine eyes, and, in spite of the walnut juice 
 which I had used to tan my collegiate blanching, he knew 
 me at once. 
 
 " Faith, Larry," he cried, " a rare good smith was spoiled 
 in thee to make a bad Mess John ! But what will thy 
 mother say, lad ? Art run off from thine abbacy ? " 
 
 " Nay," said I, " the archbishop and my Lord of Dun-
 
 268 MAY MARGARET 
 
 keld both know my reasons. Fear not, father. I have 
 never been a monk at heart any more than thyself, and 
 now I have come to follow my star — glad as one who hath 
 been over-long in the jingle-jangle of bells, the murmur- 
 ing of prayers and the scent of the incense, for all which 
 he had little mind, to escape to the tented field and his 
 King's service ! " 
 
 " What," cried Malise McKim, " are you then with us 
 in this matter? Why, Larry lad, I thought within me 
 that you would have been even as Sholto — he who com- 
 mands over yonder." 
 
 And he pointed with his hand in the direction of 
 Tbrieve. 
 
 " Nay," I answered, " I am with you heart and soul ! " 
 
 " But somehow," he said, rubbing his brow in some per- 
 plexity, " it was borne in upon me that there was in 
 your heart a liking — more than a liking indeed (St. 
 Bride, that an old man should speak of love and the 
 follies of youth at this time of day!) for the little Lady 
 Margaret yonder — the Earl James's wife 1 " 
 
 " Well," I answered him, " and what of that, my 
 father?" 
 
 " Why," said he, still perplexed, for he was of a nature 
 essentially simple and no little moidered in his head by 
 his troubles, " then I would have thought that you would 
 have gone to her and not to her enemies ! " 
 
 " By what name did you call the ladv just now, mv 
 father?" 
 
 " Why — why ," he seached about, " what should I 
 
 call her, and were it not the Lady Margaret — Earl James's 
 well-favoured, ill-fortuned wife?" 
 
 "And think you, father," I made him answer (for 
 with Malise McKim it was best to use plain words), 
 " that I would love the Lady Margaret the less, if she 
 were, by chance, my Lord Earl's widow instead of my 
 Lord Earl's wife? " 
 
 " U — m — m — m ! " he said, slowly taking it in. Then 
 he shook his head gravely. 
 
 " Such thoughts are not for blacksmith's sons," he 
 grumbled in his throat, " but I will admit that ye are
 
 THE YOUNG MAN IN BLACK 269 
 
 worthy to be a deacon among hammermen ! Ye have 
 noways forgotten your trade, Larry, my lad ! " 
 
 Then my brothers crowded about me, welcoming me, 
 and asking pardon for their rough words. 
 
 " Out o' that," cried Malise, raising his hand, " go 
 forge pike points, Corra. And you, Herries McKim, 
 come hither, lift this ring and see how the metal is run in 
 the direction of the strength. Ye alone are fit for some- 
 thing better than to clink plough-shares. But as for the 
 rest of you — Dun, Roger, and Malise, get the other forges 
 a-going — for there is work before us other than the mak- 
 ing of springes to take coneys. And now, son Laurence, 
 let us talk!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 WHOM GOD HATH TOUCHED 
 
 Never was Scottish siege so picturesque as this, all in 
 the broad summer weather — the wide pleasant Strath of 
 Dee glowing under the August sun, and the knights of 
 the King's court riding forth every morning decked as 
 to a tourney. 
 
 Nevertheless day followed day, and Alalise fretted in 
 his smithy, or used words in the broadest Galloway to 
 the King himself — which, had they been understood of 
 the monarch, might have damaged the good intent there 
 was between King and smith. For they were both fierv 
 by nature, and Malise cared just as little for what James 
 Stewart thought as James Stewart did for what was the 
 opinion of his new ally and master annourer. 
 
 But as for the effect of all they let loose upon the 
 castle, the great bolts that were shot from the slings and 
 catapults, the crackings of the new powder engines, and 
 the firing of tow-headed arrows, sent blazing across the 
 river, the besiegers might all just as well have blown 
 their noses or sneezed once or twice in the direction of 
 Thrieve for all the progress they made in the taking of it. 
 
 For Sholto, having had his times to make ready, had 
 used them as none knew better than he how to do. He 
 had fortified the whole area of the island with a wall, 
 adding at the weaker places one wall behind another, and 
 leaving a trench between, which at pleasure he could fill 
 with water. More than that, all the ground opposite, on 
 the other side of the river of Dee, had been cleared of 
 cover and made bare as the palm of one's hand. So tliat 
 at any moment, Sholto holding the short inner lines, and 
 having the breadth of the water of Dee on all sides of 
 him, could, by drawing his men together, stop any rush 
 that was made closer to the water's side. So that the 
 
 270
 
 WHOM GOD HATH TOUCHED 271 
 
 defenders, firing from perfect cover, and with rests for 
 their bronze culverins and httle iron fusils, did infinite 
 damage to the King's men without receiving so much as 
 a single scratch themselves. 
 
 The King, following the advice of his chief nobles, was 
 all for the slow advancement of the works by parallels 
 and cross trenches to the waterside — and then, a dash 
 through and a rush with ladders for the escalade! 
 
 But when my father heard this he was very angry, or, 
 rather in a state betwixt laughter and anger. 
 
 " Why, let them," he cried (and you might have heard 
 him on Cairnsmore), "let them gather all the bairns 
 from the burgh schools of Scotland, all the lads the 
 monks are teaching to put frocks about their hur- 
 dies, also all the cow-herds and all the swine-herds and 
 all the goose-herds. For these are exceedingly expert 
 in the use of the ' billit-gun,' that deadly weapon made 
 of the bark of the bore-tree. Then with wads of tow, 
 well chewed, let them practise upon the fortress of 
 Thrieve ! After that, like Jericho, the walls thereof may 
 have a better chance of falling down. But as to this folly 
 of the King's, there are no words which he will under- 
 stand to tell him how foolish it is ! Nevertheless, I will 
 try. But, ah — if I could speak to him in the Gallowa' ! 
 Then he wad think but little o' himsel' ! " 
 
 So Malise McKim went to the King. 
 
 It was, they say, a stormy time. For the King, a man 
 of wrath from his youth up, could listen peaceably to 
 no one. And as for Malise, my father — well, by this 
 time the world kens Malise the Smith even better than 
 James of the Fiery Face. 
 
 " I tell you. King of Scots," said Malise, clasping his 
 hands tightly about the axe-pike he had been in act to 
 make, — broad-bladed and beaked like a falcon, — " I tell 
 you plainly that you may take up your tents and kitchen 
 cullenders, remove your blazons and shields hung on 
 spear shafts. Stands Thrieve ever a whit the less 
 staunch for these? Months you have been here, and 
 never the nearer by a yard. Also James of Douglas is 
 on foot again ! My son Herries, who hath the long sight.
 
 '272 MAY MARGARET 
 
 saw him yesterday (no further gone) directing the arch- 
 ers to mark down your cannoneers upon the brae opposite 
 the ford to the south, and in ten minutes there was not 
 a man upright upon his legs among the Httle pivot guns, 
 also the oxen that drew them were all dead too." 
 
 " Good, my master armourer," said the King, " there 
 is matter in what you say, as well as some insolence, 
 which for this time I pardon in you seeing whom ye have 
 been serving all your life ! " 
 
 " Bide there, King James," cried Malise. " I have, it 
 is true, a death quarrel with the man yonder — James 
 of Douglas. But I was born under another Douglas — 
 aye, in the year of Otterburn — he at whose funeral they 
 led Percy captive. Under six Earls have I served. Good 
 men and true men were they all — bucklers to their King, 
 barriers against England. These have I served all my 
 life, and now at the end this man hath cut me off from 
 mine own loyalty as with a deadly blow ! But, hark ye. 
 King of Scots, my quarrel is with the man and not with 
 the House of Douglas, though in my rage I may have 
 said other of it. Nevertheless, I will aid you to bring 
 yonder castle to the ground, and the man in it to the 
 rope's-end or the edge of the sword for that which he 
 hath wrought to me and mine. Almost at Arkinholm 
 my right arm had saved you the trouble, but someone — 
 I remember not well who — came between me and my 
 vengeance ! " 
 
 The old smith drew his hand slowly over his face, as 
 if to clear his brain from some encompassing cloud — 
 possibly the same reek of hate and vengeance which had 
 so nearly turned another brain — as I read in the chron- 
 icle which hath been written by the Lady Margaret 
 herself. 
 
 There was — I saw it not always, but chiefly when he 
 sat brooding and thinking over his wrongs — a certain 
 glowing madness or capacity for madness in my father, 
 ordinarily covered up, indeed, but ready to break forth 
 at the least mention of the name of James Douglas. As 
 to his daughter, it was otherwise. For he would start 
 up suddenly from his chair, or perhaps from a day-dream
 
 WHOM GOD HATH TOUCHED 273 
 
 on a cool hearth in the smithy, his back against the wall 
 and his head deep sunk in his beard. 
 
 "Where is Magdalen ? " was ever his cry ; " good wife, 
 where is our Magdalen ? I bid you tell me ! 'Tis some 
 time since she went out. She bides over late on the 
 hills!" 
 
 But there was none to answer as to where Magdalen 
 might be found. 
 
 Meanwhile, all unwitting of this, the King and his 
 suite stood watching. James Stewart, having a certain 
 curious sympathy for the sorrow of the smith, quieted 
 those behind him with a turn of the hand — the which, 
 perhaps because it was the same that had treacherously 
 slain his best friend and greatest subject, was not to be 
 regarded without a certain awe. 
 
 " Why, Master Armourer," said the King more gently, 
 " 'tis very well in a proven man of war like Malise of 
 Carlinwark and Mollance to commend us young men to 
 return to our wives' petticoat tails and the surcots and 
 pearled veils of our sweethearts. He hath done his day's 
 darg. Six great lords hath he served — better, perhaps, 
 than they served the crown ! " 
 
 At this Malise interrupted once more. 
 
 " Yet, did not your gran'ther, young man, bestow one 
 of his daughters upon an Earl Douglas, and never 
 thought himself or her the worse? Nay, by what other 
 means doth the crown of the Bruces sit upon your own 
 head, James Stewart, an the first o' your race had not 
 fand it pinned to the bolsters of a bride-bed? " 
 
 The King frowned and then laughed. 
 
 "True," he said, "true indeed ! And so did we 
 
 all come from Eve the wife of a gardener, who had never 
 a bolster at all, nor pillow whereon to lay her head. Yet 
 for the life of me. Master Armourer, I cannot see that 
 such talk as thine brings down the walls of Thrieve any 
 .faster than our poor arbalasts and bombards! " 
 
 Before answering, the smith passed his hand across 
 his brow as if to clear his mind. In these latter days this 
 had* become a fashion with him. He seemed to get 
 bogged in his own words, and then after a while to return
 
 274 MAY MARGARET 
 
 with a sudden start to the gloomy vengeance to which 
 he had vowed his days. 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow, my Lord the King," he said 
 with more gentleness, " I have somewhat in my head 
 here if only I can disentangle it. Ravelled it is, and 
 knotted, but it will lead us somewhither. But first I 
 would speak with my seven sons — nay, he added quickly, 
 correcting himself, with six only — Sholto, the best of all, 
 is over yonder ! Yet," he added, " it is strange, I have 
 tried and I cannot curse Sholto ! " 
 
 He turned gently about, a milder mood being upon him. 
 
 " Your Majesty and gentlemen," he said, " I pray your 
 pardon if one to whom God has left more brawn than 
 brain, more weight than wit, more choler than courtesy, 
 hath used words to hurt your gentrice. It was far from 
 his intent. But by long usage, old Malise McKim is 
 grown rough as his own smith's apron. Yet, if he can 
 hammer out the thought that is in his head, yon high 
 tower of Thrieve shall fall ! And, if God leave strength 
 to this right arm and enough good hemp within the realm 
 of the Scots, James Douglas shall die a dog's death — for 
 what he hath done — for what he hath done — zvhat ivas 
 it that he did? I forget, gentlemen! Truly, I forget. 
 But it was something he shall die for — yes, die for! I 
 am an old man, and everything goes from me. But to- 
 morrow we McKims shall have this thought of mine ham- 
 mered out and welded and tempered — ready to be put 
 before Your Majesty. By the head of my little wench 
 Magdalen, it shall be so! She was so beautiful, gentle- 
 men, and innocent — and sat long upon my knees with 
 her arms about my neck. But she is dead, gentlemen. 
 She is dead, and the angels took her. I am an old man, 
 a very old man, gentlemen all — I pray you forgive me ! " 
 
 And saluting with his bonnet brought as low as the 
 kn€e in the palm of his right hand, which was the cour- 
 teous fashion of the ancient time, Malise of the Strong 
 Thews, my good father, withdrew him, his great hand 
 upon the shoulder of Herries, his son, not for support, 
 but rather as one might walk with a staflf. 
 
 And they say that the King softly laid his finger on
 
 WHOM GOD HATH TOUCHED 275 
 
 his own brow, saying, " Be gentle in speech with liim, my 
 lords, God hath touched the old man, or his trouble of 
 mind, mayhap. He is strong as Samson. His bodily 
 strength is not abated. Only at times, as ye see, there is 
 a lack. Therefore, provoke him not. For whoso doth, it 
 is at his own peril. His wife shall be a widow, his soul 
 go to its own place, and that without benefit of clergy — 
 of which, to my ripe knowledge the feck of you stand in 
 sore need ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 
 
 In the smithy of the Three Thorns, MaHse McKim drew 
 his sons together. It was the morning after his interview 
 with the King, very early. All night the old man had 
 walked about by the lochside and I had kept him in sight 
 till the dawning of the day. The sky of midnight had 
 been clear with faint pearl-grey clouds, high and rare 
 in the zenith. The loch gleamed at our feet like half- 
 polished steel, flat and without ripple to the dark woods of 
 Gelston. Meantime, my mother, Dame Barbara — her hair, 
 that had been raven black with scarce a grey hair, now 
 flaxen white — watched stealthily from the cottage door 
 listening to the the steadfast tramp-tramp of her hus- 
 band's feet along the narrow shingle and over the green 
 knolls. She, too, had followed the camp, and had arrived 
 at the Three Thorns the third day after the pitching of 
 the tents. She spoke nothing of Magdalen, and seemed 
 altogether occupied in noting the changes in Malise 
 McKim. 
 
 During the night his wife had only been prevented 
 from following him by my urgent entreaties and the 
 repeated assurance that I was always behind him, ready 
 to prevent anything desperate which might suggest itself 
 to his troubled brain. 
 
 So I stole through the wood a little above him, silent 
 as a moon shadow drifting over the hills. But though 
 my father muttered much to himself and drove his great 
 piked shepherd's crook deep into the clattering shingle of 
 the little lakeside beaches, he did himself no harm — nor, 
 I think, dreamed of it. 
 
 In the later morning, when the light had begun to 
 spread upwards from the east he caught sight of Corra 
 (who for a while had come to replace me) creeping 
 
 276
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 277 
 
 through some underbrush, rather chimsily, let it be said. 
 He was upon him in a moment, with his staff upraised. 
 " Dare you spy upon me, spawn of evil ? " he cried. 
 " I will e'en break thy back for thee with my clickie ! " 
 
 And he would have done it, too, had it not been that 
 I ran upon them from the cottage door, with my mother 
 behind me, and each of us seized an arm. 
 
 " Let Corra be," she cried, " Malise, my man, do you 
 not understand ? We were in a fever about you — the lad 
 did no more than he was bid ! " 
 
 He stood leaning upon his staff, his chin upon the crook. 
 
 "What might ye have been afraid of?" he queried 
 slowly and gravely, " that I would do myself an injury? " 
 
 He turned about and pointed over the trees upon the 
 ridge, ink-black against the brightening west, 
 
 "Do myself an injury?" he said, with a laugh which 
 I loved not to hear ; " nay, be at rest — not till my work 
 is done ! " 
 
 Then to his wife, our mother, he said : " Go thy ways, 
 goodwife. Make the lads porridge and stir them weel. 
 Let a driblet or two of meal slip between thy fingers. 
 For the lumps in a bowl of porridge are the strength 
 thereof. They make the bones of men. Now I would 
 speak to the lads — yea, while there is time and the clear- 
 ness of the morning in my head." 
 
 And with that he led the way to the smithy. 
 
 Eastward, day was just beginning to break across the 
 little group of huts at the end of King Edward's Cause- 
 way, that ancient paved road which he made through 
 the moss of Cuill and across the shallows of Carlinwark. 
 My father began to speak. 
 
 " Over yonder," he said, jerking his thumb behind his 
 shoulder towards the camp of the King, " there be a many 
 fine gentlemen and well-attired lords, and, chief of all, 
 his Majesty of the Fiery Face, Bloody Hand, and — 
 brain of a poll parrot — to whom, in the meantime, I 
 wish long life and much success ! Lads, I serve him 
 and them till the time appointed — then I serve no more ! " 
 
 Then he laughed again; but this time silently and to 
 himself.
 
 278 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " But that which we wait for we must work for. And 
 it is not in the possible of siccan grand lads, with their 
 changes of apparel three times a day, their pennons and 
 gonfalons going before, to bring doon yon auld prood 
 castle o' Thrieve, fenced aboot wi' Dee Water, drumly 
 after flood, or crystal-clear after spate ! 
 
 " Na, nor is there a man in a' the hosts of the King, 
 frae the Bennan to Carlinwark Hill, that can match 
 Sholto McKim, my son and your brither. Nevertheless, 
 it is laid upon me that yonder castle must fall. And as 
 to that I have a thought here ! " 
 
 He paused a long while after this, so that the sun, 
 throwing a sudden beam in at the smiddy door, caused 
 the shadow of an anvil, with a forehammer leaning against 
 it, to start across the floor of beaten earth and iron 
 filings. 
 
 " Lads," he said, " we maun make a cannon, like to 
 nane that hath heretofore been upon the earth — a bom- 
 bard that shall throw a great ball, such as no man can 
 lift, miles and miles across land and water ! " 
 
 The lads (who, for all their being called " boys," 
 " lads," and so forth, were all well over their twenty-first 
 year) looked at one another with sudden glances, full of 
 meaning, which I could interpret right well. They 
 thought that the want in the mind had come upon him 
 once again. But I knew better. 
 
 " Yes, my father," I answered him, " I have heard of 
 such as being forged in the realm of Germany. They 
 are made of great gauds of iron, each separately forged, 
 welded together, bound about with iron bands, and finally 
 compacted with wedges thrust within the rings ! " 
 
 "Of what size are these German cannon?" demanded 
 Malise the smith. 
 
 " Of the greatness that a man may knit his fingers and 
 thrust his hand with ! " I answered. 
 
 My father rose and took a turn within the narrow 
 limits of the smithy, which he did of habitude, turning 
 and walking, avoiding all the time, without any observ- 
 ance, the pieces of armour and stands of arms scattered 
 about. For, though he was in all ways a man so great
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 279 
 
 in stature and thickness, he moved lightly as a cat, and 
 that even to his latest days. 
 
 " Laurence, you say well," he answered, " but what is 
 an engine like that? Thrieve Castle is no iron broth-pot, 
 nor a basin of red baked clay to be battered with cobble 
 stones over Dee Water. The cannon we shall fashion 
 must be of a greatness so that twelve strong horses shall 
 have hard work to drag it over a made road. And instead 
 of a man's fist, or even his joined neives, he shall be able 
 to thrust his whole body therein with his sark upon his 
 back and his hose on his feet! " 
 
 The lads looked on in silent amazement. Malise turned 
 to them. 
 
 " Aye, aye, we McKims shall do it ! Seven great forge 
 fires shall there be on the shore of the Carlinwark — to 
 each of us one. With our arms shall we work at the 
 metal, but the King's men shall make a high fence — 
 John Johnstone the joiner and his loons clacking and 
 hammering nails, so that all shall keep their distance — 
 aye, even the King's own majesty — till the work be 
 finished and complete. Also the camp followers shall 
 bring us fuel, and we will work till we die — or the work 
 be done ! " 
 
 " But — but — but — ! " began the lads, " we have never 
 made or even seen any powder guns greater than these 
 culverins of bronze " 
 
 Malise McKim siezed a hammer, and swung it in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Hear ye, Corra, Dun, Herries, and the rest," he 
 shouted, " do as I bid you ! — or by St. Bride, I will 
 make a row of herring heads of you nailed against the 
 smiddy wa' ! Have I spent my labour in vain — in the 
 begetting of windle-staws, in rearing a cleckan of peeping 
 pullets, fit only to pick corn-seed about a barn-door? Am 
 I not the Master Smith? Am I not Malise McKim? 
 And shall a crew of loons, scarce breeched and scantily 
 bearded, dare to crake and craw at me when I set them 
 their tasks and piece-work? To your day's darg like 
 good hammermen ! Strike hard ! Say naught ! Lau- 
 rence and 1 will to the King ! "
 
 28o MAY MARGARET 
 
 And to the King he went. 
 
 It was not far. Upon the ridge of CarHnwark, to the 
 right, behind the great beech tree which broke the westerly 
 wind from the cottage of the Three Thorns, rose the 
 royal pavilion, with the Lion of Scotland in front. 
 Those of his chief lords, Angus, Morton, Crichton, Hunt- 
 ley, with their several ensigns, were disposed irregularly 
 about. 
 
 James of the Fiery Face was early astir. Indeed, so 
 far as I ken, none of the Stewarts were long liers abed. 
 He met us in the doorway of his tent, and at once bade 
 all men go forth from him, save Crichton only. 
 
 This last proved to be a little wizened cunning man 
 with the visage of a monkey, but he looked at us with 
 a pair of the brightest eyes that ever were seen in the 
 realm of Scotland. 
 
 At the sight of him and the King's ardent commendation 
 of his qualities, I could see the dull red fires glow up in 
 my father's eyes. 
 
 " A cup of wine with you, Malise," said the King, " and 
 you, young slip of lear, wha for your misdeeds, wants a 
 name to your tail — what do you with our Master 
 Armourer? " 
 
 "What do you with that?" said my father, somewhat 
 truculently and a great deal insolently, pointing his finger 
 at Crichton, who sat at a table turning over some papers 
 diligently. 
 
 " Why, man, he is in some sort a head-piece to me," 
 "said the King, humouring the old man ; " 'tis well kenned 
 that mine own is no great things ! " 
 
 " And even so is this youth mine," answered my father 
 swiftly, " though," he added more slowly, " I do admit he 
 is a master craftsman also, having studied the art of iron 
 in France and other countries." 
 
 For I had bound over my fathers and brothers not to 
 reveal who I was. 
 
 The King called a pantler out of the household train, 
 and bade him fetch a flagon of wine, of which he poured 
 out a full cup. 
 
 But Malise put it away from him.
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 281 
 
 " Give such like to the young," he said. " I will drink no 
 wine and eat only such meat as is necessary for the sus- 
 taining of my body till the castle yonder is in our 
 hands." 
 
 '' And have you gotten that troublesome thought safely 
 out of your head, ingoted, and laid on anvil, eh, Master 
 Smith ? " demanded the King, smiling. 
 
 " Ye shall hear, King James Stewart ! " he answered. 
 " 'Tis ingoted, barred, and ready for the fire and hammer- 
 stroke. Listen ! I have much good iron in the shed of 
 the smithy under the trees. I expected that it would serve 
 my lifetime. In the town of Kirkcudbright there is much 
 more. Only, I pray you, give us men to build an enclosure 
 about our forge-hearth, for we would not be fashed in our 
 labour." 
 
 " And what," said the King, " is this your labour of 
 which you speak ? " 
 
 " King James," said the smith, " I have promised to 
 serve you and to be your man till the Castle of Thrieve 
 fall and the lord thereof comes by his deserts. I will 
 make you a cannon greater than any in the world. This 
 young man, having travelled far and near, hath seen the 
 like — only in little — in the German camps in the Low 
 Countries ! But I will make a cannon which shall send a 
 ball from where we stand to the battering down of yon 
 high towers of Thrieve — aye, farther an ye will " 
 
 " Malise, Malise," said the King reproachfully, " I had 
 expected more and better than this mad ploy. The thing 
 is clean impossible. The like was never seen in this realm 
 or in any other." 
 
 My father erected himself, squaring his great shoulders 
 till they seemed almost to reach the breadth of the 
 pavilion. 
 
 " King of Scots," he said with solemnity, " you are a 
 man, I am a man. Your name is James Stewart, mine 
 Malise McKim ! Hath ye seen or heard aught to gar ye 
 think your royal word better than the word of Malise 
 the smith of Carlinwark ! " 
 
 " Methinks the comparison would lean somewhat heav- 
 ily to your side of the balance, good Master Armourer ! "
 
 282 MAY MARGARET 
 
 said the King good-humouredly. " Not at all times can a 
 King keep his word. He hath those about him, like my 
 excellent Chancellor at the table there, who will not let 
 him!" 
 
 And I thought that a dry smile passed over the face of 
 Crichton, who nevertheless continued to occupy himself 
 with parchments and various writings. As for me, I 
 was in an agony of fear lest my father should say some- 
 thing to the King about the safe conduct which he had 
 given, writ with his own hand, signed with his name and 
 seal, to William of Douglas, when he brought him to 
 Stirling to meet his death. But Malise the smith was 
 appeased by King James's answer, and, after brooding a 
 little, laid the whole plan and design of the great cannon 
 before him. 
 
 " I have here at the Carlinwark six sons," he said in 
 conclusion, " and that we will forge you the cannon I 
 put their heads and mine own in the balance. Let your 
 headsman sharpen his blade for us if we fail ! " 
 
 "And if you succeed?" asked Crichton, looking up 
 with a sudden brightening of his countenance, " you seven 
 will all need an earldom at least. It is the fashion now- 
 adays ! " 
 
 " Nay ," answered Malise McKim slowly, " not 
 
 an earldom, nor yet a chancellorship, my lord of Crichton 
 — nor any reward in lands or siller. But only — five min- 
 utes alone with James Douglas ! " 
 
 " That you shall have and welcome ! " said the King. 
 " But why do you not ask for the life of your son who is 
 in rebellion ? " 
 
 " That will I not," said Malise McKim. " I have told 
 you before, King of Scots, the young man serves not 
 James Douglas but the Lady Margaret, his true mistress. 
 He will serve you as well. Had he been in rebellion, 
 would he have been lacking at Arkinholm?" 
 
 " Malise," cried the King, laughing, " I had not thought 
 you so subtle in thy reasons. This lad in black must have 
 quickened thee, as Crichton doth my own sluggish harn- 
 pan. But all the same, may the saints confound that 
 Sholto of thine — rebel or no rebel — traitor or loyal sub-
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 283 
 
 ject — I wot well that he is giving us a huge deal of 
 trouble in the midst of this wild Galloway. And, spite 
 of thy cannon, no man yet sees how it will end ! " 
 
 So that very night on the shore of Carlinwark seven 
 great forges were set up. In the woods of Buittle and 
 Borgue men black to the eye-holes made charcoal for the 
 fires that burned night and day. And we seven McKims 
 shut ourselves out from the world — by day in a hot and 
 panting purgatory of burning sun and blowing fires. At 
 night it was a little better. The deep glow of the forges 
 was reflected on the still waters of the loch, and the clang 
 of the forehammers was heard afar. Mostly we seven 
 were stripped and blackened to the waist with coal and 
 grime, and I warrant well that mine own almoner at 
 Sweetheart Abbey would not have known his sometime 
 abbot had he met him these days 'twixt vespers and 
 prime. 
 
 Above on the slope, it was the nightly amusement of 
 the soldiers, and even of many young scions of the nobil- 
 ity, to cluster along the ridge and look down upon us at 
 our travail — now black against the firelight, anon our 
 faces and swart naked limbs lit up with the leaping flames. 
 Demons of the nether pit could have looked little other- 
 wise, as, escaping for a moment, we ran to the white 
 cottage, demanding drink from our mother, who, on her 
 part, poor woman, slept little, watching my father, and, 
 like him, wearing herself out. But she for love even as 
 he for hate. 
 
 So the great iron gauds to make the body of the bom- 
 bard were forged in such a turmoil as never before or 
 since have mine eyes beheld, or my ears been deaved 
 withal. We began to put the great cannon together, and 
 not till then did the mighty proportions of the monster 
 appear, taking shape dimly through the swelter. 
 
 Then came a period of yet fiercer excitement. So long 
 as we were merely working at the forging of the bars, 
 each man had to heat and hammer by himself, or, at most, 
 with only one associate. But when at last the monster 
 began to take actual shape, and we saw before us the
 
 284 MAY MARGARET 
 
 mighty maw which should soon begin to vomit destruc- 
 tion, and the vast of the cavern which would hold (as my 
 father had truly said) the body of a man, we could scarce 
 stay ourselves from shouting aloud, 
 
 " Bide," said my father grimly. " There is the pick and 
 flower of the work yet to do. The iron rings are yet 
 to be shrunk upon her, and many a stiff back and many a 
 wet-wringing brow shall ye hae afore that be through 
 with, lads of mine ! " 
 
 I mind the night yet when the last band was fitted. It 
 chanced that, without our observing it, the wood and char- 
 coal had gotten dangerously near to the bottom of the 
 pile. 
 
 Also, though my father knew it not (and we dared 
 not tell him), the Borgue men had not arrived with fresh 
 loads — being more than two days behind, drinking of 
 acquavit at some dyke-back belike, after their kind. And 
 so when the master band of all was to be put about the 
 cavernous breech, where the force of the powder would 
 spend itself most fiercely — lo ! the fires were in danger of 
 falling low ! 
 
 Then my father, who throughout had scarce spoken at 
 all, save only to give his orders, went like a man 
 demented, and bade pull down the ancient smithy of Car- 
 linwark, and burn the beams for fuel. And as he stood 
 there with naught upon him save the great leathern apron 
 twisted about his middle to serve for a breech-clout, black 
 from top to toe with the forge sweat and charcoal grime, I 
 doubt if even James Stewart would have hesitated about 
 obeying him, if he had bidden tear down and burn Holy- 
 rood House itself. 
 
 At any rate we who underlay his wrath did not lose a 
 moment, and we were a-tearing an' a-scrambling at the 
 roof before the words were well out of his mouth. Yet 
 for all I could not help thinking how much happier I was, 
 astride upon one beam and hacking at another, than 
 ever I had been sitting in my chair in the abbey of Sweet- 
 heart with the chaunted psalms and the incense going up 
 about me in clouds of holy scent and sound. 
 
 Well, we fetched it down with a run, and clumsy
 
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 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 285 
 
 Corra, tramping bullock-like along the rigging, well-nigh 
 "broke his neck by falling through. So we brought the 
 rafters, tinder dry and brown with many generations of 
 smithy fires, and thrust them into the furnace. 
 
 " More and more ! " shouted my father, lifting and 
 feeding as if the house beams had been but so much 
 Icitchen firewood. 
 
 " He will have the cottage itself about our heads in 
 another moment," quoth my mother. " Laurence, go get 
 him wood or he will tear down the house of the Three 
 Thorns as he hath done to the smiddy. And even when 
 I am deep under sod, I want to think o' the gable of the 
 bonny house, where we two used to sit and talk, cleeked 
 close on the bench he made, the first year we were marriet ! 
 Find him wood, Laurence. Bring it to him ! Haste ye, 
 Laurence, haste ye ! " 
 
 So I gat hold of Herries and a strong country lad or 
 two from without the barriers, and tore down the 
 fences which the King's carpenters had put up. There 
 was a great crowd of the curious all about. Then when 
 I made my choice of helpers they pressed forward. But 
 I bade them go back at the peril of their lives, for that 
 Malise McKim would crack a man's skull that night, as 
 it were an egg-shell, if he found him where he had no 
 business to be. 
 
 And one behind them, wrapped in a great cloak, cried 
 out for all to stand back and that he would help us him- 
 self. Which, being evidently of some authority among 
 them, he did, tearing down the boards and pales of the 
 enclosure and carrying them on his back to the door of the 
 cannon shed, but no further. 
 
 " I have desire to look once," he said, when at last we 
 had finished. " L^t that be my reward ! " 
 
 So I told him to keep well behind Herries, and he 
 looked within. It was indeed a ferlie worth seeing that 
 he saw — Malise the great smith leaping and striking with 
 six attendant demons all pulling and thrusting, and, as it 
 seemed, passing their bodies through the fires of hell 
 ten times in a minute. The sparks flew great as crown 
 pieces. The flames danced upward in coils and spikes.
 
 286 MAY MARGARET 
 
 And in the background the great black monster stood 
 waiting her last neck-band. 
 
 " Here, Corra — Herries ! All is ready ! " shouted my 
 father. " Come, Laurence, and the rest of you — seven 
 McKims, all working as one, to avenge the shame of our 
 house ! Would to God there had been eight ! " 
 
 He called us seven, and spoke to me as if I had been 
 there. 
 
 And lo ! when I looked, with eyes dazzled by the light, it 
 is true, I could count seven McKims in the forge, where,, 
 wanting me, there should only have been six. 
 
 " Laurence, Laurence, strike with me, lad, for the last 
 welding ! " cried my father, evidently believing that I 
 was by his side. 
 
 I could not understand it. Nevertheless, I had per- 
 force to shuffle our helper away to the gap in the fence 
 out of my father's eye-shot, as well as to get back to do 
 my part. But as we reached the place a crowd of curious 
 had entered, and stood gaping and gazing, whom our 
 helper hotly ordered back. 
 
 But one, being of the insolent, ignorant sort, common in 
 camps, called out, " Well for you, crane's neck, hook-nose 
 — yon have seen ! We saw you peep within. We will not 
 go back, nor take our orders from you ? Who are you to 
 make good soldiers of my Lord Angus jump hither and 
 thither at your orders, and tumble somersaults like puppy 
 dogs?" 
 
 " That I will show you ! " said the man, and dropped 
 his cloak. And it zvas the King! 
 
 Then every man gat him behind his neighbour, all 
 trying to appear as if they had come out solely to gaze 
 upon the stars. At another time I would have laughed, 
 but then I had other most unhumorous business to my 
 hand. 
 
 " Provost Marshal," cried the King, " take that man 
 and make him discover how easy it is to jump hither and 
 thither — aye, and for a good soldier of my Lord Angus's 
 to tumble somersaults like a puppy dog ! " 
 
 And so, with red flame and clangour infinite, the great 
 cannon was forged. It is the same which is called Mons,
 
 A PRINCE AMONG HAMMERMEN 287 
 
 or Mollance Meg, after my father's landed property, and 
 stands in the Castle of Edinburgh to this day to witness 
 if I lie. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The End of the Portion of History writ by the Young Man 
 
 in Black.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 WHEREIN MARGARET DOUGLAS AGAIN TAKES UP THE 
 TALE — SHOLTO ALSO IS A m'kIM 
 
 And in the meantime how passed the days and weeks 
 and months on the high bastions and in the higher keep 
 of Thrieve? 
 
 I will try to tell. 
 
 Every morn Maud and I went up to the roof to see 
 the muster of the King's troops, which was like a pageant. 
 There were trumpets that blew, and banners that waved, 
 and knights and horses all covered with cloth of red and 
 gold — a gallant sight, and one which Maud and I (being 
 as much children as any) were never tired of watching, 
 so long, that is, as Sholto assured us that there was no 
 danger. 
 
 At times James Douglas would come up to the roof 
 battlements ; but, like one outcasted and desolate, he 
 would abide in a place by himself, speaking with none, or 
 only with the officers and soldiery of the garrison. Some- 
 times one of the children would run to take his hand and 
 talk, of which he seemed glad. 
 
 When he met Sholto, the Captain of the Guard of 
 Thrieve saluted gravely, and stood listening. Then, if 
 the Earl put a question, Sholto answered it in so many 
 words; but if not, he would salute again, and betake him- 
 self to the outposts or to the dungeon of Archibald the 
 Grim, which, with purposes of his own, he was wholly 
 refitting, strengthening even the walls, doubling the thick- 
 ness of the top in solid stone and lime, and providing for 
 view and air by narrow slits, through which one could 
 scarce thrust one's hand edgewise. 
 
 One day to try him, I asked Sholto if he meant to shut 
 up the King of Scots in Archibald the Grim. 
 
 288
 
 MARGARET TAKES UP THE TALE 289 
 
 " Nay," he answered me at once ; " but some few 
 things far more precious ! " 
 
 One day, being in my ancient south-looking chamber, 
 of which the fear had gradually grown away (though I 
 admit that even then I liked not to sleep there), I heard 
 the noise of voices beneath, on the balcony. The window 
 was open and I seated idly with my hands in my lap. I 
 could not help but hear. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The men proved to be Sholto McKim and James Doug- 
 las, my husband, who spoke on the platform of stone 
 beneath my windows. 
 
 " What think you. Sir Sholto," said the Earl. ** shall we 
 hold it or no ? They make no progress. Their trumpet- 
 ings, their shooting of arrow flights, their cracking of 
 pop-guns — what are these as against the solid walls of 
 Thrieve and the strong virgin defences of the isle ? " 
 
 For an instant Sholto did not answer, and I could 
 clearly hear the soothing Jmsh of the Dee over its shallows 
 at the bridge-end. Then he spoke. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " we have seen, as you say, many 
 useless marches and counter-marches ! We have repelled 
 feints of attack, and barkened to many summonses to 
 surrender in the name of our Lord the King. Yet no 
 man in the garrison is grievously hurt, while those of 
 lis who have been smitten owe their wounds mostly to 
 their own recklessness. But there is one thing concern- 
 ing which my mind is not easy." 
 
 "And that?" said the Earl, idly chipping little bits 
 of the plaster and skimming them over the wall. 
 
 *' It is," said Sholto, " that in all these things we see 
 naught of Malise McKim, my father, nor yet of his sons, 
 my brothers ! " 
 
 " Oh, there is small need to concern oneself with that," 
 said the Earl, " they have gone afield to raise more troops. 
 Or mayhap, there lies a sorrow upon their minds to help 
 in breaking down that which they have built up — I mean 
 because the McKims have been Master Armourers at 
 Thrieve, in a manner of speaking, since the world began." 
 
 Sholto gazed long at James Douglas. I could not
 
 290 MAY MARGARET 
 
 see his face, but I knew well the way he would look. 
 About this time his master was a constant surprise to him 
 — his unconscious brutality of selfishness, the crassness 
 of his judgment in all that concerned others — in especial, 
 the fatal lightness of his mind, habiting a body so strong 
 and so fair, joined to a nature so truly courageous as 
 between man and man, yet so self-seeking and contracted 
 towards women and God ! All this joined in one per- 
 son, might well make Sholto McKim marvel. True. I 
 knew James Douglas over well. I had long gotten over 
 my wondering. 
 
 " You think that my father will come back to you — 
 that after a time he will forgive — let all be as it was?"' 
 Sholto stammered, scarce knowing what to say. 
 
 James Douglas moved uneasily, I knew exactly how. 
 I could feel him, though see him I could not. 
 
 " No, not that," he said ; " so much no man could expect. 
 But some token of forgiving — some kindly remembrance, 
 some returning loyalty toward the House his fathers 
 served — so much seems to me by no means unreason- 
 able ! " 
 
 Sholto nodded, with what of grim countenance I could 
 guess. Even by leaning out I could see no more than 
 the peak of the plain steel cap in which he made his 
 rounds. 
 
 " No, it is not impossible," he said slowly. " There is 
 hov.'ever, one condition." 
 
 "And what might that condition be?" cried James 
 Douglas. (As he spoke I could hear the returning hope 
 in his voice. It hurt him that men should not approve 
 him.) 
 
 " That he should see One Man lie dead! " 
 
 I felt the question tr-emble on James Douglas's lips. 
 But it was not put. The prophet's " Thou art the man ! " 
 was not an answer which he desired to hear from the 
 lips of his truth-speaking Captain of the Guard. 
 
 Abruptly he turned on his heel and walked away. 
 Sholto McKim was left behind, leaning one elbow on the 
 stone baluster and gazing pensively across the water- 
 meadows towards the ridge of Carlinwark, where.
 
 MARGARET TAKES UP THE TALE 291 
 
 through the pale purple of the gloaming, certain red 
 bursts of flame sent a ruddy " skarrow " vibrating aloft 
 to the lower clouds. 
 
 Long and carefully Sholto watched. The night grew 
 rapidly darker — chiller also. The light in the east waxed 
 more and more lurid. There came a noise of shouting 
 on the breeze. 
 
 "That is my father!" said Sholto aloud. "I must go 
 and see what he is about ! " 
 
 All the same he went his rounds with a little more than 
 his usual care. Then he came up by the turret stairs, 
 kissed the babes who were asleep in their cots, sat a while 
 by Marcelle's trundle-bed to talk over the events of the 
 day as was his wont — how a new blazon had been seen 
 in front of a troop which rode past the castle on the 
 Balmaghie shore — how a certain bullock in the byres,. 
 Red Jock by name, had gotten a narrow wound in his 
 heel, which she had helped to bind, in spite of the un- 
 thankful and ill-behaved kicking and plunging of the 
 patient. 
 
 Then descending, Sholto said a quiet courtly word to 
 me in the great hall, kissed Maud his wife, and (here all 
 we knew at the time finishes) dressed himself in country- 
 man's garb, crossed the Dee Water to the southward^ 
 where, among the marshes the enemy's watch-huts were 
 few and ill-tended — only some few folk of Solway Moss 
 abiding there, and even they having mostly removed 
 themselves over to the Carlinwark on the chance of pick- 
 ing the King's supper bones, and getting a peep at the 
 works of Malise the Smith over the palisades of the Three 
 Thorns, 
 
 So Sholto, to whom all the bogs and marshes, with 
 their green " quaas " slimy and mysterious, their humpy 
 islands of crumbling peat, their blind leads of ink-black 
 water, stagnant and oily — were familiar, who knew them 
 as a man that rises in the night knows his way back to 
 his bed — found little difficulty in outwitting and outstrip- 
 ping the guards to the south of the Isle of Thrieve. An 
 arrow whistled in his wake once or twice. A cur barked 
 as he crossed its wind within a few yards of a Lochar
 
 2y2 I^IAY MARGARET 
 
 man's post, striding onward, contemptuous of such sol- 
 diering. Brief, in less than an hour, Sholto, his face 
 blackened with grime which he knew where to seek on 
 the rubbish heaps of the old smithy, stood among the 
 crowd outside the barriers, elbowing and cursing with 
 the best, while they watched the roaring of the flames 
 and marvelled at the fierce pulling down of the ancient 
 smithy for the sake of the beams. 
 
 But the shed over the great cannon balked his curiosity 
 through every crevice of which the flames seemed to 
 dart from an interior filled to bursting with the glow of 
 red-hot metal and the clank of hammers. 
 
 " I am the Captain of Thrieve — I must see," growled 
 Sholto. " I am a McKim — God's grace, see I will! " 
 
 And while the youths were still scrambling on the 
 rigging of the smithy, and while the Young Man in Black 
 (whose narrative has been entered before) was tearing 
 at the palisades to keep up the fire, Sholto McKim, unseen 
 of any, stole along the dark waterside, and in a moment 
 paused at the door of that Vulcan's cavern of noise and 
 heat and flame. Awhile he stood, stricken dumb and 
 motionless with amazement. 
 
 Then, seeing that certain of his brothers were a-miss- 
 ing, and that there needed someone to deal stroke-and- 
 stroke about with his father, something suddenly pricked 
 in his heart. He thought of James Douglas as he had 
 never done before. He muttered, " 'Fore God, am not I 
 also a McKim ! I will do my part ! " And with that he 
 rushed within, picked up a forehammer, and was at his 
 ancient task, as of yore in the unroofed smithy a little 
 lower down by the waterside of Carlinwark. 
 
 He it was of whom the Young Man in Black caught 
 a glimpse ere he returned from hearing the King order 
 his Provost Marshal to impress a respect for kingcraft 
 upon the insolent back of that " good soldier of my 
 Lord of Angus " — the which (the fellow being a Douglas 
 fighting against the head of his house) I trust the Pro- 
 vost Marshal achieved in due time and with a stout right 
 arm. 
 
 And long ere the morning light, Sholto .McKim, with
 
 MARGARET TAKES UP THE TALE 293 
 
 full information as to what the castle of Thrieve might 
 expect when the monster cannon was completed, lay 
 stretched out sound asleep beside his Maud. Yet when 
 she waked, with the thought of her ailing babes on her 
 mind, her husband said nothing to her of his night adven- 
 tures — nothing indeed to any of us. But from that time 
 forth, the strengthening of the dungeon place, called 
 Archibald the Grim, and the due provisioning of it with 
 light and food and air, were pushed forward with ten- 
 fold speed. 
 
 And though I was the first to know of Sholto's night 
 work, it was not till long afterwards that he told even 
 me anything. 
 
 Nevertheless, from the cessation of the customary 
 attacks upon the outworks of the Isle, from the drawing 
 away of men for purposes to us unseen, there fell an 
 uneasy consciousness upon Thrieve that something seri- 
 ous was impending. The men no longer sang behind 
 the fortifications, but conferred in whispers. And every 
 night you might see a group of them on the castle roof, 
 eagerly looking towards the red flicker in the sky which 
 told of some notable work to our disadvantage going 
 on behind the hill of Carlinwark. 
 
 We know now what that work was. It was the makings 
 of the carriage for the huge cannon, called afterward 
 Mons Meg's cradle, and the vast chariot whereon to drag 
 her to a hill just beyond the fords of Glenlochar — a round 
 hill called at that time the Byne of Camp Douglas because 
 the shape of it was like an upturned basin — but after- 
 wards, and to this day " Knockcannon," or the mount of 
 the cannon. 
 
 At last one day we heard a great shouting and affray 
 to the northward, and Sholto, looking forth, made out a 
 long procession keeping well in the rear of the line of 
 tents upon the Clairbrand heights. But they could by no 
 possibility keep themselves hidden at the Fords of Lochar. 
 For they were bound to cross that way, the water being^ 
 deep above, and the castle too near and dangerous below. 
 So that we on the topmost towers of Thrieve could see 
 plainly, as it were, all the King's horses and all the King's
 
 294 MAY MARGARET 
 
 men, convoying, with pain and travail, what seemed a 
 great long cask or barrel across the shallows of the Dee. 
 
 Then it was that Sholto spoke, but in few words. 
 
 " It behoves that we keep good watch," he said. " They 
 have made a great cannon at Carlinwark. I have seen it 
 with these eyes. It may well be that before it the walls 
 •of the castle will be as paper. But as yet no man knows 
 whether the shot will strike us, or whether the piece may 
 not burst at the first discharge. But be these things as 
 they may, I have caused made a place of refuge in the 
 dungeon, which no cannon shot, an it were three times as 
 huge, could possibly break into. Thither, my Lady Mar- 
 garet, you will retire with Maud and the babes when I 
 give the word. But there is yet enough of time. Much 
 remains for them to do, and of warning, ere the danger 
 arrives, there will be enough and to spare. They are now 
 on a hill, and cannot be hid." 
 
 " In any case I shall remain with you, Sholto ! " said 
 Maud Lindsay. 
 
 " You will obey your husband, wife ! " retorted Sholto 
 •without heat. 
 
 At which Maud heaved a sigh, for she knew that she 
 would indeed abide by the babes in obedience to her hus- 
 "band. He was, in any case, a difficult person to disobey, 
 this same Sir Sholto McKim.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ARCHIBALD THE GRIM 
 
 Nevertheless Sholto kept a diligent watch on those 
 things which needed to be done before the great cannon 
 could fire its first shot. There were no iron or leaden bul- 
 lets which would suffice to fill the maw of the ravening 
 monster. 
 
 But Sholto found out by methods of his own that the 
 quarrymen of the King were busy cutting balls ( ' stone 
 from the granite sides of the Bennan nigh to the dock of 
 Ken, rolling them to the foot and afterwards transporting 
 them by water to the hill called the Byne of Camp Doug- 
 las, where Mons Megs in her wooden jacket stood waiting 
 a favourable day for beginning the battering of the nine- 
 foot thick walls of Thrieve. 
 
 As for Earl James, he cared for none of these things. 
 Thrieve was intact. That was enough for im. Every 
 outwork and bastion stood as it had done at the beginning 
 of the seige. The King had gained no ground. The 
 winter was coming on fast. This talk of a great cannon 
 — pshaw ! Had he not seen a dozen such, and one 
 good lance-thrust or a well-swung battering-ram was 
 worth them all. To think that the strong walls of 
 Thrieve, three yards of stone and lime, could crumble 
 before a missile discharged from the Byne of Camp 
 Douglas ! — it was folly so crass that no man in his senses 
 could possibly consider it ! These, in brief, were the 
 opinions of the Earl James. 
 
 Nor did Sholto argue with his master. He let him go 
 where he listed, say and do the thing he desired. What 
 he himself occupied his time with appeared curious. 
 His absences were frequent, especially after the work- 
 men had finished the thickening of the dungeon. Still 
 in his countrymen's dress, he climbed the long wooded 
 slopes of the Bennan to be present at the shaping of the 
 
 295
 
 296 MAY MARGARET 
 
 vast granite balls for the giantess. He knew when the 
 powder waggons were to arrive from Edinburgh. On 
 the other hand, he had gone, taking counsel with none, 
 to Kirkcudbright and there arranged for a little coasting 
 vessel to wait in the Dutchman's Lake at a place where 
 embarkation would be easy " in case of need," as he 
 said to the Earl upon his return. 
 
 At one time it was his intention to take us all one 
 by one through the marshes and put us aboard that ship. 
 But two things stood in the way of this. 
 
 Maud would not consent to be separated from any 
 of the children, and the confinement to the castle dur- 
 ing the long hot summer, the great amount of water 
 stagnant in the ditches and defenses, as well as in the 
 marshes to the south, had produced in Ulric and Baby 
 David a sort of low lingering fever. 
 
 At this time Sholto could without much difficulty 
 have passed the Earl through, but a kind of blind de- 
 termination took hold of James — who, indeed, all 
 through his life had been resolute in the wrong places. 
 Flee to England he would not! In Thrieve he would 
 abide ! He had defied the King long. He would defy 
 him altogether. To die — well, he was not afraid of 
 death ! Death came to every man. So far his star had 
 not deserted him. So here he would abide and dree his 
 weird, and so long as there was a hoof of nowt behind 
 the Isle dyke or a flagon of Bordeaux in the castle cellar, 
 James Douglas would be noways unhappy. 
 
 So in Thrieve we remained, watching with strange 
 feelings the enemy's preparations for our destruction, 
 and above all, we gazed fascinated at that ominous shape, 
 like a hay-wain with a wine vat atop, pointing at us from 
 the Byne of Camp Douglas. 
 
 Yet the thing was so little and so far. It seemed 
 impossible, watching it in the still mornings from the 
 ramparts of Thrieve, that yonder black dot, almost in- 
 visible, that framework of iron small as a child's toy, 
 should be pointed at us for the purpose of bringing our 
 castle to the ground and death to all of us who were 
 there.
 
 ARCHiBALD THE GRIM 297 
 
 Nevertheless we waited with that curious chill stillness 
 of indifference with which men and women of our nation 
 face calamity which no care can evite. 
 
 It is as if they said, " Fate is upon us — who are we 
 that we complain, alter, or amend ? " 
 
 And such is mostly the spirit of the race of Galloway 
 — not very grateful for prosperity, taking- it as their right, 
 rather. Neither greatly cast down by adversity. It is 
 not their desert — still less their fault. Fate — Fate hath 
 decreed the issues of Good or 111. And so the true Pict 
 of Galloway sits him down and is silent, not much dis- 
 satisfied with the Powers Above — still less (be it said) 
 with himself. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The day in November when the great cannon was first 
 fired remains very clear in my memory. 
 
 Nor is it likely that the impression will ever fade. See, 
 I will try to call it up. It was what we call in Galloway 
 " a sheep-wintering day " — that is, the kind of day on 
 which the shepherds from the Merrick and the Rhinns 
 of Kells would bring down the feck of their flocks to 
 the lower pastures — leaving only old seasoned rams and 
 " snaw-breaking " ewes to withstand the rigours of the 
 hill storms. 
 
 To be more exact and explicatory to one who knows 
 not our climate, the day was clear, mildly frosty, with a 
 sun that looked down through a faint equal mist, gran- 
 ulated like grass long worn by the sea. There was a 
 nip in the air, not snell, but with a grim threat of on- 
 coming winter behind the pale sunshine of November. 
 
 About ten o' the clock we were all out on the balcony 
 which looks to the north. The river was very still and 
 flowed towards us without apparent motion. It did not 
 reflect — there was, indeed, nothing for it to reflect, save 
 that colourless canopy of haze. 
 
 Suddenly Sholto lifted his voice. 
 
 " All to shelter ! " he cried. And gathering up the 
 three younger children he carried them down into the 
 deeps of Archibald the Grim — the dungeon which he had 
 spent so much time in making cannon-proof for us.
 
 298 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Maud followed with the others, but I ling-ered a mo- 
 ment, curious. There was nothing to be seen upon the 
 Byne of Camp Douglas — at least no more than the 
 ordinary number of black dots, who were always bust- 
 ling about like ants in a disturbed nest. If anything, 
 these seemed to be at a somewhat greater distance than 
 was usual from the dark muzzle of Mons Meg. 
 
 As I stood gazing there came from beneath the voice 
 of Sholto McKim. 
 
 " My Lady Margaret, your place is waiting, and I am 
 waiting ! Come ! " 
 
 " One moment only ! " I cried, anxious to see. 
 
 " Not one ! " he answered. " I command at Thrieve 
 and I am responsible for your safety. Come ! " 
 
 And I could not help smiling to myself, even at such 
 a moment. For well I knew that Sir Sholto was quite 
 capable, in the event of the least delay, of catching me 
 up like one of the bairns and shutting me in Archibald 
 the Grim with the low door locked behind me. 
 
 And, indeed, locked it was, and that upon the instant. 
 And what a strange feeling to be shut up from all hopes 
 of succour — there, in the deepest deeps of the castle. 
 But Sholto had been thoughtful for us, knowing that we 
 were but women, and of that curious tribe whose first 
 mother cost mankind Paradise. 
 
 Perhaps, on the other hand, he had made those slits 
 for light and air before he knew that the great piece 
 was to be dragged from Carlinwark to the hill north- 
 ward of Thrieve, called the Byne of Camp Douglas. 
 
 Be these "things as they may, it is certain that I had 
 no small pleasure and satisfaction in looking through 
 a little guarded arrow-slot in the direction of the fatal 
 hill. Behind me Maud was busied with the children, 
 disposing them upon the beds and benches which Sholto 
 had provided. A dim but sufficient glow from the nar- 
 row slots, mere lines of light penetrating from without, 
 filled the interior of Archibald the Grim. 
 
 From a wooden stage attached to the wall hung a 
 " cruisie " lamp, made of iron. The upper palm-shaped 
 hollow was filled with oil, and carried a floating wick
 
 ARCHIBALD THE GRIM 299 
 
 of teased linen. This, however, we were ordered not 
 to Hght without closing carefully all the apertures which 
 gave to the north. 
 
 I was instantly at the fortunate arrow-slot. It was 
 well-nigh on the level of the river, and over the low 
 rampart in front only the utmost top of the Byne of 
 Camp Douglas could be seen. The great black wine-tun 
 in her cradle had been pushed clear of the covering shed, 
 and behind and to either side there stood a compact 
 crowd of black dots — doubtless curious spectators come 
 out to see the proof of that which had been so long in the 
 making. 
 
 Somehow I had upon me a feeling that Laurence was 
 up there. As indeed he was, bringing all his mathematics 
 to bear on the problem of how to point and elevate the 
 mouth of the iron monster so that the shot might strike 
 the centre of the castle of Thrieve. 
 
 Meantime, on the battlements of the highest tower, 
 Sholto and James Douglas watched with interest and 
 without the least fear the trial which might bring them 
 death the next moment. For thus are some men made — 
 some, not all. 
 
 An instant more — and a puff of white smoke appeared 
 on the summit of the Byne, rapidly mounted and spread 
 outward in the shape of a cabbage, the top being blown 
 off into haze by the light wind. 
 
 Followed by an unutterable pause — of moments which 
 seemed years — aeons — eternities ! 
 
 Then — crash! The castle was shaken to its founda- 
 tions. The walls seemed to rock. We heard the thun- 
 der of a great explosion. Something high above us 
 seemed to rip like torn cloth, and in front of our little 
 arrow slit descended a rain of fragments of stone and 
 the dust of lime, blown fine and powdery. The curious 
 sulphury smell of a hammer stricken on blue whinstone 
 pervaded everything. 
 
 For a time it appeared to us as if the whole castle had 
 been destroyed. The keep itself seemed to have fallen 
 upon our heads, almost crushed the solid stone roofing 
 and tripled masonry of Archibald the Grim flat, like the
 
 30O MAY MARGARET 
 
 leaves of a book. Nevertheless Maud, quite unmoved, oc- 
 cupied herself in soothing little David. The twins, Cuth- 
 bert and Bride, scuffled for a place at the window, while, 
 holding each of his brothers by a leg, sturdy Ulric com- 
 plained even to tears between his tugs, " I wants to see — 
 I wants to see ! " 
 
 Then presently we heard the voice of James Douglas 
 without the dungeon. 
 
 " Goes all well within ? " he cried. 
 
 " All is well," answered Maud, starting quicklv. 
 "Where is Sholto?" 
 
 " He is safe and untouched," said the Earl, "but the 
 castle has been breached in the midst of the first story, 
 above your heads. Many have been hurt — some, I fear, 
 killed outright ! Sholto is caring for them. He bade 
 me come hither to ask after your welfare ! " 
 
 Then, I think, there was not one of us who did not 
 know that the end of the siege could not be far ofT. This 
 our castle impregnable had been breached with the very 
 first ball of Mons Meg — what might not the second do? 
 I looked forth at the hill and the little groups of moving 
 dots upon it. Would it come a second time? Where 
 would it strike! Whom would it slay? If the missile 
 broke a way .into the castle so easily through walls nine 
 feet thick — would even Grim Archibald be safe — that 
 mother — these little babes? 
 
 Even then, God be thanked ! I had the grace not to 
 think very much about myself. Indeed, wherefore should 
 I ? Life or death were but slight things to me, knowing 
 what I knew, having drunken deep of the bitter without 
 once fairly tasting the sweet. 
 
 But what was the strangest thing of all, there came no 
 second shot that day. The deadly black vat on wheels 
 was nowhere to be seen. All the men ran to and fro, 
 looking more like ants than ever, over the smooth grey- 
 green surface of the Byne — now and henceforth for 
 ever to be called only " Knockcannon," the hill of the 
 cannon. 
 
 What happened we knew not then. We heard after- 
 wards at length. The great iron murderer had rushed
 
 ARCHIBALD THE GRIM 301 
 
 backwards with the recoil of the shot, almost killing 
 Malise McKim, who had fired the piece after Laurence 
 had levelled the muzzle to direct a ball of granite, the 
 weight of a Carsphairn cow, upon Castle Thrieve. This 
 same Laurence, seeing his father's danger, pulled him 
 forcibly to the left. Whereupon Mons Meg charging 
 backward with the force of a peck of powder in her 
 belly, knocked a hole through the rear of her wooden 
 shed, and, before any could stop her, had run down the 
 gently sloping sides of the Byne, overturning in the 
 marsh at the bottom — without, however, doing herself 
 any considerable harm. 
 
 But it was obvious to the McKims, and especially to 
 Laurence, the engineer of the family, that a strong 
 backing of wood and earth must be built immediately 
 upon the summit of the Byne, compacted with pales, in 
 order to prevent a repetition of this performance after 
 each shot. 
 
 So for several days we in Thrieve had rest; but all 
 felt it was only the reprieve of the condemned criminal 
 before execution. No power on earth could save us 
 when once they gat the gun into position again. So 
 Sholto, after all the wounded men had been removed 
 and the dead buried at the farther end of the isle, per- 
 mitted us to come forth once more to breathe the air. 
 
 It was a strange and memorable spectacle that awaited 
 us when we mounted to the great hall of Thrieve, com- 
 monly so grave and peaceful, with its black oak furnish- 
 ings and ancient tapestries. The window which had 
 given upon the tranquil river, and through which I 
 had looked so often, was now a huge, yawning gap, 
 irregularly toothed, some of the blocks above hanging 
 only by the strength of the shell lime in which they had 
 been imbedded, and threatened every moment to descend 
 into the gulf beneath. After effecting this havoc the 
 great ball of Bennan granite had passed through a 
 group of soldiers of the guard, who had been peering 
 from the window, scattering and slaying on its way ; 
 then it had broken through the arched and solid ma- 
 sonry upon which the hall was built, and plumped into
 
 302 MAY MARGARET 
 
 the salle de garde beneath, where again many more had 
 been slain. 
 
 With sorrowful hearts we walked outside on the green 
 sward, Maud, with the children about her, looking 
 across at the fatal Cannon Hill, now bare and deserted, 
 all the King's folk, doubtless, having descended into the 
 marshes at the opposite foot of the incline to watch the 
 raising of the monster from her soft bed, and the efforts 
 of a hundred horses to place her again in position in her 
 iron cradle. 
 
 But what did we see? Instead of the noble wall of 
 Thrieve, rising with its narrow but well-moulded win- 
 dows, straight as a cliff to the giddy battlements, a hun- 
 dred feet above, lo ! a great black gash, ragged and 
 unseemly, with gillyflowers and small scaly-leaved ferns 
 clinging droopingly to the edges of the ruin. 
 
 And from the hill, whence our fate had descended 
 upon us, there came the sound of a wild crying, which 
 sounded very forlorn and desolate — though likely no 
 more than the voices of the waggoners and engineers 
 of the King urging their horses to the task of rescuing 
 the iron murderer from the suction of the bog. 
 
 To us, thus walking, approached James Douglas, 
 courteous and easy in his demeanour as ever. 
 
 " This is no place for women and children," he said, 
 holding his steel cap in his hand. " I would that I had 
 you all in a place of safety — in some nunnery or holy 
 house, afar from the storms of war ! " 
 
 " Trouble not yourself, my lord — we need it not," 
 said Maud ; " for me, I am happy to abide by my husband 
 and my children ! " 
 
 Which was of the nature of an hard saying for me 
 and perhaps for the Earl also. 
 
 At any rate James Douglas looked at her long and 
 earnestly. 
 
 " It is my duty to remain by the castle so long as one 
 stone stands in its place," he said. " Then — the race of 
 the Douglases of the Black shall have an end ! " 
 
 To all this I answered naught nor opened my lips. 
 For in my heart I knew that, with a certain nameless
 
 ARCHIBALD THE GRIM 303 
 
 little grave in the kirk acre of Balmaghie, a tomb which 
 carried no inscription or brass monumental — there had, 
 some time before, come to an end the ancient race of the 
 Douglases of Douglas, of Avondale, and of Galloway — a 
 fair sweet end to a race so well called Black. 
 
 Furthermore I trusted not at all in the great swelling 
 words of James, Earl of Douglas, who had. been my 
 husband. 
 
 For I knew him.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 IN THE FRONT OF WAR 
 
 Then came the day, memorable and terrible beyond 
 words, the day of the final breaching. It was on a 
 Wednesday that the great gun was first fired. It took 
 Laurence McKim and his father, together with such 
 as they could use of the King's folk, till Saturday late in 
 the gloaming before they were able to make good the 
 damage, and build such a solid butt of earth backed 
 with stones as would stay the rearward rush of Mons 
 Meg after she had delivered her second message. 
 
 But at ten of the clock the next morning, just when the 
 Sabbath bells were beginning to ring in a hundred parish 
 kirks throughout the land, Sholto, who was on the 
 watch, warned us all below. The monster had not yet 
 said her last word. There was more and worse to fol- 
 low. Again the puff of white reek, lazily disengaging 
 itself from the summit of Knockcannon — again the 
 dreadful pause, the rending crash, the castle rocking to 
 its foundations! 
 
 This time the ball from the great cannon had struck 
 the wall of the outer works to the west, toppling over 
 one of the strong corner towers — which, however, thanks 
 to the marvellous mixture of shell lime that held the 
 stones together, fell outwards in one piece as if hewn 
 from the solid rock. 
 
 The third ball struck the castle a little lower than the 
 first (that of Wednesday), and succeeded in so enlarging 
 the breach that it became, even to the eyes of Sholto, 
 quite practicable for escalade. The fourth, passing 
 directly through the chasm already made, rattled from 
 side to side of the salle de garde like a cube in a dice- 
 box, killing and wounding more than thirty men of the 
 
 304
 
 IN THE FRONT OF WAR 305 
 
 guard of Thrieve. This, with the fall of the flanking 
 tower, caused a sort of panic among the younger and 
 less experienced of the garrison. There seemed no 
 hope that any within the walls could escape. Several, 
 in Sholto's absence, ran for the fords to the south, only 
 to fall in mid-stream under the sure and deadly fire of 
 the King's archers and arbalast men, who were posted 
 among the bushes on the slope above. 
 
 The fifth missile from the Byne, equally well directed, 
 struck low on the wall of the keep, immediately above the 
 arrow slot which looked to the north out of our prison 
 house. The fine sulphury dust well-nigh suffocated us 
 who abode and waited in the entrails of Archibald the 
 Grim. 
 
 Strangely enough, though the north-looking slot was 
 now wholly closed by a mass of fallen masonry, we had 
 still plenty of air, though very much less light. Other 
 slits opened into the inner passages of the castle, which 
 as yet had not been obstructed. 
 
 Also, and a marvel, the children were not very greatly 
 frightened. To them it was like a thunderstorm with- 
 out the terror of the lightning. They cried out, indeed, 
 as the great balls struck the castle, but were comforted 
 by clinging to their mother's skirts. Marcelle sat silent 
 and apart, with pale set face, her hands working nervously 
 over her beads, and little David abode in the darkest 
 corner by himself, with his face in his hands, repeating 
 over and over that he was " a great boy, and thunder 
 did not make him afraid." This he did to set him- 
 self on a higher pedestal than Ulric, who undisguisedly 
 clasped his mother round the neck at each terrifying 
 crash and rocking of the keep. 
 
 Those who have only seen the castle afterwards, a 
 desolate and marvellous ruin, towering to the skies, with 
 its riven sides and crumbled battlements, yet for all that, 
 grimly erect in its majesty, can have no idea of the terror 
 of these hours when the whole building seemed ready 
 to dissolve into a heap of stones, not one remaining upon 
 another — as, indeed, Malise McKim had prophesied 
 would be the case.
 
 3o6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 In Archibald the Grim we women and bairn-folk were 
 shut in. For the space of twenty-four hours we knew 
 not what was happening above — whether those we loved 
 were dead or wounded, or locked together in deadliest 
 combat. 
 
 Yet, it might be said, there could be no great anxiety 
 in my heart. For none loved me greatly — save Sholto 
 and Maud, who (as right was) both loved each other 
 more and otherwise. But it was not so. James 
 Douglas was the head of the race. He was the father 
 of the babe William, who rested under the Star in the 
 kirkyard at Balmaghie. He, and he alone, had lain in 
 my bosom. Together we had read all I knew of the 
 book of life. And though that was at an end, such is 
 the miracle of woman's heart, that all was not as if it 
 had never been. I did not wish James Douglas to die. 
 I would rather have died myself — that is, if the choice 
 had been given me. 
 
 I was glad, that, in this thing at least, he was no 
 craven. I knew he would be brave, and the thought 
 that he was leading on the Douglases to the fight, hold- 
 ing the deadly breach, cheered (I admit it) these dark 
 hours. 
 
 In Archibald the Grim we had, at least, plenty of food 
 and water, and could we have but known what was 
 happening above, I do not think we would have been much 
 afraid or ill-content. But the awful " do-nothingness." 
 which at such times is the lot of women, preyed upon our 
 spirits. We could not get out. The door of the dun- 
 geon was locked on the outside, and much sand and earth 
 piled against it to lessen the danger of any rebound of 
 the giant missiles. Sholto had seen to that in the midst 
 of all his troubles. Indeed it was part of his strength 
 that he always thought first of the weak things — the 
 chief part of his greatness also, mayhap. 
 
 But there came upon Maud Lindsay and myself — 
 penned there, prison-bound, the fierce desire to be men — 
 to be above, combating the enemy, doing as they did, 
 sharing their perils — if need be, dying their death. 
 
 But this, we well knew, was vain. In Archibald the
 
 IN THE FRONT OF WAR 307 
 
 Grim the night abode unbroken with us, while these last 
 throws of the dice were being- cast in the breaches above. 
 
 This it was that was happening there. 
 
 Simultaneously with the striking of the third bolt upon 
 the castle — that which enlarged the breach, a strong 
 force of the Angus Douglases, together with certain 
 renegade Hamiltons from the West Country, assaulted 
 the works by the ford, where, however (for the instant), 
 the few guardsmen held their own. But the fall of the 
 great flanking tower shook the nerve of our defenders. 
 And those, especially, who, much against the will of 
 Sholto, had been enlisted from Douglasdale and the 
 Upper Ward, finding their own ancient friends and com- 
 rades in front of them, hoisted the white flag of sur- 
 render. Also a strong storming party crossed the ford 
 and pressed towards the breach which had been made on 
 the northern face of the castle. Their advance ought 
 to have been galled by the bolts and shafts of our men 
 from the ramparts. But such was the terror inspired 
 by the new mode of warfare, that had fire descended 
 from heaven and the levin-bolts stricken Thrieve Castle 
 to the ground, the men of the guard could not have been 
 in a greater amaze. 
 
 Let it be remembered that in all the land of the Scots 
 no cannon had ever before been seen which a couple of 
 men could not carry easily upon their shoulders. And 
 now it was with difficulty that the granite balls shot 
 from the huge maw of Mons Meg could be carried on 
 a mason's barrow by two men holding the trams. 
 
 There was, therefore, this excuse for the men of the 
 Douglas Guard — they would have died like men under a 
 shower of English clothyard shafts, or encountered 
 steadily with levelled spear the charge of knights steel- 
 clad. But this death, inevitable, coming from far, scat- 
 tering in its progress not only the bodies of men, but 
 the very defences of solid stone and lime which ages had 
 counted impregnable — no, I blame them not greatly! 
 
 Yet there were some who stood firm — some, but very 
 few. One hand will count them all. 
 
 The Lord James and Sholto were in the breach of the
 
 3o8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 outerworks — the high gate of Thrieve still closed be- 
 hind them, and the yawning chasm in the northward 
 face looking down upon them with the ghastly gaze of 
 a skeleton orbit. 
 
 " Go, my Lord," said Sholto, in a low voice, " the 
 charger waits. One of these lads will take him across 
 the water. The other will protect you while you swim 
 after. I will hold the enemy in play in this place long 
 enough to give you a chance. Cross the Dee at the deep- 
 est part, plunging in where the water touches the castle 
 wall. Andro the Penman will meet you on the bank 
 with the horse, John here will cover your retreat with 
 his cross-bow. With my axe in my hand I can promise 
 you that they shall not take you in the rear through 
 yonder gap in the hall of the guard — till, at least, you 
 set foot on Balmaghie grass." 
 
 This Sholto said, knowing that within a few feet of 
 him his wife and his five children were imprisoned. But 
 such was his duty. He was the Captain of Thrieve, 
 and, whoever escaped, he must bide at his post. For 
 this man, whom he was aiding to escape, was, notwith- 
 standing all, the chief, the Douglas — and in his single 
 person, the last Douglas of the Black. 
 
 From beneath, unseen, there was the crying of men 
 about to be slain and of men in the act of slaying. 
 Equally without haste or a moment's hesitation Sholto 
 took his dispositions. He had laid aside his sword of 
 set purpose, and, standing clear of the wall, prepared to 
 fight his last fight, axe in hand. It was a weapon which 
 he had made wholly himself — double-faced, the weight 
 perfectly balanced, the handle of stout ash, well sea- 
 soned, not quite straight, but with a certain backward 
 twist in it near the head which, as Sholto fancied, suited 
 his hand. It was a terrible weapon in the hand of a 
 master of it, and fitted for the roughest battle-play, 
 Sholto had made it neither too sharp nor yet too highly 
 tempered, judging that the weight of the stroke would 
 do the work. Indeed, well-nigh he had quarrelled with 
 his father upon the subject. For the old man had fixed 
 ideas upon tempering and the art of weapon-making.
 
 IN THE FRONT OF WAR 309 
 
 He had, however, very soon a chance of testing practi- 
 cally the theories of his eldest son. 
 
 Now, James Douglas, seeing that all was lost, proved 
 not difficult to persuade. He must, he said, trust to a 
 good horse and the ship waiting in the Dutchman's 
 Lake at Kirkcudbright to carry Douglas and his for- 
 tunes, for a time at least, to another country. 
 
 " After all," he added, " I am the only one who, in the 
 event (which seems certain) of the castle surrendering, 
 would of a surety be executed. James Stewart simply 
 could not spare a third Earl of Douglas after slaying 
 two already ! As for you, Sholto McKim, they will 
 give you quarter for the asking, and the women and 
 bairns are as safe in Grim Archibald as in their own 
 beds ! " 
 
 " So?" said Sholto quietly. "At any rate it is time to 
 be going! These Penman lads will put you safely 
 through the deeps of the Dee. The horse is ready at 
 the water port. Trust me — I will keep your rear-guard 
 until such time as I see you set spurs in your beast on 
 the other side of the Pool of Thrieve." 
 
 " I go," said James Douglas, " but only under protest 
 — since you judge it for the best! And I pray you bid 
 farewell to " 
 
 " I will," said Sholto. " Go quickly ! " 
 
 And James Douglas departed thus — even thus — slip- 
 ping out by a secret passage from his own ancient castle 
 of Thrieve, never to enter it again. 
 
 The same white charger which had brought him so 
 gloriously home from Arkinholm was already gingerly 
 pacing down the steps which led to the great western Pool 
 of Thrieve — one of the deepest in the whole course of the 
 Dee. Sholto had rightly judged. So strong was the 
 enemy's belief that on that side no one could possibly 
 escape from the Castle, that no notice was taken of the 
 attempt till Andro the Penman and his charge were 
 nearly across, with James Douglas swimming less 
 strongly behind — for he was of Avondale, and little 
 accustomed to squattering out and in of the water all 
 day long like the lads of Thrieve.
 
 310 MAY MARGARET 
 
 But ere they could land a few archers ran by the fallen 
 tower which flanks the water, clambering over the debris 
 to shoot at the fugitives. 
 
 "Tzvang!" went the crossbow of John the Penman 
 from the water-port. 
 
 " Good lad ! " quoth Sholto under his breath, " now 
 you are at a better job than sitting upon the bald rump 
 of Douglas the Black in the midst of the shallows of 
 Glenlochar while the kirk folk pass laughing by." 
 
 "Twang!" Again Jack the Penman loosed his bow. 
 And another Angus archer fell. Down went another, 
 a lank, lean, flea-bitten man from the salt-marshes of 
 Solway. 
 
 But at that moment, breaking in dense clusters through 
 the fords, overleaping the first wall of defence came the 
 rush of the besiegers, solid and determined. Sholto 
 stepped a yard to his own front, turned the axe in his 
 fingers, hefted it till the grip suited his hand, swung it 
 once so as to be sure of clearing everything. And was 
 ready.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 SHOLTO STANDS IN THE BREACH 
 
 Sholto stood in the breach, waiting. Never soldier 
 about to die looked his enemy more steadily in the 
 face. I think, if my babe had lived, he would have been 
 a soldier like Sholto, a man like him. I could not wish 
 a better wish for him. May the sons of all good mothers 
 be even as Sholto McKim — is the prayer of a sonless 
 woman. 
 
 Behind him the castle towered up grey and massy, the 
 vast rent in its northerly side, for which the stormers 
 were striving, making a black irregular patch on the 
 cliff of stone and lime. That, at all hazards, he must 
 defend. Once entered there, not only would the whole 
 castle lie void of defence, but from the water gate and 
 the balcony the King's men could shoot at their ease the 
 swimmers across the Pool of Thrieve. 
 
 In the first rush of the stormers were Hugh Morton 
 and Laurence. 
 
 " Stand back there ! " cried Sholto. " I desire not your 
 blood, brother ! " 
 
 Gripping with both hands, Sholto swung his axe 
 once — and Hugh Morton, smitten through the guard, 
 fell with a cry to the ground. The ashen shaft had 
 been cunningly strengthened with iron at the end near- 
 est the axe-head. It could not be cut with a sword. 
 
 " Hold, brother ! " answered Laurence, " I also have 
 no quarrel with you. Let James Douglas come forth! 
 He hides behind you! For this I laid aside my robe of 
 abbot — to cross swords with him." 
 
 For as yet none of the assailants knew the attempt 
 that was being made to afford the chief of the house 
 of Douglas a last chance of escape. 
 
 311
 
 312 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " I am here in this place to do my duty against you 
 or any man ! " quoth Sholto, balancing his axe with 
 loving particularity. 
 
 And for a long minute none dared to try that path 
 perilous across the breach. But there was one behind, 
 somewhat less active than the youths who led the first 
 rush of stormers, who yet toiled manfully behind. 
 Malise McKim it was who came across the grass, his 
 great two-handed sword naked in his hand. He paused 
 a moment, looming up vast and weighty by comparison 
 with his son, as Mons Meg herself set on end beside a 
 pennon-lance at a tent door. 
 
 Father and son stood face to face. A certain hesi- 
 tation, not unnatural, manifested itself among the assail- 
 ants. Laurence had no wish to slay his brother, nor 
 yet to be slain by him in such a quarrel. Though the 
 fall of young Hugh Morton had stayed the first rush of 
 the stormers, yet, as Laurence well knew, the end was 
 certain. But Malise had other thoughts in his mind. 
 There was no halt or compromise in that sombre red 
 eye. 
 
 "Sholto," he cried, "stand aside! Or, by St. Bride. 
 I will e'en slay thee with my hand — first-born son of 
 my body though you be ! " 
 
 " Slay ! " said Sholto. " This is my place. I will stand 
 here till I die — or till that is accomplished which I fight 
 for!" 
 
 " You fight, then, to let James Douglas, the traitor, 
 the enemy of your own house, escape ! " 
 
 " Even so ! " said Sholto calmly. 
 
 Then Malise McKim, the madness rising suddenly 
 in his eyes, raised his two-handed sword over his shoul- 
 ders and smote. Lightly Sholto stepped aside. The 
 swing of the blade, taking the edge of the breach, cut 
 through part of the sea-shell plaster, and jarred with 
 terrific force against the freestone of a lintel. The 
 shock brought the Armourer to his knees, and in that 
 moment, if so he had chosen, Sholto might easily have 
 slain his father. 
 
 But, stepping quietly back, Sholto permitted the
 
 SHOLTO STANDS IN THE BREACH 313 
 
 smith to arise, contenting himself with swinging his 
 axe and measuring once again the length and freedom 
 of his stroke. Whereat, seeing him as they thought 
 embarrassed, a pair of Lothian men, Crichton of Bruns- 
 ton and Mickle Rob of the Nine Mile Stane sprang for- 
 ward together. But the axe of the Captain of the 
 Guard had two faces, and with them Sholto struck this 
 way and that with the swiftness of lightning. Shoulder 
 to the right and face to the left, bore witness to the 
 virtue which abode in the cunning bend of that ash 
 shaft a foot from the axe-head which, together with 
 Sholto's wrist action, doubled the spring of the stroke. 
 
 Of the two, Brunston proved the luckier, and Mickle 
 Rob went visage-marred for the rest of his life. 
 
 Meanwhile Malise had recovered himself, and strangely, 
 he was angry with his son — indeed, far more angry than 
 before. 
 
 " Sholto McKim," he cried, " deliver to me that man 
 — James Douglas ! Or else I will make a road to him 
 over your dead body and cloven skull. That you are 
 my son matters nothing. That you keep me from my 
 revenge, matters all ! " 
 
 He advanced upon Sholto again with the dull fury in 
 his eyes kindling red like a smithy fire when the bellows 
 are plied, 
 
 " Stand forth like a man and fight ! " he cried. " No 
 dancing-master tricks will serve you a second time ! " 
 
 " Father," said the young man, " slay me if you can. 
 I will strike you no stroke. But I have my duty to do, 
 I fight to foil, but not to wound — not to kill. You are 
 my father ! " 
 
 " You speak as you fight, to waste time. Let me 
 pass — yea or nay ? " 
 
 " Nay, then, my father ! " said Sholto. 
 
 Whereupon half a dozen of the King's men, impatient 
 at the delay, were about to rush the breach, 
 
 "He cannot slay us all — at him, I say! Fall on!" 
 cried Angus Douglas, eager to be done with the fray. 
 
 " Leave this young man to me," shouted Malise. " I 
 who have given him life, will reive the life from him.
 
 314 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I will render him the death of a traitor to his own house 
 — of one who hath shamed his sister, the daughter of his 
 mother ! " 
 
 Against his father. Sholto could only oppose his youth- 
 ful litheness and such defence as he was able to make, 
 using his Lochaber axe as a shield. 
 
 The Armourer's blow descended a second time — 
 furious, annihilating, even had it been sustained by an 
 armoured man. But Sholto, gliding forward, let it fall 
 on his axe-head between the falcon-spur and the blade. 
 The first it shore completely away, but the young man 
 dexterously lowering his weapon, so directed the stroke 
 that the blade of the two-handed sword glided along the 
 steel strengthening of the shaft, and finally struck harm- 
 lessly, scoring the ground at his father's feet. 
 
 Then arose a great crying and running about the de- 
 fences of the castle. Some mounted on the fallen tower 
 and began shooting arrows into the Pool of Dee. The 
 fugitives had been discovered. But by this time, owing to 
 Sholto's stubborn defence, the distance was too great 
 from any part of the castle accessible to the archers. Had 
 these been able to mount the battlements of the castle, or 
 above all to penetrate to the water-gate from which Andro 
 the Penman and James Douglas had gone forth, they 
 might have marked the swimmers down at their leisure. 
 Even as it was, the young Captain of the Guard of 
 Thrieve had several anxious moments. 
 
 But Sholto's defence had been sufiicient. The fore- 
 feet of the white charger were already on the turf of the 
 Balmaghie shore. The light saddle, which Andro the 
 Penman, swimming strongly, had carried across on 
 his head was in its place, and all scathless, James 
 Douglas was galloping southward through the thick 
 woods, by paths which he knew perfectly, ere a final 
 rush of stormers, directed in a fierce stream through the 
 breach, carried Sholto off his feet. His father's sword 
 descended on his head as he fell. He was dashed this 
 way and that, even carried into the interior of the castle 
 by that turbulent overwhelming tide of men. 
 
 Unconscious as if in sleep the waters closed over the
 
 SHOLTO STANDS IN THE BREACH 315 
 
 Captain of Thrieve. The strong castle which he had 
 held, as it had been with his sole arm, passed for ever 
 out of the hands of its ancient possessors. But there 
 was a man, black with the grime of Mons Meg, a man 
 with nothing of the King about him save a red scar on 
 his face who stood over him crying aloud, " Save the 
 young man ! Lay him in a safe place ! Do not trample 
 on one so brave. The time is at hand when I shall 
 have need of such ! " 
 
 And it was indeed the King. For once the last and 
 best friend of the fallen house owed his safety to their 
 worst enemy. 
 
 On the strand of the Pool of Thrieve, vainly cursing, 
 imprecating, foaming at the mouth with baffled fury, 
 Malise the Smith stood watching James Douglas — the 
 man for whom so many had flung away their lives, ride 
 comfortably into the deep, green solitudes of the Bal- 
 maghie woods. Ah, if he could only have gotten once 
 within arm's length of his unconscious son — at that 
 moment, Sholto McKim would soon have paid the penalty 
 from which he had saved the enemy of his house. 
 
 It is the testimony of all that Malise McKim was 
 never the same man after this terrible disappointment. 
 * He had been balked of his vengeance, when it seemed 
 within his grasp, and from that time forth a film of the 
 red stood between eye and brain. From that mo- 
 ment reason and memory abode but occasionally with 
 him. 
 
 " Mons Meg ! Mons Meg ! " he would cry, striking 
 his clenched hand on the table till the whole house rang 
 again. " What is this prate of Mons Meg ? What 
 hath she done? Sandy Weir the Dumfries cooper had 
 done as muckle with a wine-vat laid on its side ! Dung 
 down Thrieve — you say, given victory to the King? 
 Bah! what of that? A puff-ball that cracks under one's 
 foot on the green! Doth not James Douglas live? And 
 was he not saved by the sword of my son? Answer me 
 that ! " 
 
 But there was none that could make denial — nor indeed 
 dared.
 
 3i6 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Then," he would cry, having put all to silence, " let 
 me hear no more prating of Mons Meg ! " 
 
 And had the King not prevented, the fit being on him, 
 he vi^ould have taken a forehammer and destroyed the 
 great cannon with his own hand.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 IN THE NIGHT SEASON ONE COMETH UP 
 
 As to US who were confined in Archibald the Grim, 
 these events passed Hterally over our heads, and left us 
 no whit the wiser. Indeed, till the door of our prison- 
 house was opened we knew nothing certainly, and he 
 who brought us forth was the same Young Man in 
 Black, sometime Abbot of Sweetheart, Laurence McKim. 
 
 And through all the sad destruction which the bom- 
 bardment had wrought upon Thrieve — the down-tram- 
 pled southerly garden which had once been for a joy to 
 me, my solace in many lonely years, the misty glory of a 
 too brief dream, I could not help rejoicing that it was 
 finished — this life I had not chosen to live, but which 
 had been thrust upon me from my birth. I do not say that 
 afterwards it had not seemed natural. The love of 
 Maud and the devotion of Sholto had made it even 
 simple and tolerable. Yet even now, when I am old and 
 have known many women, I judge there are but few 
 such upon the earth who in their youth have had an 
 experience stranger than mine. 
 
 There is this to be added — I knew no other. For the 
 loves of Maud and Sholto seemed to me even as those 
 of a father and mother to the children of a house — 
 something in the nature of things, inevitable, existing 
 from the beginning, continuing unto the end. 
 
 But for myself I expected no such love to come into 
 ■my life. Was I not Princess of Galloway — Countess of 
 Douglas, what you will ! To the end I was fated to be 
 a tennis ball that flies this way and that between the 
 players. So, being born to a principality desired of 
 men, it seemed natural to me. 
 
 So that being done with, I was glad to be quit of 
 Thrieve — of the hideous confinement in the dungeon of 
 Archibald the Grim, of the biind waiting, of the thunder 
 
 317
 
 3i8 MAY MARGARET 
 
 of the rending shock, and the terror of great darkness. 
 But it seemed still better to me (whatever might here- 
 after befall me) that I should never more see the face of 
 James Douglas — never hear his voice, so smooth, so in- 
 sinuating when he would — at other times with the rasp 
 of command in it ! Therefore, because I desired to for- 
 get, said Maud Lindsay, it is certain that I never truly 
 loved him. 
 
 At any rate, it was done with, princessdoms and splen- 
 did prison houses. And James Douglas, too, was done 
 with. From the time he set foot on the little English 
 ship in the Dutchman's Lake at Kirkcudbright, I knew 
 that I should see my husband's face no more. It was 
 not his way, with all his faults, to return to take a second 
 place where once he had reigned supreme. 
 
 Then it was that, leaving Sholto to recover from his 
 wounds under the care of Maud, in an untouched south- 
 erly corner of ruined Thrieve (a guard of King's men 
 being also in possession to see all safe in the interests 
 of James Stewart), I was taken northward with the 
 royal army. 
 
 Laurence McKim, to whom the King, in fulfilment of 
 his promise, had accorded his own name, together with 
 the forfeited estates of Balveny, which had belonged to 
 that Little John, who died so well at Arkinholm, wished 
 to send me for shelter to the good sisters of the Sweet- 
 heart. But of this the King, who had his own purposes 
 to serve and his own interests to consolidate, would hear 
 nothing. " A Countess of Douglas within the bounds of 
 Galloway might," he said, " easily become a standard of 
 revolt." 
 
 In vain I besought James Stewart, even on my knees, 
 to permit me to abide in some place where I should hear 
 no more the storms of war, nor know the ill hearts of 
 men. 
 
 " Let me be always with Maud and Sholto," I said. 
 " I will be a serving-maid to their bairns, if you will. 
 But as you love God, let me no more be tossed about, a 
 cork on the waves of man's ambition ! I have suffered 
 enough. Now let me have peace ! "
 
 ONE COMETH UP 319 
 
 " They tell me," he answered not unkindly, " that you 
 had over long time peace, and thought no great things 
 thereof. Yet it may be that they lie ! " 
 
 " They do lie and in their throats ! " I cried. " Only let 
 me abide in peace with those who do love me, and I shall 
 ask no more. At least / have never conspired against 
 you ! " 
 
 He shook his head not ill-naturedly, 
 
 " Of that I am none so sure, little lady," he answered. 
 " You are a Douglas, every inch of you, and it were ill 
 for a Stewart to trust to one of that breed. Mayhap, 
 however, a tacked-on Stewart may have better fortune 
 with you than one true born ! " 
 
 What he meant I had no notion of then, nor yet for 
 long afterwards. So in spite of my prayers, they 
 brought me by slow stages to Stirling, that fatal town. 
 At every burgh the triumph of the royal arms was re- 
 ceived with shoutings and processioning, with lurid 
 torches flaring in the darkness by night, and parti- 
 coloured flannel petticoats strung across the miry road- 
 way by day. 
 
 I even recognised some of the latter. James and I 
 had laughed at them, sitting together, hand in each 
 other's hand, those times when, with a great retinue, he 
 and I had made our well-nigh progresses. It was all 
 the same. Those who had shouted for the great Earl 
 of the South in his day, now shouted just as loud for 
 the King of the North. And the goodwives were as 
 ready to hang out their gay kerchiefs and wilicoats 
 for one as for the other. For which small blame to 
 them. 
 
 Little difference they kenned 'twixt earl and king. 
 Both alike claimed lodging for their men. Neither 
 paid a groat for bed or board. And if the honest 
 burghers gat off with that, they might count themselves 
 lucky. For soldiers are soldiers all the world over, 
 wherever there is a pike to carry or a town to sack, and 
 the fear of the King, and still more of Malise McKim's 
 red eye, had held them somewhat severely in check at 
 Thrieve. Moreover, there was not a silver pound of
 
 320 MAY MARGARET 
 
 treasure in the Castle, nor, saving Maud and myself, a 
 woman within the four walls, both which lackings must 
 notoriously have galled these honest fellows. 
 
 Laurence would have been glad to abide with his 
 brother Sholto, but this also the King had no mind 
 for. 
 
 His mind was all set on the making of great and even 
 greater guns, of the sort which in such brief space had 
 brought Thrieve to the ground. He dreamed of the 
 conquest of England, of the battering down of all the 
 border fortresses as far as York, of humbling the King 
 of England as he had already done my Lord of Douglas. 
 " If the Earl has escaped," he said, " why, so much the 
 better; he will carry the news of Mollance Meg and her 
 works ! " 
 
 And for this he saw in Laurence the brain and skill 
 of plan, in Malise and the other McKims the instruments 
 ready to his hand. 
 
 But it came to pass that, though the malady of the 
 Armourer Smith grew rapidly upon him, the King 
 would by no means permit either Malise or any of his 
 family to leave his company, but carried him and his 
 great cannon, with shoutings and honour, through the 
 towns of Dumfries, Lanark, and, lastly, Renfrew, to- 
 gether with its pendicle, the little insignificant village of 
 Glasgow, seated on a knoll, all broom and gorse, above 
 a fine, clear river, the which possesses a kirk of a size 
 most disproportioned to the needs of the mean fisher-folk 
 who dwell there. 
 
 So when we came to Stirling, and saw the castle and 
 palace, magnificent upon their ridge, right royal and 
 comely we found them after the raft of pig-styes we 
 had passed through of late. For Thrieve, surrounded 
 with a river which cleansed all things and said no word, 
 had given me a distaste for the rubbish heaps and cab- 
 bage leaves of the Scots burghs, with their other dis- 
 convenances yet more grievous, such as only a new flood 
 of Noe would be able thoroughly to sweep away. 
 
 So, as I say, we came to Stirling. And yet my head 
 being no little mazed, it came about I scarce knew it
 
 ONE COMETH UP 321 
 
 for the royal town. Sometimes I seemed to be in Edin- 
 burgh, and more often at Amboise — sometimes in a 
 mere city of faerie. For, with the long final stage and 
 the chill (it was a winter's day, grey and hard), and the 
 King being determined to sleep at home that night, 
 come what would, I was wearied far past my ordinary, 
 and fain to rest, had it been in no better than a hay- 
 loft. 
 
 So we rode within the court of the palace by eight of 
 the clock, and, messengers having been sent on before, 
 there was a great banquet ready in the hall. But as for 
 me, though the King came in person to invite me, and 
 showed himself most desirous to forget the past, I 
 pleaded that I was wearied out of all bearing, and so gat 
 leave to betake me at once to my chamber, which was 
 on the ground floor, and opened on a court. 
 
 For, indeed, the heart was sick within me with yearn- 
 ing for Maud to comfort me, and with all that had passed 
 during these terrible last days. So, having partaken of 
 no sustenance, though Laurence knocked repeatedly 
 with certain dainties for the sustaining of my strength 
 and the tempting of my appetite, I would not open to 
 him ; the desire to eat was clean gone from me. So, 
 without even entering into parley, I threw me on the 
 bed and slept. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 I know not what hour of the night it might have been, 
 nor yet whether I slept or waked. But deep in the 
 heart of night, when even the soul of man turns to 
 water within him as when a spirit passes by, and that 
 of woman is afraid at the cheep of the mouse behind the 
 wainscot, I awaked or seemed to awake in my bed. 
 
 I had cast me down as I was, stretched out in my great 
 cloak of voyage ; and lo ! when I awoke, the candle I 
 had brought with me was burned down to a sort of 
 broad yellow flickering in the socket. Nevertheless, 
 the chamber being situate where it was, on the ground 
 floor, the room was indistinctly lit with the illuminated 
 torches of the masquers and mummers without who had 
 come to wait upon the King in the great courtyard,
 
 322 MAY MARGARET 
 
 while opposite my own lodging a cresset full of pine- 
 knots, well rosined^ burned in an iron basket. For 
 many such conveniences, which even at Thrieve were 
 never heard of, had been brought from France and 
 Italy to the new palace of the King. 
 
 The chamber, therefore, where I lay was by no means 
 dark. Or at least, so it seemed in my dream or vision 
 of the night (I take it not upon me to say which it was). 
 
 But at the foot of my bed, between me and the window, 
 plain as I see the paper I write upon, I saw William 
 Douglas, who had been my husband. Of that I would 
 take mine oath upon my dying bed. 
 
 He stood and looked down upon me — much as he used 
 to do, but as I thought, more tenderly — as it had 
 been, more like to Laurence. It was, however, difficult 
 to see his face, for his back was toward the lights 
 without. 
 
 Then (always in my dream of the night) he said to 
 me, " Margaret ! " 
 
 And when I could not move my tongue to answer — 
 not for fear, because it all appeared natural and naught 
 out of place or to be affrayed of — he said again and in 
 a more gentle tone, " Margaret ! " 
 
 At the same time he came close up to me, and placed 
 his hand upon my shoulder. 
 
 Whereat I rose up slowly, and not being yet rightly 
 awake, sat on the bedside and regarded him. He seemed 
 strangely kind. But still, being against my will compelled 
 to remain silent, I said nothing, sitting tongued-tied and 
 awkward before him. 
 
 Then he (or else that which stood there in his place, 
 being permitted) took me by the hand and said, " Rise, 
 Margaret, there is somewhat in the garden without, 
 which it behoves you to look upon ! " 
 
 So at these words I rose up and stood before him, and 
 the revellers tossing torches in the air without for the 
 first time caused the light to shine on his face. It was 
 gentle and grave as ever, but sweeter, and as if proven 
 by a lifetime of adversity. Ah, if only he had looked 
 at me like that in the woods of Cour Cheverney.
 
 ONE COMETH UP 323 
 
 Then came the word to me suddenly, I was not afraid, 
 then — no, nor yet at the ending of all. 
 
 " Are you indeed my husband whom the King slew 
 treacherously?" I asked of him. 
 
 He put out his hand — or the semblance of a hand, 
 still gently, and as it were with deprecation. 
 
 "It is past! Let it pass!" he said. "James the King 
 is king in this realm to-day — not the best sort of king — 
 but yet, perhaps, better for this folk than William of 
 Douglas would have been. Have no fear of James 
 Stewart, King of Scots ! " 
 
 " But he is a murderer ! " 
 
 " There are many ways of slaying — but one death ! " 
 said the figure which had come to me in my dream ; 
 " James Stewart is a rough, violent man, but not, in his 
 heart of hearts, evil. Let that which he hath done be 
 forgot ! " 
 
 " How can I know that you speak truth ? " I moaned. 
 " There are, say the priests, spirits evil and spirits good 
 — dreams that warn and instruct, and dreams that lead 
 only to destruction. How can I be sure?" 
 
 "By this sign," he said. "Bide a moment: wait for 
 the man that hath been your husband, and for the sign 
 he will bring in his arms." 
 
 And in a moment he was not. Yet there remained, 
 as it were, a kind of bluish haze, like moonshine striking 
 slantwise through a skylight, in the place where he had 
 stood, 
 
 I remained fixed in amazement. Yet it was of a chilly 
 sort, and wholly without fear. Rather a certain reverence 
 descended upon me, and I waited not unwillingly. And 
 in a little while, with a bright, shining light, he returned, 
 carrying a child in his arms. And, lo! I did not need 
 to be told. It was my babe, the babe who had been laid 
 in the holy ground in the kirk acre of Balmaghie, God and 
 the monks of Sweetheart giving him good rest! But 
 grown and glorified, and like the angels of heaven for 
 beauty ! 
 
 This time none spoke ; but the babe smiled upon me, and 
 held out its little arms.
 
 324 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Mine," I cried, and again " Mine ! " Then I started 
 forward to take him to my bosom. 
 
 At that, Hke the clapping of hands, all vanished, and 
 I was alone, save that I heard a Voice from High Above 
 (not that of William Douglas), which said, like a master 
 correcting a child's faulty lesson, ''Mine also!" 
 
 And this was the end of my dream. For when I came 
 to myself, lo, I was by the tall window ! The chamber 
 was empty, lit only by the uncertain flicker of the cresset 
 dying down on the opposite wall. I was broad awake. 
 Yet, if I had been asleep, I have no cognisance of how or 
 when I awaked. The dream and the reality seemed one. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Then it carne to me to do what He, my visitant, had 
 said — to go into the enclosure on which my window 
 opened. It was not the great wide court where the 
 guards tramp to and fro afl night, calling the hour and 
 clanking iron heels, but an inner court or garden — close 
 in the midst of the castle. 
 
 With difficulty I opened the window, which appeared 
 strangely glued and long disused. It was a tall window 
 like those I had been accustomed to in France. And 
 so with only two steps I found myself on the short grass, 
 grey and stiff with the November frost. Above, the trees 
 were black and bald against the sky, reaching out their 
 branches like withered hands, clutching whole clusters 
 of the stars. 
 
 On the hill of Ballingeich, near by, they had lighted a 
 bonfire in honour of the King's return. It had flamed, 
 mounted, lowered, and now, like the cresset, was burn- 
 ing red and low. But on the frosty grass of the little 
 court-yard it made a ruddy reflection which served some- 
 what to guide me. 
 
 I went out, scarce knowing what I did, save that I 
 had been called in a dream. The enclosure was but a 
 grass plot with ancient trees planted all about, mostly 
 close to the walls. But as I went across the short grass, 
 my foot caught on a mound, heaped like a grave, but 
 not new-made. For the grass grew thick upon it, though 
 not so spiky and strong as elsewhere.
 
 ONE COMETH UP 325 
 
 There was no stone at head or foot. But, as in the 
 dream, my heart knew all. Someone had scribbled on 
 the wall under the dying cresset these words : 
 
 " so PERISH ALLE TRAITOURS ! " 
 
 But there was for me no need for that assurance. The 
 man who was the truest of the true — so true that he 
 trusted his house's enemy against the warnings of his 
 own (and died for the mistake) — lay at my feet. 
 
 My husband, William of Douglas ! I knew him at 
 last! There was none like him — there could be none — 
 loyal, silent, faithful, always speaking good and always 
 fearless of evil. In this place he lay, treacherously slain 
 by the hand of his Sovereign, after the salt eaten, the 
 banquet spread, the loving hand about the neck, as is the 
 wont of brother with brother. 
 
 And it seemed to me, that if I could but have recalled 
 the past and the years that had overflown, I would never 
 any more have misjudged him, but understood and helped 
 him in his great aims. 
 
 That he had never loved me as it is the right of every 
 woman to be loved, being wedded, seemed to matter but 
 little now. I should have drawn him — so I told myself 
 — taken him, held him — given him, home-returning, the 
 comfort of mutual understanding, of love, touched him 
 to humaner purposes, to the issues which some name 
 passionate, but which also are divine. 
 
 Ah, but — I could not. It was too late. It was not so 
 written, and the High Wall of Destiny who shall over- 
 leap? 
 
 Yet the heart within me was wae to think what he, the 
 greatest of the race, had missed. William Douglas had 
 known the vast unsatisfied loneliness of inheriting a match- 
 less name. He had proved the still greater loneliness of 
 companying perforce with ignoble men. The jar and 
 fret of statecraft, the shaping of little means to great pur- 
 poses — the triumph, partly assured, yet more and better 
 seen in prospect — these and these alone, had been his, 
 before treachery, rank and foul, cut him off.
 
 326 MAY MARGARET 
 
 But these things which he had missed — the love of 
 woman — the prattle of children — sons to bear his name, 
 daughters held among the honourable of the earth ! Ah, 
 how much more and greater they were! Better still — 
 the sweet serenities of the hearthstone, the tears at part- 
 ing, more in the throat than in the eyes, the glad laugh- 
 ters and claspings of homecoming, when, after toil 
 accomplished, he should return bringing his sheaves with 
 him. 
 
 And as I thought upon these things, I threw me on my 
 face, vehemently kissing the cold turf, frost spangled, 
 under which I judged his head to lie. 
 
 " I would have given you all these," I moaned, " all 
 these and more, had you but asked me. But you would 
 not — you would not ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Long I lay thus, knowing nothing and thinking noth- 
 ing, insensate as the dust beneath. Then into my heart 
 there stole a conviction, that was all the surer because 
 it came to me this time without spoken word or angelic 
 dream. 
 
 I knew (I know not how, but of a certainty I knew) 
 how in That Country where the children grow up without 
 sin (God's nursery, mayhap) the babe that had been 
 born to me was growing up in the care and tendence 
 of that all-princely spirit, making ready to be another 
 and more humane William Douglas, not unworthy of 
 him who, through infinite misunderstandings and short- 
 comings, had yet been my true husband. 
 
 So, much comforted, rising up, I went within. And 
 after that, even as the Sol way tides erase a name writ 
 upon the sands, that of James Douglas came no more 
 into my heart as the name of a man I had loved.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE WOODS OF BIRNAM 
 
 Now the life at Stirling grew not to be long-time endured 
 by me. The chamber where the blow was stricken, the 
 yard where the dead lay buried, the vaunting courtiers, 
 the painted courtesans parading the town with their 
 scented lovelocks and empty mirth, all bore so heavy on 
 my spirit that I was like to die, just to look from my 
 window and see it all. 
 
 Then it was that Laurence (who to hide his sometime 
 abbatical dignity was now called by the King's name, 
 "Laurence Stewart") proved kind with a kindness 
 which cannot be counted in tale, or weighed in any 
 balance. 
 
 For one thing he took upon him to spare me the pain 
 of coming and going to the royal table, being great with 
 James Stewart, and he of the Fiery Face refusing him 
 nothing. Nevertheless at first the King would allow no 
 further relaxation of watchfulness than to permit me to 
 abide in my own apartment in the palace. So it is small 
 wonder that I waxed pale of face and of my person 
 meagre to look upon. For myself I thought that, having 
 seen the dead that first night of my arriving at Stirling, 
 I also should surely die. For so runs the rune, and 
 indeed I was no ways unwilling it should be so. 
 
 But I was to find that it is not given to a woman to die 
 when she will. Many, pressed by griefs and falsities, 
 have tried it, and prayed to God for it sore and often, 
 but save at the knife's edge, it is not granted to woman's 
 heart thus to break and pass like a bubble that is blown. 
 So I did not die, pray as I might. 
 
 Then at last, when Laurence had prepared the plans 
 for certain great new cannon, which he and his father 
 were to forge somewhere on the straths by Carron 
 Water, he besought the King again to permit me to retire 
 
 327
 
 328 MAY MARGARET 
 
 from the court, to some more peaceful and quiet habi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Ah," cried the King, " I know you, Sir Laurence. 
 You would have her back to her own country again, 
 where every third man is a disbanded rebel, every second 
 a dour Douglas, and ilka man, woman, and bairn a born 
 traitor to the King ! Na, na, Stewart in name though you 
 be, ye shall not wile the lass back in her turbulent south- 
 land. Let her gang, an it please her, to the guid Grey 
 Toon o' Dunfermline, where it sends its reek up foment 
 Edinburgh hersel'. Or let her gang to the kind woman 
 folk at Birnam, near to Dunkeld, where is a nunnery, and 
 a bonny water rinning clear an' broon, wi' grand fish 
 for the catchin' and the rae deer jookin goot o' ilka 
 covert. Let her choose ! But to the south she shallna 
 gang! " 
 
 So it came about that to Birnam I went, where the 
 house of the good Sisters of Peace looked down on the 
 towers of the cathedral out of a kind of green silence. 
 
 Then, indeed, there was time for rest and thought, most 
 sweet and needful to me. For though I minded not 
 greatly at the time the battering of Mons Meg, and the 
 terrible thunderbolts which she launched upon us, yet 
 when all was over and done with, I dared not walk by 
 the archery butts for fear of the whistle of arrows. And 
 if so much as a hare broke from a fern at my feet, or a 
 blackbird chattered among the bushes, I would leap 
 and cry aloud like a halfling dairymaid, at play round 
 the corn-stalks with the lads what time the gloaming 
 falls. 
 
 But at Birnam we dwelt in a kind of tranced peace. The 
 Superior was of the King's house — cousin-german, in- 
 deed, to that knight of Lorn whom his mother had mar- 
 ried after his father's death at Perth — a woman well on 
 in years and who showed me much favour from the first. 
 This, I fear me, was not wholly on my account. Lideed I 
 cannot lay it in any part to my own credit. 
 
 Now, how the loon managed it I know not, but from the 
 very first the Mother Superior took a vast liking to 
 Laurence, saying that he was the moral and image of
 
 THE WOODS OF BIRNAM 329 
 
 her brother John, who had died in his youth, stricken in 
 the eye with a lance in some tournaying in France. 
 
 Perhaps Master Laurence gave the lady to know that, 
 though now permitted by the highest authority to return 
 to the world and carry mail and casque, he, too, had once 
 in his time worn the robe ecclesiastic, and gone on great 
 embassies — yea, even to the Holy See itself. At all 
 events, so it was. Laurence had extraordinary privi- 
 leges among the Little Sisters of Peace, and I, as a guest 
 and the King's ward, still more as his friend, could do 
 much as I chose in the house of these good women of 
 Birnam. 
 
 This, as I say, came about out of no great love for me 
 on the part of the most excellent Mother Agneta; for, 
 truth to tell, save Maud, I have never drawn ordinary 
 women to me, nor been wholly happy in their society. 
 For the most part, they have been to me (saving, of 
 course, Maud) as so much unripe fruit, chattering and 
 back-biting, becking and bowing their heads over some 
 scraplet of news, or breaking their backs at some end- 
 less broidering of bed-covers. 
 
 Now men, even in their wrong-doing, are not so. They 
 wring the purple juice from the grapes in full vintage —   
 yes ; they eat the apples of the knowledge of good and 
 evil till the fiery sword drives them forth, waving every 
 way before the port of Paradise ! But they do not — at 
 least, not the men I have known — speak evil of their 
 neighbours behind backs, nor make of the house-place, 
 from roof-tree to cellarage, a fret and a brawling, with 
 their railing accusations and the yelp of their ill-natured 
 yatter. 
 
 By St. Bride, I would choose rather to spend ages in 
 Purgatory with some sinner of sins, great and strong, 
 apparent as Lebanon and salt as the sea, rather than share 
 an alcove in Paradise with suchlike women. And that 
 is my mind upon the matter — concerning which enough 
 said. Mayhap 'tis more than will be held to my credit. 
 Many women there are whose ways and hearts are other- 
 wise — only, saving Maud, I have not met them. 
 
 So as I have related, Laurence of the King's nam?
 
 330 MAY MARGARET 
 
 came over to Birnam, as often as his Majesty's zeal for 
 military enginry would permit him to steal away from 
 the making of cannon. 
 And the oftener he came, the better pleased was Sister 
 Agneta, till at last she got to calling him her brother 
 John, and ended, as I think, by believing herself that 
 he was indeed of her blood and family — all of which was 
 of little enough consequence to a young woman like my- 
 self, save as matter for laughter afterwards. 
 
 So in the woods of Birnam Laurence and I walked, as 
 we had done (it seemed a myriad of years gone) in those 
 of Cour Chevemey. But there was no making of mill 
 wheels now, nor any setting of paper boats, cunningly 
 devised, adrift down the swift-running Tay. Once, I 
 remember, Laurence tried it. But the old sunlight that 
 had glinted through the white poplars at Cour Cheverney 
 and even gilded the birches on the Balmaghie slopes, 
 would not shine for us on Tayside and in the midst of 
 this drear December. 
 
 Faintly we smiled to each other at the lack of success, 
 and I for one knew that for the present, at least, the 
 house of life was left to me empty and desolate. In 
 my cupboards there were no more any conserves of de- 
 light. The palaces were emptied of myrrh and aloes 
 and cassia, and I, who had been reared as a king's 
 daughter, whose garments had been of wrought gold, 
 walked in a black widow's weeds among an unwedded 
 sisterhood. 
 
 My husband? He had fled to England. And I knew 
 him. While I lived he would return no more. Soon he 
 would find some pretext for divorce — that I abode with 
 the King of Scots, that I companied with his enemies — • 
 anything — so that he might put me from him in name as 
 he had already done so in fact. 
 
 Yet to all this I was strangely callous. For in me also 
 there was part of the Douglas heritage. From the first 
 of our race, with here and there an exception to make 
 sure the rule, the Douglases had been ready to forget that 
 which they left behind. Did not, for the sake of the 
 glory of battle and the heady whirlwind of the charge.
 
 THE WOODS OF BIRNAM -331 
 
 our Good Sir James himself forget the sacred mission 
 he had sworn, to lay the heart of the Bruce in holy earth ? 
 And as he, so, and with worse excuses, the others! 
 
 Some for the honour of military renown, some for glory 
 in the State (and of these last the chief was he who had 
 died at Stirling), others for a fair woman — as my well- 
 beloved brother William, who, ere at Edinburgh they 
 cut off his comely head, lifted up the goblet and drank 
 his last toast to the woman who had betrayed him, in 
 these words, memorable amongst us for ever: 
 
 " I drink to you, my lady and my love ! " 
 
 Some, not one woman only, tempted to forget the things 
 that lay behind. And of such was that strong man 
 James Douglas — strong, yet like to the statue with the 
 head of gold and the feet of clay seen by the prophet. 
 He was not born to be faithful, this James of Douglas, 
 and now, after the first wrench, the keen jarring fang of 
 the viol's string as it broke — lo ! I cared as little for him 
 as he for me. 
 
 At Birnam I had liberty to sit at ease in these sweet 
 solitudes, and with peaceful books to while away the 
 hours. Lives of saints and suchlike were there in loads 
 — every page a-drowse with dreamiest opiates, poppy, 
 Pulsatilla, mandragore. Nevertheless, with the Douglas 
 unrest, I yearned for other things than this, and that be- 
 fore long I desired to be as free in name as in reality. By 
 the King's mandate of annulment of my marriage ? No ! 
 I could have had that for the asking. By the dissolving 
 power of the Holy Father? Three times no. I had 
 surely more than enough of his holy Bulls. They were 
 Bulls barren, without power to bind or loose, without 
 power or progeny. " The Pope's Bulls get no calves ! " 
 quoth the profane under their breaths. 
 
 No, James Douglas himself would of a certainty serve 
 my turn. Give him line enough, and a little time. He 
 would remarry him. Neither the thought of the woman 
 who, in the gardens of Thrieve, had waited ten years in 
 silence and solitude, only that at the end he should 
 betray her — no, nor yet the memory of the girl who had 
 shed her blood that she might save his life would have
 
 ZZ2 MAY MARGARET 
 
 a moment's power to hold him back when the desire of 
 the eye came upon him. I knew the breed — a right 
 strong, mascuhne, give-and-take breed it is. but not one 
 fortunate to the end. The hand of the Righteous is 
 against it ! At the end of its lusting it shall pull down 
 the branch and bite the Sodom apple, to find therein 
 only dust and ashes — exceeding bitter fruit. 
 
 James Douglas was like the man I had heard Laurence 
 read of in his Latin Scripture. He could take his sword 
 and go forth to rob, and to slay, and to sail upon the 
 sea. He could look forth like a lion into the darkness, 
 and after he had slain and robbed and returned, he would 
 lay all at the feet of his love — his new love whom he had 
 found and drawn to him by the same power wherewith 
 he had drawn me — me and That Other. 
 
 But at the uttermost end of all, God, sitting still on 
 High, w^ould enter into judgment with the strong man ! 
 
 Thus, in the meantime, I was not ill-content to abide 
 at Birnam and await the things which I knew would 
 come to pass. Here Laurence, riding mostly from Stirl- 
 ing and returning ere he was missed to the forging of 
 his cannons, was my chief visitor, and certainly he was 
 the one best pleasing to the Lady Superior. 
 
 And after a time there came back to his eyes some part 
 of his old innocent boyish insolence. For this, too. I 
 liked him only the better. No ways as great as Sholto 
 was Laurence McKim — far from being so good. Yet, 
 I think he suited me best. I had no wish to marry him, 
 God knows, yet had he set about to marry himself to 
 another woman, I had never cared to look man in the 
 face again. And I had had that feeling almost from 
 the time I was a girl. Even at Cour Cheverney, if I 
 could have disposed of myself I would have chosen 
 Laurence. Or, at least, so it seems now. 
 
 Sholto could do great things — not only could, but did 
 them as they came — making them only part of his daily 
 work. Great, simple, large of heart and determinate in 
 action, it was difficult to find a fault in him. I suppose 
 Maud knew of many such that he had. But if she did — 
 at least she never named them to me.
 
 THE WOODS OF BIRNAM 333 
 
 But with Laurence all was otherwise. He had his mo- 
 ments of something like pettishness. He would keep 
 aloof from Birnam for weeks, judging- that I had not 
 used him well enough, or with some light word of mine 
 rankling in his heart, like a thorn in the flesh. 
 
 Thus one day I asked how he could bring himself to 
 aid in the breaking down of Thrieve by great bolts of 
 cannon, knowing what he knew — that not only was I 
 there, but another woman, the wife of his brother, and 
 with her five little children. 
 
 Right sharply he answered me. 
 
 " Whether or not I had assisted, the bolt would have 
 been launched just the same. The castle would have 
 fallen. All that I did was to make the blow sharp and 
 sure. Moreover, my brother Sholto was Captain of 
 Thrieve, had been so for many years, and I judged that 
 he could find means to protect his own ! " 
 
 Then I asked him another question. 
 
 " And in all this, did you never once think of me ? Or 
 had you already become a Stewart ? " 
 
 He answered me with a sudden flash of anger, such as 
 Sholto would never have shown to any woman. 
 
 " I thought a great deal of the man, your husband ! " 
 
 " Ah," I asked again, " and pray, Laurence Stewart, 
 what did you think concerning him ? " 
 
 " This," he cried the words fiercely, " each time I pointed 
 the cannon, I prayed that the ball might strike him dead ! " 
 
 " Ah," I answered provokingly, " I knew you were a 
 man powerful in prayer! Give me your blessing, holy 
 man!"
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE PEACE OF ZIMRI 
 
 At last there came for me a certain glad day when the 
 ploughs on all the open straths were blithely upturning the 
 fallow, and the whole world was filled with the swirling 
 of white gulls and the smell of fresh red earth — a heart- 
 some day it was and a heartsome thing its morning hours 
 brought me. 
 
 For several weeks Laurence had appeared and disap- 
 peared at intervals, saying no more than that he was upon 
 the King's business. And I, thinking in my heart that he 
 might have told me more, and doubtless some deal nettled 
 at his silence, had held my tongue and refrained from 
 questioning him — which (I confess) was far from being 
 my habit. 
 
 But this one day, by the grace of the Lady Agneta, he 
 entered into my chamber, and with a serious face, asked 
 me to come to the door, for there were certain poor per- 
 sons there, begging for my assistance. But I believed him 
 not. For at this time it was his delight to take me in 
 and cheat me into believing absurdities, rejoicing thereat 
 afterwards, like a very schoolboy. The which was foolish 
 of him, yet nevertheless a cheerful, likeable trait after 
 all, speaking of a heart light and easeful within. 
 
 So for a while I would not go forth, fearing ridicule. 
 Because in his eye, for all his grave mien, there abode a 
 certain lurking twinkle which aforetime had betrayed his 
 evil intents to me more than once. But at long and last 
 I did go to the little wicket-gate of the convent. 
 Laurence threw it wide open. 
 
 And there before my eyes stood Maud, my Maud, with 
 all the five children about her, and behind, halting a little 
 upon a staff and greatly paler than was his wont, I saw 
 Sholto ! I kissed them all — yes, even Sholto, who 
 
 334
 
 THE PEACE OF ZIMRI 335 
 
 blushed and stammered that he was not worthy — that I 
 was his Hege lady and — other things which I forget. 
 
 Whereat, so glad was I, that I kissed him again, having 
 ever a greedy tooth for kissing and nothing to wear it on 
 of late. 
 
 Which observing, Laurence looked so fain that I drew 
 myself apart with Maud, and bade her tell me all there 
 was to tell of her journey, and where she meant to abide. 
 Then it came out that Master Laurence had interceded 
 with the King for the pardon of Sholto. And he, antici- 
 pating in the future a need of such knights, as he 
 had said before, was easy to be entreated. So he had 
 given the little tower called the Larg of Kenmore upon 
 Tayside to Sholto to dwell in, and (said he) " If your 
 Lady Margaret is waxen weary of her nunneries and 
 mummeries, let her also go thither and keep the bairnies' 
 frocks in order. It will be better work than a Douglas 
 hath set hand to in this realm for some while ! " 
 
 So, adieus being said, through the pleasant fields and 
 fringing woods we betook us to Kenmore, Maud keeping 
 close to Sholto that she might watch his face, causing him 
 to get off and rest as often as she discovered a trace of 
 fatigue. In time, however, we reached our goal, and lo ! 
 this thoughtful Laurence of ours had the house all fitted 
 and arranged. (It was, as to its building a small farm- 
 fortalice. not a great castle like Thrieve.) And whenever 
 I had been ill-natured with him he had hugged himself, 
 thinking, " Ah, wait. Mistress Margaret, till that which 
 is coming, comes ! Then will you not be sorry for these 
 hard speeches and averted eyes ! " 
 
 And I was sorry, but not so sorry as he thought or 
 expected. Because I was glad that Laurence should have 
 the heart within him to care so much of making others 
 happy. The men I had dealt with hitherto had not the 
 like much in mind — no, not even William Douglas. 
 
 The Larg of Kenmore was a place in which one might 
 well be content to grow old. Also, none could wish 
 for better and more loving company than that of Maud 
 and Sholto. It had but one drawback: it was farther 
 from the King's palace at Stirling, ajid so, of consequence,
 
 336 MAY MARGARET 
 
 we saw less of Laurence, or, at least, he came seldomet 
 Yet, abiding in the house, where his bed was made down 
 every night and his platter laid for every meal, it was 
 happiness of a better kind than when I saw him but for 
 an hour or two at the nunnery overlooking the towers 
 of Dunkeld. 
 
 Yet, because in the course of this history I have had 
 much to tell of these still places, where the crying of a 
 bird or a change in the wind is a subject for an hour's 
 converse, and the new moon seen over the right shoulder 
 an occasion of festival, I shall say little about the Larg 
 of Kenmore. 
 
 It was not by my choice that I spent so great part of my 
 time in such quietnesses. I did not make my life — no, nor 
 any part of it, saving perhaps when, in ignorance and 
 perversity, having to choose between two brothers, like 
 a woman I preferred the less worthy. But the rest of 
 my life has been what men's power and men's ambitions 
 have made it. God is over all. I doubt it not. He is 
 great ; but he seems to me so great that he interferes but 
 little in the things of yesterday and to-day and to-morrow. 
 
 Yet, mayhap, I do not see fairly or judge aright. Had 
 I been a common woman, without a groat, living in a 
 better time, belike I had not had this to say, as I do say 
 it from my heart ; but with Galloway and the Border- 
 lands, Ettrick Forest and Carrick, for my dower, I was, 
 as I have said, little better than a hand-ball propelled by 
 the players, William and James of Douglas, James Stew- 
 art the King, and Crichton the Chancellor. 
 
 And as for God, doubtless he watched from behind 
 the window-lattice of his heaven ; but, alas ! he did 
 nothing. 
 
 So at least I thought at the time. True, afterwards I 
 came to see better of it when, despoiled, mine estate and 
 quality made worth no man's while, I tasted at last the 
 grave and dulcet securities of poverty. 
 
 But was I not speaking of the Larg of Kenmore, round 
 which the heather ringed itself, and at whose very door- 
 step the whaups and wild moor-fowl cried suddenly in, 
 making the bairns laugh at their meals ?
 
 THE PEACE OF ZIMRI 337 
 
 Sholto grew slowly better, his wounds healing, like 
 those of a child, by the first intention. But one day 
 there came, sudden as the imbursting of one of the gran- 
 ite bolts of Mons Meg — Malise himself! 
 
 I was in the little hardly-won garden sitting by myself in a 
 sheltered summer-house. I could see the house-door. 
 It stood open, and in the dusk of the chamber on a couch 
 lay Sholto, with Maud Lindsay cherishing him — some- 
 times with gentle touches that were not quite caresses, 
 but more often with lifted finger and the same chidings 
 and forbidding with which in time of sickness she en- 
 treated her children. 
 
 The bairns themselves were without the gate with 
 Donald, the herd of the Larg, no doubt tumbling and 
 wrestling among the heather like young dogs at play. 
 
 I heard the click of the yett, with which at night 
 Donald barred in Sholto's scanty stock of bestial — for 
 there were still wolves a-many in the fastnesses of Ken- 
 more. I sat frozen dumb with apprehension. There 
 stood Malise McKim, looking dourly at the little white 
 house sleeping in the sun. Surely never grimmer wolf 
 glared at sheepfold, than the brain-clouded Smith of 
 Carlinwark upon the Larg of Kenmore. 
 
 Before I could move or cry out, he advanced with half- 
 a-dozen great strides across the yard and paused at the 
 door, his bulk blocking the entrance. I think he could 
 see his son lying on his couch, and at the sight his hand 
 instinctively sought his dagger. 
 
 Had not this, his first-born son, separated himself from 
 all his family? Had not he and he alone balked the 
 McKims of their revenge? For what purpose had 
 Malise McKim come hither, save that he might take a 
 second and surer vengeance upon his son unfaithful who 
 had stood in the breach till James Douglas escaped? 
 
 But the hand of Malise had not so much as reached the 
 inlaid handle of his dagger before Maud stood in the 
 doorway. As she came she snatched up the great house- 
 hold carving knife from the top of the salt-box where, 
 of habitude, it lay. And now she met the Armourer- 
 Smith in the doorwav.
 
 338 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I could see her clearly — Maud — but what a Maud! A 
 lioness defending her whelps, a she-wolf at the den's 
 mouth on the side of Briariach — these looked somewhat 
 less fierce than she. She spoke no word. She only stood 
 there, her arm a little drawn together as if to strike, her 
 body half crouched for a spring, her fingers twitching on 
 the haft. And this was Maud — my Maud, the mother 
 who heard the babes say their prayers in the gloaming, 
 and every day taught them from Holy Writ lessons of 
 love and sacrifice. 
 
 " Go back ! " she cried, her voice hoarse as that of a 
 man in passion. '' Go back, Malise McKim. You shall 
 not lay hand on him till after you have slain me. And 
 I will slay you first. God's help, I will ! " 
 
 The smith looked at her a little bewildered. Then he 
 drew his hand across his broad, deeply scarred brow with 
 the gesture which had become habitual to him. His eye, 
 no longer lurid or dangerous, seemed rather trying to 
 arrange facts he did not comprehend, to make something 
 clear to himself. 
 
 '' You are Sholto's wife," he said, looking at her. " Yes 
 — yes — I mind. He married young, over young. I 
 passed the children on the moor." (Here Maud drew 
 a long breath of apprehension — divided between desire 
 to run out to see that all was well with Marcelle, with the 
 twins, with Ulric and little David, and the yet more press- 
 ing need of abiding where she was to defend her hus- 
 band.) 
 
 But the attitude of the smith was reassuring, even 
 humble. 
 
 He looked past Maud to where his son lay on his couch. 
 He smiled a little wistfully at him. 
 
 " Speak for me, lad," he said. " This Highland wife 
 of thine takes me for a caird, a catheran, one that would 
 rieve her of thee or carry away the bairns. Ye have a 
 snod bit housie here, Sholto ! Bid the mistress let your 
 auld faither come his ways ben and rest him a while. 
 For he has had a lang, lang road to travel, and never a 
 friend to cheer him by the way ! " 
 
 He looked so pitiful that Maud, impulsive at times,
 
 THE PEACE OF ZIMRI 339 
 
 though mostly since her marriage demure as a puss, 
 dropped the knife and caught the old man about the 
 neck. 
 
 " Indeed and indeed," she cried, " I am heart-sorry for 
 my ill-bred temper. Yet am I of Highland blood, and 
 I do not forget either good or evil ! Come ben, our 
 father, and speak peaceable things to us — for I feared — 
 I feared " 
 
 She did not continue the subject, and perhaps it was as 
 well. For, it soon appeared, one dangerous locker of the 
 armourer's mind was closed — for the time, at least. 
 
 Malise clapped her gently on the shoulder. 
 
 "Feared?" — he murmured caressingly, as to a child; 
 " foolish lass, what was there to fear ? Is not Sholto 
 the eldest of my bairns? Are not you another? Where- 
 fore should I hurt mine own? I have been at the Court 
 and I am tired — ^tired of being grand — of having lackeys 
 to wait on me, old Malise McKim ! And they told me 
 lies — lies — lies ! Indeed — they do naught else all day long 
 that I can see — these courtiers that go attired in scarlet 
 and blue and wear devices upon their mantles. But I 
 see through their lies ! " 
 
 By this time he stood quite close to his son's couch. 
 
 " Ah," he said, touching the white cloth about his head, 
 " what is this ? Hast fallen, lad ? Who hath dealt thee 
 that doom's lunder on the crown? He that did it had 
 some skill in cudgel play, I warrant him. For even when 
 thou wast a lad, there were not many that could give 
 thee better — let alone the breaking of thy head ! " 
 
 The two stared at him in astonishment. Sholto was 
 about to speak, but over his father's shoulder Maud 
 made a sign to her husband to be silent. 
 
 Was it possible he had wholly forgotten Thrieve and all 
 that had been done there? It seemed like it. 
 
 The old man bent over his son. He had the aspect of 
 one about to communicate a weighty secret. 
 
 " Sholto," he said, in a low voice, " I came because 
 they told me that you dwelt in a little house among the 
 heather, and underlay the King's displeasure ! Laurence 
 told me so — but " — this a whisper — " Sholto, lad, they —
 
 340 MAY ]\IARGARET 
 
 are — teaching— him — to — he — at — the — Court, hke the 
 others ! " 
 
 Sholto shook his head, but took his father gently by the 
 hand. 
 
 " Care naught for ' says-he ' or ' says-she,' " he answered 
 soothingly. " Laurence is your own son, A McKim does 
 not lie!" 
 
 The smith responded nothing for a while, passing his 
 other hand to and fro across his brow a little wearily. 
 
 "Ah," he said, at length, " my own son, is he? A McKim, 
 is he? Why then does he call himself a Stewart? And 
 why then does he compel me to help him to forge cannon 
 for a murderer? " 
 
 " For a murderer? " cried Sholto and Maud simulta- 
 neously, in the greatness of their astonishment. 
 
 The old man tip-toed to the door and looked out. The 
 heather spread twenty leagues. The moor-birds cried. 
 Then very carefully he shut it and came back to the side 
 of Sholto's couch. 
 
 " Listen," he whispered, " they think I forget — that I 
 am an old done man. But I do not forget. How should 
 I forget that once I had a master — like to none the world 
 hath seen! What of him? Who enticed him to his 
 death? One, James Stewart by name! Who sat down 
 to dine with my master? James Stezvart! Who rose 
 up with him and led him apart, his arm about his neck, 
 as friend doth with friend. when the heart is full and free! 
 Who but James Stezvartf" 
 
 He struck one hand hard into the palm of the other 
 with a sound like the crack of a musket. 
 
 " But the jest's cream is that in the King's house they 
 talk of naught but Thrieve and Mons Meg and a great 
 victory gained over the Douglas I I keep a serious face, 
 for I know that victory. The victory was gained by the 
 traitor's dagger in the little back-room where they put my 
 Lady Margaret to sleep the night she came to Stirling. 
 There they gained their great victory — these Stewarts, 
 and he the chief of all, the Murderer King who struck 
 his friend to the heart, his hand yet warm from being 
 about my master's neck."
 
 THE PEACE OF ZIMRI 341 
 
 Then with a pleased expression Maud nodded at 
 Sholto. The armourer had forgotten all that had hap- 
 pened after the death of WilHam Douglas. At that 
 moment the sound of the voices of the children, as they 
 raced homeward athwart the heather, came sharply in 
 at the open window. Malise started up. 
 
 " What is that ? " he demanded. " Hath the King sent 
 for me ? Am I to have no peace in this world ? " 
 
 " They are but the voices of the bairns, father," said 
 Maud softly, caressing the old gnarled hand which lay 
 on the smith's knee, the fingers gathering themselves up, 
 and again being thrust out tense and hard. " You shall 
 have peace here with us, our father — so long as it pleases 
 you to bide ! " 
 
 " Peace — peace ! " he repeated, with a hard intonation, 
 as if something displeased him in the word. " Ah, Sholto, 
 lad, you are here under the King's displeasure, and it is 
 well. But James Stewart shall have no peace ! No ! " 
 
 Then with extraordinary fierceness of energy, almost 
 the snarl of a wild beast, he added these words, " Had 
 Zimri peace that slew his master f "
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 JACK Neville's anne 
 
 It was on the third day of the stay of Malise the Smith at 
 the house of the Larg of Kenmore that there came a mes- 
 sage from the King, at StirHng, commanding with all 
 urgence the armourer's presence at Carron Straths, 
   where the great new cannons were being made under 
 Laurence's care. 
 
 This seemed greatly to excite INIalise McKim, and with 
 much roughness of speech he bade the messenger begone, 
 lest a worse thing should befall him. But Sholto and 
 Maud, knowing that much depended on the complaisance 
 of the old man, laid it upon him to obey. And I also, fol- 
 lowing the hint given me by Maud, commanded him to 
 go and do the King's will. 
 
 He took a strange, lingering look at me, as if to make 
 sure that I had spoken in good faith. 
 
 *' I understand your ladyship," he said. " Ye shall be 
 richtit. By God's ain grace ye shall be richtit. Ye shall 
 be avenged for the man ye lost by the bluidy hand o' the 
 Stewart. Bide ye! bide ye! There shall be news to 
 send ! On a day — aye, on a day there shall be news that 
 shall gar the heart o' ilka Stewart stand still frae Appin 
 to the King's pailace o' Stirling ! " 
 
 So, with no more said, Malise the Smith took his mighty 
 piked staff in his hand, and, without so much as a Fair- 
 good-day to any in the house, he set his bonnet on his 
 head, and strode away over the moor as he had come, 
 disdaining the help of any four-footed creature ; the which 
 was, indeed, as well, for there were no more than a 
 pair of Highland shelties in the stables of the Larg, either 
 of whom had been foundered at the first bog by the 
 weight of the Armourer of Carlinwark. 
 
 342
 
 JACK NEVILLE'S ANNE 343 
 
 When he was gone, we spoke with more ease of the 
 strange forgetfulness of Malise McKmi, and what it 
 boded. For me I saw in it naught but good. He had 
 forgotten Magdalen, James Douglas, and all that had 
 since befallen. He had gotten what many pray for, more 
 than for the forgiving of their sins — that is, Forget- 
 fulness. 
 
 But Sholto was not so sure. He foresaw a danger. In 
 time of flood the water will rise behind the dam, and the 
 sluices were shut. The anger was yet hot in his heart. 
 With Maud or with the little children, even with me, it 
 vanished. The old nut-sweet nature came forth and sat 
 in the sun. But with his son, once or twice, a certain 
 dangerous madness, latent and essential, showed itself 
 plainly. Added to this, Sholto perceived a power of con- 
 cealment altogether unlike the Malise we had known, 
 whose thought was a spoken word, and the word as like 
 as not a blow. 
 
 At any rate we were all greatly relieved when the smith 
 obeyed the King's mandate and strode away across the 
 heather towards Carron. 
 
 Then on the fourth day thereafter came Laurence with 
 news. His father had arrived safely at Carron straths, 
 where the new cannons were in the making. He had 
 looked with his usual contempt at the work which had 
 been done during his absence at the Larg of Kenmore. 
 Without saying a word to any as to his purpose, he had set 
 off again for Stirling. Then, on his return, he declared 
 that in the new task the King had set him, he would have 
 none save his sons to help him, and not even all of these. 
 Laurence (who called himself Stewart) might, he said, 
 go and set up a forge for himself ! Likewise Herries, 
 who had in a manner been Laurence's favourite, might 
 depart with him. There was no room for Stewarts or 
 Gordons in Malise McKim's forge! 
 
 The sudden ill-will with which Malise dismissed Lau- 
 rence was easily enough understood by us who had seen 
 with pain the old man's lapses of memory. But it was 
 easy to see that both Laurence and young Herries, who had 
 stood the burden and heat of the day at Thrieve, and
 
 314 MAY MARGARET 
 
 especially in the making of Mons Meg, were much dis- 
 countenanced by the Armourer's treatment of them. 
 
 Bui- Laurence, at least, was not long so affected. He 
 had the manifest favour of the King, and for his fidelity 
 and intelligence had been promised the barony of Bal- 
 veny — on condition that he should choose a wife pleasing 
 the King. 
 
 Concerning this ]\Iaud in especial loved to tease him, 
 alleging that the King had scores of Highland cousins, 
 great and gaunt as pike staves, all stalled like cows in a 
 byre, and all to be pensioned off with a man apiece and 
 a forfeited forty-merk Douglas holding. And when, for 
 some reason, Laurence grew restive under these words of 
 his good sister, Sholto, ever kind of heart, would cry from 
 his resting-chair, " Heed her not, Larry ! I thought ye 
 had more sense, man! What is it to thee to bear that 
 for an hour, which it hath been my lot to hear ding- 
 donging for years fifteen ! " 
 
 Then would Maud toss her head and declare that she 
 would go to her own folk, taking the bairns with her. 
 But at "this Sholto would only laugh the more and say, 
 " Aye, Maud, will ye so ? " As if he knew better — which 
 indeed he did. 
 
 And to his brothers, Laurence and Herries, Sholto said 
 kindlv, " There is little enough for you to get here, lads, 
 on the rough side o' the Larg o' Kenmore. These are 
 not the fat lands of the Borel and of Balmaghie. But 
 there are at least twice twenty score o' black-faced sheep 
 and routh o' deer on the hills, and as for sport— the wild 
 birds o' the lochs and the red grouse o' the heather come 
 clockin' about the very door ! " 
 
 So for a time Herries accompanied the Kenmore herds 
 to the hills, helping them to make safe and commodious 
 folds with closures of iron, such as would prevent the 
 wolves and foxes from entering. For it was again the 
 lambing-time, when was need of special care, the flocks 
 being of necessity abroad all through the night watches. 
 
 But being thus exiled, Laurence bode for the most part 
 about the house. And it is not strange that, Maud being 
 much taken up with the care of Sholto and with the
 
 JACK NEVILLE'S ANNE 345 
 
 learning of the bairns, it fell to him once more to be 
 much in my company. 
 
 Yet, among other things, I noted a curious shyness in 
 all his intercourse with me, almost something of apology 
 and humility, as if he were conscious of having done me 
 some secret wrong. Though what that could be it was 
 not within my mind's scope to imagine. At this time 
 also he would call me, " My Lady " and " My Lady 
 Countess," till I had perforce to laugh at him and tell 
 him that there were no " Lady Countesses " under the 
 Fell of the Larg — adding that I had now lost my great- 
 ness and must be well content to be a sorner on the kind- 
 ness of my good friends Sholto and Maud. " But," said 
 I, " if so be that upon occasion you have time to remem- 
 ber an old friend, one of a fallen house — I pray you send 
 us some of the beef and greens from the rich pastures of 
 Balveny to eat with our small ale. For 'tis you. Larry, 
 that are to be the great man now — carrying a king's name 
 and all the rest of it ! " So I continued, vexing him for 
 my pleasure. " And then your learning ! Why, Lau- 
 rence, lad, they will make a fighting archbishop of you ! 
 For the vows of holiness, as I read them, though stiff 
 as to the shedding of blood, give a man every liberty to 
 knock out his adversary's brains ! " 
 
 " I thank you," he said softly. " I have left all that be- 
 hind me for ever ! " For some reason he loved not to be 
 reminded of his monkish life. 
 
 I can see him yet as he lay outstretched on the heather 
 that day, his eyes downcast, and his whole mien troubled. 
 I knew by instinct that there was something coming — 
 something that he was ashamed to tell me. But I was 
 equally resolved that I would do nothing to aid him, or 
 to make his task easier. It was high on the side of the 
 Larg fell in a favourite nook of mine. All my life I 
 have loved falls of water — the white foam plunging into 
 the brown deeps of the pools, shaded with the greenest 
 of leaves, whispering and rustling. The love of such- 
 like hath worked into my soul — perhaps because I was 
 born on the wide flats of Dee, which the Douglases chose 
 because they loved not to have aught within sight to over-
 
 346 MAY MARGARET 
 
 top their great arrogant selves, an it were not their own 
 Castle of Thrieve. 
 
 Here then in a little linn were a few green birks about 
 a rock on which I could sit quite dry, and yet so near the 
 water that, by holding out my hand, I could feel the spray 
 strike cool upon it, while at my feet there was a smooth 
 of turf for one of the bairns, or, as it might be, Laurence 
 to lie upon. I had chosen it so. A woman who hath 
 been twice wedded, and made as little out of it as I, may 
 surely be permitted to do something for herself ere she 
 begins to grow old. 
 
 Laurence might still have been called the Young Man in 
 Black, even as at the taking of Thrieve. And I do think 
 that ever after he conserved, perhaps from his training 
 of ecclesiast, a certain gentle austerity — which, to my 
 eyes, at least, appeared very becoming. Slender he was, 
 but strong, a little pale, and with a deep line of thought 
 trenched between his brows. Beside him I felt very 
 ignorant. Yet he would never correct me nor directly 
 counter me in the wildest or most foolish things which I 
 asserted. Only at some future time he would lead the 
 talk to the same subject and with a certain instinct of 
 nobility which was natural to him, would in a breath lay 
 the whole clear and plain, without in the least appearing 
 to reflect upon my lack of knowledge. 
 
 Ah, what a pair of brothers were these two, Sholto and 
 Laurence McKim — if only William and James Douglas 
 had been like them ! That is what I was thinking as I sat 
 there, holding out my hand fitfully, and letting the spray 
 of the waterfall drip between my fingers. Between 
 whiles I looked at Laurence. Then suddenly, to hide the 
 sob that rose in my throat, I took a handful of water and 
 cast it laughingly upon him. For of the brothers Sholto 
 was Maud's from the first, and as to this Laurence — 
 who would claim him ? Had I not as mickle right as 
 any? 
 
 Then the devil entering into me, I put a question to 
 him, swiftly, without taking time to count the cost, as, 
 indeed, I always did such things. 
 
 "Laurence," said I, " were you ever in love?"
 
 JACK NEVILLE'S ANNE 347 
 
 He lifted his head as if to reproach me. Then, thinking 
 better of it, he only shook his head. 
 
 " And yet, willy-nilly, you must marry ? " I went on to 
 tempt him. The King has given you Balveny and its 
 barony on such and such conditions. Only I advise you 
 not to marry for love. That is the easiest way to make 
 shipwreck of the King's favour. Stick to one of Maud's 
 Highland Stewarts — the King's kin, with a pedigree as 
 long as her nose, and rank high as her cheek bones 1 " 
 
 " I shall not marry," he answered, slowly picking the 
 fronds from a bracken one by one and throwing them 
 into the linn. " I shall not bide longer in Scotland than 
 is necessary ! I will e'en go and take service with the 
 King of France. He hath made me advances already, 
 hearing doubtless some bruit of the battering of Thrieve 
 with the great cannon " 
 
 He stopped short, doubtless seeing some pain on my 
 face. 
 
 " Leave Scotland," I cried, " leave me ? I had — never 
 — thought — it of — you, Laurence. Though why, I know 
 not. You are free. None can say but you are free to 
 come and go. But — but — then I shall have none to think 
 of me — care for me ! I thought you did, Laurence ! " 
 
 In a moment he had thrown himself again at my feet. 
 He had stood up while I was speaking, as if against his 
 will erected and elated by my words. Now he was kneel- 
 ing at my knees, his hands clasped as before an altar and 
 all the soul of him in his eyes. 
 
 " Margaret," he said, " do not say that. It is wrong to 
 say that. I love you — God knows — I who have no right 
 to love you ! I have loved ever since I was a lad in the 
 smithy, and saw you over the shoulders of the men-at- 
 arms sitting beside the Queen of Beauty at the great tour- 
 ney. Yet I who love you thus am as a dog, a mean 
 thing before you. You will spurn me when you know. 
 And justly. I have here with me a letter from your hus- 
 band in England. I have brought it three times to the 
 Larg. Thrice I have carried it away again. I feared — 
 ah, how I feared — that he summoned you to him in Eng- 
 land — and — that you would go!"
 
 348 MAY MARGARET 
 
 He paused, all shaking with the vehemence of his emo- 
 tion. His hair clung dankly about his brow. 
 
 " God's grace ! " he murmured, " I could not do it. I 
 could not give it. But I am stronger now. There is 
 your letter. Lady Margaret. And try to forgive the man 
 who goes from you wretched and heart-broken. As God 
 is in his heaven, I will aid you to return to your husband. 
 I will make it my sacrifice so to do. Then after that " 
 
 He stopped, with the mere force of putting restraint 
 upon his emotion. For to Laurence AIcKim these things 
 came hard, being by nature reticent and of few words — 
 that is, in the things nearest his heart, though light 
 enough in other matters. 
 
 But I laughed, knowing James Douglas. 
 
 '" Open and read the letter," I bade him. " He that 
 was my husband is little likely to send across the border 
 any such invitation to Margaret Douglas. Open — read ! 
 Why, man, wherefore do you shake ? Can you not read ? 
 Are you not a clerk? Have you forgotten your letters? 
 Open, I say ! " 
 
 Yet, for all that, he would not. So at the last I snatched 
 the letter from his hand, broke the seal, and bade him 
 read. 
 
 I knew James Douglas's scrawl. He ever wrote as if 
 with the point of a dagger, or, rather, with a wooden 
 skewer picked from a butcher's stall in the market-place. 
 
 Then Laurence read aloud the words which I append 
 hereto. 
 
 Dear Cozin Marget, — I write to tell j'Oii that I am marriet to 
 Poor Jack Neville's Anne, she that was Anne Holland. I ken 
 weel that ye will mak no wry nor scurvy faces over this news, 
 but, contrary-wise, be heart-glad no longer to be tied to one who 
 is forever tripping and stumbling towards the left hand. 
 Cozin Marget, I wish ye weel. I wad that it had been in my 
 wig-wagging nature to be a better man to you. But now I must 
 e'en do the best I can for Poor Jack Neville's Anne. She is 
 bonnie for a widow woman, and young also — but hath brocht 
 me no portion. If you have aught that you can spare from your 
 stocking-foot, pray remember your loving Cozin James. For in 
 truth I am in hard case for two or three bunder pound. The 
 King hath given me his Order of the Garter for a bit battle I
 
 JACK NEVILLE'S ANNE 349 
 
 focht for him near to Shrewsbury, and for cutting aff a Welsh- 
 man's head. But I had rather he had given me the^five hunder 
 rose nobles he promised me than a hale cart-load of Garters. 
 
 But this one I did give to Poor Jack Neville's Anne to bind 
 up her stockings withal. And, indeed, it was from certain giff- 
 gaff and merriment we had between us anent the matter, in Poor 
 Jack Neville's sometime rose garden that Anne and I cam to 
 think of being marriet. 
 
 I hope, dear Cozin, you will not go into a nunnery. _ To my 
 mind there is no sense in such places — but instead, I prithee, go 
 find a better man than me ! All the same, fair day or foul day, I 
 am resolvit to do the best I can for Poor Jack Neville's Anne. 
 Whilk Receive from Your Loving Cozin, 
 
 James of Douglas. 
 
 Above all do not forget the siller. John Tweedie, a merchant 
 of barkit skins in the Wellgate at Carlisle town is a safe man to 
 send it by, and kens me weel. If it is a matter o' a thousand 
 merks, so mickle the better. 
 
 Written from my lodging in Southwark Borough Town where 
 Anne and I would do not ill, an it were not for our poverty. 
 Aprile the 30th. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Never did changes more curious come over any man's 
 face in the same space of time than those which passed 
 over Laurence McKim's as he stood before me reading 
 and rereading Tames Douglas's letter. I admit that I 
 watched him some deal mischievously, and at the end 1 
 fairly broke into a tempest of laughter. 
 
 But Laurence did not laugh. He took the matter with 
 great seriousness, not knowing my husband James as I 
 did, nor comprehending his nature. 
 
 " Then you are a free woman ! " he said, folding up the 
 letter with an exceeding attention to the folds. 
 
 " I am, or shall be soon ! " answered I, without taking 
 my eyes off his face. Then all at once I remembered 
 the phrase in James Douglas's letter, twice repeated, 
 how he must try now to do his best for Poor Jack 
 Neville's Anne ! , 
 
 At that there came a wicked thought into my head. 
 
 " Laurence," I said, going up to him softly and looking 
 into his eyes, somewhere in the middle way betwixt tears 
 and laughter, " if I ask you a question, will you give me a 
 true answer? " 
 
 " That I will ! " he said. " What is it? "
 
 350 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " But it is a favour I have to ask ! " I continued. " Will 
 you grant it ? " 
 
 "An it involved the damnation of my soul!" he said, 
 with the same convincing quiet. 
 
 " Then mill you, too, do the best you can for Poor Jack 
 Neville's Anne f"
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 A RARE SALT FELLOW 
 
 Well, after a time and a time Laurence and I went back 
 to the Larg together, for the present determined to say 
 naught about the matter, till I should have gone with 
 my letter and petition to the King and the Archbishop. 
 For though divorce was not at any time the canon law of 
 Holy Church, yet in these outland realms of Scotland 
 and England men heeded that but little when interest or 
 inclination drove them. Moreover, the Pope, his Cardi- 
 nals and Bishops, were ready enough to give absolution. 
 For, be he priest or cardinal, 'twixt Caithness and Kirk- 
 maiden all were in the King's hands, or, worse yet, in 
 those of the great houses. And, mostly, a Cardinal ettled 
 at the saving of his like just like another man, save 
 Thomas a Becket only. But in my time, at least, there 
 was never another like him in any kirk that I heard tell 
 of. So that which lay before me to perform was just 
 this — that I should go to the King and ask his leave to 
 marry Laurence, and live retired and peaceably there- 
 after ; the which permission I was certain of obtaining — 
 that is, for a price. 
 
 So Laurence and I went in together, and I showed 
 Sholto and Maud the letter. I gave it to them laughing, 
 though there was a kind of shame in my heart, too, that 
 ever I should have shared bed and board with such a man. 
 Yet for all (I own it) I could not hate, or even greatly 
 dislike James Douglas. As he said, he had always done 
 his best for the " Poor Jack Neville's Anne " of the 
 moment. Pity was that his best proved never very good, 
 and never very lasting. 
 
 But when Sholto McKim read the letter, his countenance 
 changed. He had never any great sense of the humours 
 of life. And such an one as James Douglas was clean 
 out of his ken. 
 
 351
 
 352 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " If I had but known in time that I was serving such a 
 man," he said slowly with darkened brows, " I had slain 
 him with my hand ! " 
 
 Then I took his wounded right hand and kissed it ten- 
 derly, so that his face flushed with pleasure. For even 
 now — nay more than ever now — I was to him his liege 
 lady. 
 
 " You did better work with this your hand," I said, 
 " when you kept the breach of Thrieve with naught but 
 the edge of your broadaxe." 
 
 And as for Maud, she also came and stood beside me, 
 glancing from one to the other of us, but not laughing 
 as I expected. Then I saw a strange thing. 
 
 Maud cared nothing for that which made me laugh, 
 naught for that which made her husband hot with anger — 
 in itself naught for the letter of James Douglas, save — 
 that it made of me a free woman. 
 
 She kept lookmg from one to the other of us — troubled 
 and uncertain. Under her summer gown I could see her 
 bosom heave. 
 
 Then Maud went to the door, and turning made a sign 
 to me. 
 
 " Shall we go look for the children? " she said. But I 
 knew she had other things to say to me than that. We 
 were silent till we had put the house of Larg a hundred 
 feet or so beneath our feet and were out on the open 
 fell. 
 
 Then she spoke. 
 
 " Why will you not tell your Maud? " she said sadly. 
 
 " What am I to tell? " I answered, fencing with words. 
 
 " My Lady Margaret," she said with dignity, " if you do 
 not deign to tell me, I will ask no more. But I think — 
 I think — that after these many years I had not deserved 
 this from you I" 
 
 And she began to sob. 
 
 " Maud — my Maud ! " I cried with sudden contriteness, 
 " I will tell you all that you wish to know — all there is to 
 tell. You gave me a home with you when I had none 
 other friends. You have loved me all my life ! What is 
 there I would not tell you ? "
 
 A RARE SALT FELLOW 353 
 
 " And now you hide from me — you will not tell me " 
 
 " Tell you what, dear Maud? " 
 
 " What Laurence hath said to you ! " 
 
 At this I laughed outright. For somehow I seemed 
 in a mood to laugh that day. The air was lighter, rarer, 
 of a more intoxicating charm. It scented of the spring, 
 and I seemed sharply to regain my youth again — the 
 youth that had never been mine. Nay, I seemed to win 
 it rather for the first time, savouring its sweetness in the 
 very wind that blew off the hills of heather. 
 
 " Laurence say aught to me, dear Innocent ! " I cried to 
 her, laughing. "Ah, but it is our own dear Maud Lindsay 
 who is the matchmaker ! Would Laurence ever have had 
 the assurance to speak of love to Margaret Douglas? " 
 
 Then Maud jerked her Highland head in the air. 
 
 " I know not," she said. " His brother had a Lindsay 
 for the asking! " 
 
 " Ah, yes," said I, " the third time of asking, but Lau- 
 rence would never have had the courage to ask even 
 once ! " 
 
 " Do not tell me," she said, turning suddenly upon me as 
 she used to do at Thrieve when I was a little girl and had 
 been misbehaving. " I see wickedness and deceit in your 
 eye — in that of Laurence, too. There is something be- 
 tween you two. You need not deny it — not to me. You 
 never could deceive me, even when you were a little 
 kilted hempie that had been in the orchard stealing of the 
 sugar plums. What is it ? " 
 
 " Well " I began, pouting and hesitating. 
 
 Then I believe verily that in another moment Maud 
 Lindsay might have done even as she was used to do 
 in those ancientest days I can remember — when on one 
 occasion she greatly surprised a certain spoilt child the 
 morning after she came out of the north to be her tutrix 
 and companion. 
 
 " Nay," I said hastily, " Laurence said naught to me. 
 But — / had something to say to him." 
 
 "What was it?" she demanded fiercely. "Tell me 
 all!" 
 
 " I know — but I promised not to tell ! Ask himself ! "
 
 354 MAY MARGARET 
 
 I cried over my shoulder and ran back quickly into the 
 house. 
 
 She called one sentence after me. 
 
 " I might have thought ! " she said. " I knew all the time 
 why he stayed away from Thrieve ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 So I went to see the King, Laurence and Herries going 
 with me to be my squires in time of need. We rode poorly 
 and unattended, both because that would be better pleas- 
 ing to the King, who loved not arrays of folk riding hither 
 and thither athwart his kingdom, and also because unless 
 we had taken the herds from the hills, there were no other 
 retinue about the Larg of Kenmore save only Sholto 
 hirpling on his crutch. 
 
 First we went to Stirling and the King of Scots was not 
 there. He had gone to Carron. We would find him on 
 the straths, they said, watching the forging of the great 
 cannon. Quoth another, " The King hath gone to Edin- 
 burgh to make him ready for the siege of Roxburgh 
 castle — the sole strength still held by the English north 
 of Berwick Bound. He cannot abide it and is making 
 ready to batter it down." 
 
 From Carron to Edinburgh we followed on, and there 
 at last we found the King marshalling his forces upon the 
 Borough Muir. 
 
 " Ah," he cried, catching sight of me first, " what do 
 you here, my little lady of Galloway? Is this biding 
 within your bounds? Are you come to fight for us or 
 against us? Or aiblins, would you lead a partizan revolt 
 in your own pretty person? And what doth my bold Sir 
 Laurence of the Black Plaid in your company, and this 
 young McKim? Wherefore are not you two at Carron 
 with the engines of war ? " 
 
 Then I smiled at him and said, " These be too many 
 questions for one to answer all at once even to pleasure 
 a king. But as for me, I have come to show your 
 Majesty this ! And not for that alone ! " 
 
 So with that I drew from my pocket the letter of James 
 Douglas. 
 
 And then and there before all his men the King read
 
 A RARE SALT FELLOW 355 
 
 the letter aloud, from "Dear Cozin Marget," all the 
 way through to " Written at our lodgmg in Southwark ! " 
 
 Then he laughed very loud, as was his custom, slapping 
 his hand upon his thigh hard and often. 
 
 " Faith, I was wrong," he cried. " I should have kept 
 such a man within my kingdom. I shall never find 
 another! He is salt enough, this husband of yours, to 
 keep all the butcher's meat in Scotland fresh through the 
 dog days. He puts ofif and on a wife as I would a glove — 
 then eke writes to the last to send him the plenishing siller 
 for the new. And a good lance too he was ! None drave 
 a better. And Lord ! he had need — he had need ! Ho ! 
 Ho ! A rare salt fellow, brined through and through like 
 a barrel-kept-herring — this James of Douglas ! I take 
 pleasure in him. I take great pleasure in him — now that 
 it is too late ! " 
 
 For after his kind he was a hearty man — this King who 
 could murder a friend with a dagger-stroke, who found 
 his way about among the commandments ten, much as 
 Alexander solved the Gordian knot. A hot-headed, fiery- 
 faced butcher-man, by nature a fighter, was this Stewart 
 King — in some ways not unlike our own James — though 
 his iniquities were rather those of the red hand and the 
 blow struck in anger than the good-natured cavalier wan- 
 tonnesses of my " Dear Cozin." 
 
 Then with the letter still between his fingers, the King 
 cast the slantwise Stewart eye upon me some time before 
 he spoke. 
 
 " And now I suppose ye will consider yourself a free 
 woman and a wanter," he said, " so ye'll e'en be comin' to 
 me to seek ye a man ! " 
 
 " Nay, King James," I made him answer, " that I have 
 already done for myself. Two I have had chosen for 
 me — I will e'en be content to pick the other without the 
 royal bounty ! Besides, the King has mickle on his mind, 
 and God forbid I should set him a task so thankless 1 " 
 
 " And wha is the lad? Tell us," cried the King; " mind 
 this though — he gets neither a foot o' Gallowa nor o' 
 Ettrick — never an inch south o' the Forth. But I willna 
 say that gin he be a decent lad — I will not maybe gie ye
 
 356 MAY MARGARET 
 
 a park or twa to sow your oats somewhere at the back 
 of beyont ! " 
 
 Then all at once he seemed to forget, returning to James 
 Douglas's letter, which he rolled like a morsel under his 
 tongue, savoury and sweet. 
 
 " ' Poor Jack Neville's Anne ! ' " he cried, blattering 
 again on his thigh, " I must e'en tell that to the bishop ! 
 Yes, by the saints, Kennedy will taste that, I warrant him ! 
 Sly old dog that he is." 
 
 I stood before him waiting his reply. 
 
 " Your Majesty has not yet heard the name of the man 
 I ask your permission to marry ! " I said quietly. 
 
 "Well," he laughed, " 'tis somewhat early days yet to be 
 thinking o' that, when ye hae gotten never a line frae holy 
 Kirk nor ony permit eccleciastical to stand afore the altar. 
 But you Douglases were aye forehandit. Wha is the 
 loon?" 
 
 " He is of your Majesty's name," said I, " and like all 
 the Stewarts, blate to speak for themselves in such a mat- 
 ter. So I am sent to do it. This is he ! " 
 
 "What?" cried King James, "the Lad in Black— the 
 Nameless Master of Enginry — the Deevil-Bishop, the 
 Armourer-Clerk — doubtless some Douglas loon in dis- 
 guise ? Him that made the plans for the cannon ! Why, 
 I have already given him the barony of Balveny ! I ken 
 not how that will do, little lady. That was yince Douglas 
 ground, and if you set up your banner there you might 
 trench upon My Majesty even yet!" 
 
 Seeing I did not answer, he went on, getting rid of his 
 surprise in a cloud of words. 
 
 " Na, na — let him stick to his cannon-making and his 
 fortifying! That will be better than taking to himself 
 a little rebel wife like yoursel', wha will keep him in het 
 water all the days o' his life I Let him choose again and 
 choose better ! " 
 
 " Better he could not choose," said I, " as, if he hath 
 eyes in his head his Majesty must see for himself! More- 
 over, if Laurence gets me not — he will go to France to the 
 service of Louis the King, from whom already he has had 
 great offers ! "
 
 A RARE SALT FELLOW 357 
 
 " Ah, will he — will he ? We will see to that," cried King 
 James. " We may be poor, but we know how to recom- 
 pense our lieges as well as how to punish our enemies. 
 There is old Malise now, the Master Armourer. He will 
 not last long. At times madness looks out of the eye of 
 him. But, Lord ! what a hammerman ! What a mighty 
 smith ! None like him since Tubal. If only he were 
 younger and had the head — faith, I would sit on the 
 throne of Westminster with the Two Roses, red and 
 white, doing homage to me." 
 
 He stopped suddenly as if thinking deeply. 
 
 " But there, lass," he cried, " I have weared enough of 
 my good time on your fule marrying and gie'in' in mar- 
 riage. Go ye forthwith to Bishop Kennedy, and he will 
 put ye in the way of being even with ' Poor Jack Neville's 
 Anne ! ' But I trust that your chances of keeping your 
 clerk-lad to yourself are better than poor Anne's. Ah, 
 the rogue — what a villain ! Troth, I would give him 
 the Cross of St. Andrew to come back to be my court- 
 jester!" 
 
 " My Lord," I made the King answer with some dignity, 
 *' I pray recall it to yourself that there was a time when 
 a certain jest of James Douglas's well-nigh made your 
 Majesty smile on the wry side of your face. The chance 
 of those few hours at Stirling when Ormond and Murray 
 and this same Lord James entered it with a thousand 
 Douglases — I trow such a man is no safe court-fool ! " 
 
 " I ken — I ken," he cried, waving me down with his 
 hand, " James Stewart is no unfriend to plain speech, and 
 takes no offence at what you say. But for all that thou 
 art a little rebel, and if this your Lad in Black is to keep 
 the upper hand of you, he must be of good council and 
 have the ready hand. I will take him with me to the siege 
 of Roxburgh to teach him his A, B — Buff! Meantime 
 go thou to the Bishop. Get a warranty from him. Here, 
 Morton, my seal! I will write a line on the back of 
 Jamie Douglas's letter. ' On the day that Roxburgh is 
 taken, this Laurence of the King's Name is to have Mar- 
 garet Douglas in wedlock! ' There ! " 
 
 Whereupon he signed, sealing the missive with the sig-
 
 358 MAY MARGARET 
 
 net royal, which IMorton carried for him in a httle silver 
 box. Ere he gave it back to me, he turned over the letter, 
 laughing afresh at every line. It seemed to have taken 
 him greatly. 
 " Salt as the sea ! " he shouted ; "a rare one, by St. 
 Andrew ! Let him have his two hundred pounds in rose 
 nobles sent to John Tweedie, that eident leather-seller in 
 the Carlisle water-gate. See to it, Morton. He deserves 
 the like and more. I warrant him — he will of a surety 
 buy woman's falderals with it in the Chepe — if he can for 
 Poor Jack Neville's Anne — if not, at least, for some other 
 Anne ! "
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 CANON LAW 
 
 Accordingly I betook me to Bishop Kennedy, who was 
 at Edinburgh Castle, having wholly supplanted Crichton 
 with the King. A kindly, pawky, common-looking man 
 he was, most like a country meal miller, and with the same 
 way of puckering up his eyes when he spoke to you, as 
 if he feared that you would throw dust in them. 
 
 A thing which, according to the popular mouth, it was 
 by no means easy to do with the same Bishop Kennedy. 
 
 But I soon found that he had heard of me, and that he 
 was no stranger to the repute of Sholto and Maud Lind- 
 say. He was acquainted also with the young engineer- 
 clerk — to whom, for his services in Galloway, the King 
 had given his name and the barony of Belveny which 
 aforetime had been Little John's. Indeed there seemed to 
 be nothing in the realm of Scots of which someone had not 
 properly advised my Lord Bishop, and when he saw the 
 King's letter he gave me what I most desired — right good 
 encouragement that all should be to my desire. _ But he 
 did it in his own way and took much time about it. 
 
 " All laws are full of quaintness," he said with his head 
 to the side, and making a scratching on a piece of parch- 
 ment, with the side of a pen, a noise to me very disagree- 
 able. But I minded not that, the intent and purport of 
 his words being good. " And in none is this quaintness 
 so patent as in canon law. For the holy Kirk is bound to 
 dwell in some state, under Something or Somewhat as 
 Overlord, and men are but men with neck-banes, the most 
 part of them fearing (and most reasonably) sharp swords 
 and the tow rope ! Also it is commanded in Scripture 
 that we should all fear and obey in all things the King's 
 Most Excellent Majesty. All which, together with the 
 sign and seal upon the back of this most remarkable letter 
 
 359
 
 36o MAY MARGARET 
 
 from the sometime James, Earl of Douglas, dispose me 
 to be of good hope that your affair may find a speedy and 
 a hoped-for termination." 
 
 With that he went to the door and called to him one 
 Gilbert A'Taggart, which surname, as I understand, sig- 
 nifies the son of a priest. But this Gilbert was some sort 
 of nephew or relative to my Lord Bishop, though, of 
 course, not by marriage. He was a young man, most 
 maiden-like and comely, and he bowed to me after the 
 Italian fashion, for his uncle had had him educated at 
 Rome, whence he had brought back with him a knowledge 
 of other things besides canon law. 
 
 " Seek me my great book on the law of the Church, the 
 volume having regard to marriage," said the Bishop to 
 young A'Taggart. " This is the case. Listen, Gilbert. 
 You, who are well read upon the subject, fresh from the 
 schools of Rome, can, perhaps give us light ! " 
 
 The young man bowed obsequiously, as one who would 
 say, " What your honour pleases ! " 
 
 So presently the secretary brought a great book of yel- 
 low vellum, and the Bishop opened it at a place. 
 
 " ' Marriage is one of the blessed sacraments of the 
 
 Church apostolic and catholic ! ' Hum — hum ! That 
 
 is not it, ' In the event of a man marrying his grand- 
 mother ' No, nor does that exactly meet the case 
 
 in hand ! " 
 
 " These are the facts, Gilbert " (Here he muttered 
 
 rapidly in the young man's ear.) "Do not you agree 
 with me ? " 
 
 " I agree," concurred the youth promptly ; " so it was 
 ever decided by our professors and teachers in the sem- 
 inary. Indeed, such was the Holy Father's own opinion. 
 Your Eminence is perfectly right in his interpretation. 
 A marvel ! " 
 
 And while the Bishop continued to mumble the Latin 
 over and over, turning such words as struck him here 
 and there into common speech, the secretary winked at 
 me confidentially over his shouk'ler, smiling after the 
 fashion of a choir boy or an ill-behaved acolyte at mass. 
 
 But when his master stood erect, shutting his finger
 
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 CANON LAW 361 
 
 upon the place in the book, Master A'Taggart grew all at 
 once of a solemn countenance, as if laughter were very 
 far indeed from his thoughts. The good bishop, having 
 thus consulted the authorities to his satisfaction, stood 
 a full minute pursing his lips and thinking deeply. Then 
 he delivered his verdict. 
 
 " Dear lady, no difficulty whatsoever exists ! Your first 
 marriage was null — being, by the later Bull of the Holy 
 Father, held as lacking a necessary and binding part of 
 the ceremony. As to your second, that also may be con- 
 sidered as void — by canon law, that is, having been con- 
 tracted with the brother of your — no, that will not do, 
 for by hypothesis, you had no former husband. Let me 
 see, let me see — canon law is a wonderful thing. We will 
 try again. There must be a rule for that. Was James, 
 Earl of Douglas, not your cousin-german ? Ah, there is 
 something in that ! — something very grave in that ! Mar- 
 riage between cousins is against the clear letter of canon 
 law. But the Bull of the Holy See, you say? Ah, I 
 had thought of that. Nothing is more easy. His Holi- 
 ness was misinformed as to the circumstances — that is 
 all. Yes — yes — it is clear as day. Had the information 
 been complete, the permission would never have been 
 issued — ergo, you have never been married at all. Hence 
 being a spinster, it follows that you are at liberty to marry 
 to-morrow if you will. And happy will the man be, my 
 child, who takes you to his heart ! " 
 
 Then he turned to the secretary, who stood demure and 
 slim at his elbow. 
 
 " You agree with me, I think, Gilbert, do you not?" 
 
 " Your decision is a marvel of acuteness, my uncle," 
 said the youth. " Truly among all the doctors of Rome I 
 never heard the like." 
 
 The Bishop took a pen and wrote rapidly, talking to 
 himself all the while. 
 
 " Ah," he said, in voice of pulpit prelection, " to any but 
 myself the case would have offered difficulties insuper- 
 able. You will see the King, my child. Tell him — tell 
 him with what ease I made all clear as day ! " 
 
 " I am going at once to the camp ! " I answered.
 
 362 MAY MARGARET 
 
 " Ah," he said, " that is not so good ! My child, be not 
 taigled with the men-of-war. A camp is no place for a 
 bairn like you — and ah — betrothed for the first time to 
 an husband ! " 
 
 " But the Queen is there," I said ; " she goes to the siege 
 of Roxburgh likewise ! " 
 
 " Ah," he said drily, " then tell the King my decision by 
 himself. Canon law is not a thing to be lightly spoken of 
 before women. He is to remember that there is nothing 
 so strictly forbidden by the laws of Holy Church as 
 divorce. Yet," here he smiled, " why seek divorce when 
 it is so much easier to prove by canon law that any pre- 
 vious and undesirable marriages never existed at all ! Tell 
 the King that — pray tell the King that ! Do not forget ! " 
 
 And indeed, even as the bishop had expounded, so it 
 was done — all duly and in order. I was a woman who 
 had never been wedded. James Douglas had committed 
 no fault. In killing William Douglas, James Stewart had 
 but destroyed a rebel and a traitor — not treacherously 
 slain a friend new-risen from his table. All by canon 
 law — laid down in order and proved to the hilt from the 
 best authorities by the excellent Bishop of Dunkeld ! 
 Everyone satisfied, and everything for the best ! 
 
 No — not all. There was an old man with a slumberous 
 fire in the eyes of him — one Malise McKim by name, 
 whom most in that gay camp had forgotten — who him- 
 self remembered no more his dead daughter (God grant- 
 ing it so mercifully !) but who had not forgotten the mur- 
 dered master he had once served, nor yet the two young 
 lads that had gone forth from Thrieve to their last Black 
 Dinner in the Castle of Edinburgh. 
 
 All was smooth and well ordered in the affairs of Scot- 
 land and of the King — but there was this one blear-eyed 
 old Armourer-Smith to be reckoned with.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 MALISE DOES HIS WORK 
 
 Right royally arrayed was the King's camp before Rox- 
 burgh, the last English strength left untaken within his 
 realm. To me it was a wondrous sight. For hitherto 
 I had seen only the siege of a great fortress from the 
 point of view of the besieged, and, indeed, immured as 
 we had been in Archibald the Grim, not a great deal of 
 that. 
 
 But now I was in the very midst of the movement. On 
 the day after my arrival the Queen sent for me, and 
 offered me shelter of her pavilion. I think that some- 
 one — perhaps the King himself — had warned her that a 
 Douglas of the Black, even in adversity, might not be 
 willing to be the maid-of-honour to the wife of a Stewart, 
 
 But, thanks to a lifetime of feeding a lonely heart upon 
 the pride of race, I had nothing of that kind left. If they 
 would but give me Laurence, and leave us two alone, with 
 meat and drink sufficient and clothing decent to put on, 
 I would thankfully have scrubbed floors for the Stewart, 
 or stabled their beasts like any careful groom. 
 
 Now, while I remained in the camp I was permitted to 
 go freely here and there. I saw the King constantly — a 
 bustling, ingenious, angry man, subject to extraordinary 
 bursts of temper. It was told through the camp how he 
 had gone to the forge of the McKims, who were busy 
 with a certain great gun which neared completion. Here 
 something had not pleased him. The fitting wedges were 
 not yet in position about the great rings of iron which 
 held the gun together. 
 
 So in his access of fury he had lifted his hand to strike 
 Malise. But to the surprise of all, the old smith took 
 with extraordinary calmness — almost indeed with humil- 
 ity, the buffet which the King dealt him on the cheek. So 
 
 363
 
 364 MAY MARGARET 
 
 much so that all marvelled at it and admired — the King, 
 in his calmer moments, not less than any. 
 
 All that the old smith answered was only this ! — " There 
 is no need of any words. That which I have never re- 
 ceived from six earls of Douglas, shall I not take with 
 gratefulness from James Stewart, King of Scots? Am 
 I not, for the time being and for the matter in hand, his 
 very humble servant?" 
 
 And when the King again came near with soft words, 
 having gotten over his anger, as was his wont, Malise 
 replied to him: " Your Majesty did but that which your 
 Majesty had the right to do. The wrong was in this — 
 that there was a slackness in the work. But I promise 
 you the wedges shall be in their places on the day ap- 
 pointed for the bombard to fire, which is August the 
 third ! " 
 
 And so saying, he bowed to the ground in the ancient 
 fashion. But his son Laurence, who was in the suite of 
 the King, told me afterwards that there was a certain dull 
 red glow in his father's eye which misliked him — deep, 
 slumberous, volcanic, like the red pale-fires that look 
 down of nights upon the fishers in the Bay of Naples 
 when the lavas are out among the vineyards of Vesuvius. 
 
 As for Laurence himself, his father took not the least 
 notice of him. Once he had ventured to address his 
 father, but Malise gazed blankly at him for a moment. 
 
 "Steward of a Stewart," he muttered. " keep not too near 
 thy master, the murderer, an thou wouldst escape his 
 doom ! Also keep far from me ! I have neither art nor 
 part in thee ! I do the King's work, it is true, but for a 
 time and for a price. Go thou and serve at thine own 
 anvil, and the King recompense thee according to thy 
 desert ! " 
 
 But when I came across the old man at the black door of 
 the cavernous smithy, where he was ending his work, he 
 saluted graciously as of old. I was his lady — as he said, 
 his true Master's wife. I inquired of him if he had noth- 
 ing to ask of me concerning Sholto and Maud and the 
 folk at the Larg of Kcnmore, where he had been so happy. 
 
 But at this he passed his hand across his brow with the
 
 MALISE DOES HIS WORK 365 
 
 same weary gesture of having forgotten something. Then 
 gradually a part of his memory returned to him. 
 
 " Ah, Sholto — yes, I mind now," he murmured, " a good 
 lad, Sholto — good to me, as was also his wife, the daft 
 Hielant lass. But (I deny it not) she has grown wise 
 with time. Naething tames thae licht-heeled hizzies like 
 a raft o' bairns. I mind now — I mind. I was wi' them 
 at the Larg o' Kenmore. There Sholto is underlying the 
 King's displeasure — even as I mysel' did yesterday. He, 
 the Stewart, strack me that hae served sax o' his betters, 
 and been to them even as an honoured councillor and a 
 friend. That was what my maister, the Earl William, 
 your honoured husband, yince caaed auld Malise. I 
 thocht on it yesterday wi' the print o' the Stewart's hand 
 on my cheek. But I said nocht! Na, it didna become 
 auld Malise to be speakin' ! " 
 
 " It was doubtless but the King's hot temper," I said, 
 not wishing the old man to fall into any trouble on my 
 account, or that he should bring himself within the 
 King's vengeance. " Think no more of the matter. Let 
 me see you work ! You are as of old the Master Crafts- 
 man ! None denies that throughout all the camp ! " 
 
 "Aye, do they indeed say that?" he cried with a leap 
 of something like pleasure to his face. " Hath the old 
 hand not yet wholly lost its cunning ? " 
 
 I stood admiring the great iron monster which on the 
 following day, being the third of August, was to vomit 
 forth its thunderbolts upon the fortress of Roxburgh, 
 
 " Aye," said he, " ye are right, my Leddy of Douglas, it 
 is indeed. a great work! But," here he put his hand 
 gently on my sleeve, " I will show you a greater yet." 
 
 And forthwith he took me to the farther end of the 
 forge, where on a shelf stood a row of dark pails of a 
 square shape, full of a dark liquid that looked like oil. 
 
 " I will show you a greater — a greater," he repeated, 
 " the Royal Stewart — bah ! I turn the back o' my hand 
 
 on her. But here " He put his fingers into the dense 
 
 liquid and drew forth something that shone ebon-black 
 in the red flicker of the forges. " None hath seen these 
 but you, my lady. None hath the right to see them
 
 366 MAY MARGARET 
 
 save the widow of the man they murdered untimely. 
 
 This " he continued with a caressing motion of his 
 
 fingers over the poHshed surface of the wood, " is the Hfe 
 of a man done up in httle. I call this, ' James Stewart, 
 Second of the name. King of Scots.' And this is e'en a 
 kinsman o' your ain — ' George Douglas, Earl of Angus,' 
 the name o' him ; and this," taking a third from a further 
 vessel of the same black oil, " is your cousin of Morton. 
 Then there is eke yin caaed after mysel' — Auld Malise 
 (to whom His Maker be gracious!) Auld Malise the 
 Smith, whom the wise folk hold to be perturbed in his 
 mind. But believe them not, my leddy dear! Bide still 
 the morn's mornin' and be late in putting on your claes, 
 my bonny. There shall mair come forth to see the show 
 than shall gang hame frae auld Malise's last morrice- 
 dance upon their feet ! " 
 
 • • • • * 
 
 But since he had spoken thus at the Larg of Kenmore, 
 and nothing had come of it, I confess that I paid no great 
 heed to his words. Besides I was covenanted to meet 
 Laurence that night, to go with him to the King for his 
 last signatures and permissions. So after we had come 
 forth from the pavilion royal, meeting with Herries and 
 several of the McKim brothers who had slipped away 
 from the forges after the gloaming, we made together the 
 round of the camp. 
 
 And Corra made plaint to his brothers of the dumb, 
 desperate silences of his father — also, what appalled 
 them more, telling of his curious gentleness. It was 
 more than a month since he had corrected or even threat- 
 ened any of them with a gaud of iron ! 
 
 " For all that, I like it not," said Corra. " Such woman- 
 liness is not like our father. He will bide at the forge 
 half the night working at his own ploys, snecking the 
 door upon us, and daring us to come within a hundred 
 paces of the smiddy. No, it is maist doom's unlike my 
 faither ! " 
 
 And so said they all of them. 
 
 But, I confess it with shame, I paid small heed to their 
 words. For I, who had been shut up in great cham-
 
 MALISE DOES HIS WORK 367 
 
 bers all my days, yet with no goo for them — who had 
 seen life (in all that concerned master and man, lord 
 and lackey) only from the upper side, was pleased beyond 
 words to hear the crackling of the lighted camp fires, to 
 watch the press of men about the ration tents, to touch 
 the covered guns waiting the morrow's morn to speak 
 their word, sheeted down to keep out the dews of the hot 
 season. Yea, even, wrapped in Laurence's cloak, it tasted 
 good to me to listen to the rough talk of certain Gal- 
 loway lads about the fires. Some of them were lying 
 toasting strips of ox-flesh on pointed sticks and tearing 
 off morsels as they were ready, burning their fingers amid 
 their own imprecations and the laughters of their com- 
 rades. 
 
 All was gay, and made for gaiety in others. And I, who 
 had lived these many years retired and set apart, re- 
 joiced beyond words to be thus abroad after dark in the 
 midst of such a moving jolly world of men and things, 
 the great English fortress looming dark behind all, as if 
 it leaned against the highest stars. 
 
 • •   • • 
 
 The next morning showed fair and clear. The camp 
 was early astir, for this day the great bombard, Malise's 
 masterpiece, was to speak for the first time. The " Royal 
 Stewart " was set out on a knoll facing the castle, which 
 would offer a fair enough mark in the sunshine of the 
 morning. From the walls, dark with English archers 
 and culverin-men, a fire was kept up upon all who 
 showed themselves near enough to be reached, and also, 
 for the honour of the thing, as it were, powder was 
 wasted upon many others who were far out of reach. 
 
 For me, the night adventure in the camp, the sense of 
 wandering at liberty where I had never been permitted to 
 go before, under the protection of the man I loved, the 
 night air, the freshness — all conspired to make me sleep 
 far beyond my ordinary hour. 
 
 When I sat up in my bed, there grew conscious an 
 unwonted sense of emptiness and loneliness all about. 
 No noise of merry voices in the Queen's pavilion, at one 
 end of which I lay — the every-day clash of arms, the bray
 
 368 MAY MARGARET 
 
 of trumpets, the brawling " kyangle " of voices, equally 
 sunk into an uncanny silence. 
 
 Actually, there was a lark singing up somewhere in the 
 lift. 
 
 I leaped from bed, and, swiftly as I could, did my 
 gown and shoes upon me. The moment I looked out of 
 the tent door all was explained. There on a little green 
 hill away to the left of the camp, was the great bombard, 
 the Royal Stewart, plain to be seen. The King's artificers 
 in wood had, during the night, run a little fence about 
 it to keep at a distance the crowd of sightseers. But 
 within I could see a few figures moving about, Malise 
 himself, the King, one or two of his lords, the royal 
 favourites, and — Laurence. 
 
 All at once there leaped up in my mind the warnings of 
 Malise to me to bide in my bed that morning. A kind 
 of wild terror laid hold on me. Laurence was there — it 
 might be in sore and instant danger. What were the 
 strange and ebon-black wedges in their baths of oil. 
 They carried each of them, Malise had said, the life of a 
 man. He had even named them — the King, Angus, Mor- 
 ton, himself! 
 
 Why had he told me this? 
 
 Was it only part of that sombre, threatening madness 
 which for months had looked out of his eyes, or some 
 sudden desperate vengeance he was planning to take upon 
 the murderer of the master he had loved? Strange it 
 was, that, as soon as James Douglas escaped from his 
 revenge, all memory of Thrieve and his daughter Mag- 
 dalen went from his mind clean as a wiped slate. And 
 in its place, imminent, instant, overwhelming as if it had 
 happened yesterday, stood forth the figure of his true 
 master demanding vengeance — William Douglas, mur- 
 dered at Stirling by the King's own hand. Others may 
 explain this. I only set down the facts. It may be that 
 through her great sacrifice, the spirit of Magdalen had 
 found rest, but that of William Douglas, sent unsained 
 to its doom, troubled Malise with purposes of ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Be this as it may, seeing Laurence there among the
 
 MALISE DOES HIS WORK 369 
 
 others, fear took on me and I ran for the hill-top with all 
 the speed of which I was capable — no great thing perhaps, 
 but sufficient to bring me there in time before the last 
 preparations were finished. 
 
 " I have a message for the King !" I cried ; "let me pass." 
 
 The soldier at the barrier, knowing me of the party of 
 the Queen, saluted and caused open a way for me. I ran 
 straight up the gentle slope towards the great bombard, 
 which, huge as the trunk of the greatest oak in Cadzow 
 forest, hung threateningly above my head on its cradle 
 of iron. 
 
 The mouth was pointed in my direction, but, of course, 
 elevated for the range of the castle. I ran straight upon 
 the group. Malise was busy about the great iron mon- 
 ster, and, for all his weight and his years, running hither 
 and thither like a cat. He had a wooden mallet in his 
 hand, and I could see him firming and loosening the 
 wooden w^edges of the great rings, striking here on the 
 broad butt, and anon with a broad-faced chisel easing the 
 pressure again till he had gotten the whole to his mind. 
 The King and several lords watched him with interest, 
 the King even mounting on the cradle in order to see 
 better. 
 
 Laurence, who had pointed the gun for the bomb to 
 strike the middle of the castle wall, stood a little behind, 
 and at first, as I came from the front, was hidden from 
 my sight by the black mass of the gun and her carriage. 
 
 I stopped short, not knowing what to do or say. All 
 seemed as it should be, every man absorbed in the great 
 occasion. Yet, perhaps for that reason, it was left to 
 me, a woman, to see something which had escaped all 
 the others. 
 
 The wedges were those nfhich I Jmd seen in the oil- 
 tanks — black, dripping, polished like glass. 
 
 Stop ! " I cried, " I beseech you all to go away. There 
 is danger here — perhaps death ! " 
 
 _ The King looked over and saw me. He had been stand- 
 ing on the carriage pillar. 
 
 " What would you ? " he cried angrily. " This is no 
 place for girls. Get you to the Queen ! "
 
 370 MAY MARGARET 
 
 Then I saw the slumberous red eyes of Malise as he 
 erected himself from his wedge-tapping. They were not 
 malignant, more kindly and pleasant, indeed, than usual. 
 
 " Let her bide — let her bide," he cried. " She hath lost 
 her good liege Lord ! What wants she more with this 
 world?" 
 
 " But there is danger," said the King, motioning with 
 his hand. " Go — I command you. We are about to fire ! " 
 
 At the word Malise went to the touch-vent, standing a 
 moment high above all with the lighted match in his hand. 
 His face, which had been lurid and dark even in the light 
 of the high blue day, suddenly and inexplicably cleared. 
 
 " King of Scots," he cried, " there is one thing I would 
 say before we try the bombard. Its name shall not be 
 the * Royal Stewart,' but the ' Royal Douglas,' in mem- 
 ory of him whom ye slew because he was the greater. 
 His voice shall speak to-day ! " 
 
 I could see the lords draw together and touch each 
 other knowingly with hand and elbow. 
 
 '' The mad smith is worse than usual to-day ! " That 
 is what they meant to say, with a sneer and a laugh. 
 
 But the King, with an imperturbable face, held his 
 ground. Certainly no coward was this James Stewart, 
 called of the Fiery Face. 
 
 " Christen it what you will, only go on — do your work, 
 Malise McKim," he cried. "Come hither, Angus! 
 Hither to me, Morton ! This is a sight ye shall not see 
 twice!" 
 
 " Nay, not twice ! " cried the old smith mockingly, 
 " hither Angus ! Hither Morton — traitor Douglases 
 both ! Ye, too, have slain your master — learn how to 
 die!" 
 
 By this time I had my hand upon the collar of Lau- 
 rence's blouse, of the strong rough stuff which he wore 
 at his enginry. Suddenly leaning all my weight upon it, 
 I brought us both to the ground at the very moment 
 when 1 saw Malise set his blazing match to the touch- 
 hole! 
 
 The roar of the bombard was followed by a cry more 
 great and terrible still. For a moment it seemed as if
 
 MALISE DOES HIS WORK 371 
 
 all who a moment before had stood about were lying in 
 their blood. The great cannon had burst at the first trial. 
 The wedges had slipped like glass. Morton was fallen 
 on his face with his arms outspread. Angus, pale as 
 parchment, lay wounded to the death. The King, when 
 they went to lift him up, was dead. And as to Malise the 
 Smith, after that great explosion, in plain words — he was 
 not! 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Thus was avenged the Great Treachery of the ante- 
 chamber of Stirling. Only Laurence and I came through 
 scatheless, of all that watched the first firing of the mighty 
 bombard the Royal Stewart, the masterpiece of the Arm- 
 ourer Smith, Malise McKim. Yet none knew that the 
 old man had given his life to avenge his master. None, 
 that is, save I Margaret Douglas, who had seen the 
 wedges asteep in the black oil, and the man whom God 
 had given me. " It was an accident," said all men. And 
 Laurence and I let them think so. For that was best. 
 
 Even as Malise had foretold, so it came to pass. The 
 very wedge which he had called by the name of '' James, 
 King of Scots," slew the King, striking him swift and 
 sudden, even as he had slain William, Earl of Douglas, 
 his friend and guest. 
 
 Thus and not otherwise did Malise the Smith finish his 
 work.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE WORN PATH 
 
 I AM an old woman, and wearied with much writing; yet 
 Hke any young girl, I have my dreams of love, and may be 
 permitted to tell them. Late have I sat, and long; early 
 have I risen, and oft, through the stars of midnight, I 
 have seen the daylight break upon the world as I sat at 
 my task. And now that it is done, though I had thought 
 that I would rejoice, my heart is no little sore ; for the 
 days are long without Laurence, and the bairns also gone 
 forth from me, though only to homes of their own, houses, 
 and husbands, and children. 
 
 Yet why should I complain? Few are the women who 
 have known a longer or a happier life with the man of 
 their heart that I had with Laurence. Two children were 
 given to us, and now remain to me — that is, as often as 
 their husbands will let them. 
 
 But. better than the great places they inhabit, I love the 
 little house of Balveny, where Laurence and I tried the 
 day of mean things, and found it right pleasant. Yet as 
 well, or better almost, do I love the Larg of Kenmore, 
 where still dwell, in their green age and unseared leaf, 
 Sholto and Maud together. I grudge them not their 
 untouched happiness. Maud is dearer to me than ever. 
 She it was helped me to close my husband's eyes, each of 
 us holding a hand, and Sholto standing at the feet. 
 
 Then she came and kissed me. 
 
 " We are old women, you and I, Margaret," she whis- 
 pered ; " but it is good to have known love once, and life 
 once, aye, and also death once, when it breaks not love ! " 
 
 And, indeed, she was right, and Kennedy, the great 
 Bishop, was right. All these forty years of my wedded 
 life with him, scarce once did I think that thrice I had 
 stood at the altar. I had, as said the canon law, been 
 
 372
 
 THE WORN PATH 373 
 
 wedded but once. I was the wife of one husband, even 
 Laurence — who alone taught me the sweetness of poverty 
 when it is shared betwixt two, and the steadfast gladness 
 of that pavilion of love — which to us was a quiet habita- 
 tion, a tabernacle not to be taken down, nor the stakes 
 removed, nor so much as one of the cords thereof broken. 
 For the rest there remains little to tell, save that which 
 shall sufficiently serve to round my tale. 
 
 Duly James Douglas gat his two hundred rose nobles 
 from the King's treasury, whether " Poor Jack's Neville's 
 Anne " profited by them or no I will not swear. Like 
 the wild ass he was, James abode in London, snuffing up 
 the air of hostels and taverns, of palaces and call-houses, 
 with an equal relish. Upon occasion he would lead an 
 army into Wales or head a foray upon Scotland with the 
 cheerful readiness of the mercenary. 
 
 Happy and well he lived (I doubt it not), his sword 
 on his thigh, his damoiselle by his side — Jack Neville's 
 Anne or another — little it mattered to hard-living, hard- 
 fighting Lord James, last Earl of Douglas and first Scots 
 Knight of the Garter. 
 
 But at the utmost end of his life, by one of those twists 
 of fortune which advertise a Providence with a certain 
 sense of the humour of things, it was his lot to die a monk 
 of Lindores — he who had taken life with both hands 
 and said, " This and this shall be mine, because it is 
 good ! " And the word he spake upon his ill fortune is 
 worth setting down. For, being captured on a raid into 
 Scotland fighting with the English against his own 
 countryfolk, they asked him whether he was content to 
 save his life by becoming a brother of the monastery of 
 Lindores. 
 
 " Ow aye," quoth James Douglas, " he that can no bet- 
 ter do, maun e'en be a monk ! " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 And now, not unhappy — nay, often strangely filled with 
 joy, when Maud and Sholto are not with me, I, Margaret 
 Douglas, called Stewart, sit by the window and read what 
 of Laurence's books my dim old eyes can make out. 
 They were bonny to look into once (so they told me).
 
 374 MAY MARGARET 
 
 And mostly I think on the things that were. On WilHam 
 Douglas whom I never loved — on James that never loved 
 me — on the last of the Douglases of the Black laid aneath 
 the parsoun's lilac bushes in the quiet kirk-acre of Bal- 
 maghie. Upon the slow becking up of the vengeance fires 
 in the heart of Malise, I also make my meditation. But 
 most I think upon the marvellous long arm of God, the 
 Maker of all, and how and why He permitted the ill-doer, 
 even James of Douglas, to flourish till his green bay tree 
 grew sear and old — nay, to die at the last a holy man. 
 
 And then I wonder, high and sore I wonder — as to re- 
 pentance and punishment — kirk law and canon law, the 
 law of the sowing and the law of reaping that which a man 
 hath sown — of Him too of whom the Douglases, Black 
 and Red alike, thought not mickle — yet who came (so I 
 read) to teach forgiveness to men. As to that, I was as 
 my forbears till Laurence taught me. For my husband 
 was great and wise, and learned the spirit of Joseph's 
 Son — practised it, too, which is more. 
 
 So now in these last days I can think of Lindores and of 
 James Douglas mumbling litanies in his stall — yea, and 
 even hope (I have not yet made it a prayer) that after 
 all he died forgiven. That he would never ask it, I know. 
 He never dreamed he had done aught to need forgiveness. 
 
 But most of all, and that which brings the strange suf- 
 fusing joy to eyes that have looked on the world for over 
 seventy years, is to sit with the window open upon the fell, 
 watching the little path which his feet wore — the way 
 Laurence used to come home to me for forty years. 
 
 Then, while I sit long and con over the Book, which he 
 taught me to read in our long years together, till I am 
 a-weary, lo ! the gloaming comes up the glen, and there 
 goes a thrilling through me that is not of this earth. The 
 age vanishes from my limbs. The sight returns to my dim 
 eyes. The clear heaven opens above, and I come out 
 upon a place where there is no night. 
 
 But even then the path his feet trod remains on the hill- 
 side yonder. I can see it sitting here — yes, sitting and 
 waiting — an old woman, but with a young heart in my 
 breast.
 
 THE WORN PATH 375 
 
 Also I know, and rejoice that the time is not far off when 
 I shall see him come down that path, my Laurence, whom 
 I loved. 
 
 Then, from the old worn chair where I have watched 
 and waited for him so long, I shall rise to my feet and 
 say, "Beloved! " And behold, after that, the chair, the 
 house, and the world shall know me nO' more for ever ! 
 
 Because he and I shall have gone up that worn path 
 together, hand in hand, silent — but not afraid. 
 
 THE END
 
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