CHAPTER XVII: THE BEGGING SCHOLAR
'The poor scholar,' now only existing in Ireland and Brittany--nay, webelieve extinct there since the schoolmaster has become not abroad, butat home, in Government colleges--was to be found throughout thecommonwealth of Europe in the Middle Ages. Young lads, in whom conventschools had developed a thirst for learning, could only gratify it bymaking their way to some university, where between begging, singing,teaching, receiving doles, earning rewards in encounters of wit andlearning, doing menial services and using all manner of shifts, theycontrived to live a hard life, half savage on the one side, highlyintellectual upon the other. They would suck the marrow of oneuniversity, and then migrate to another; and the rank they had gained inthe first was available in the second, so that it was no means uncommonfor them to bring away degrees from half the universities in Europe, allof which formed one general system--all were like islands of one country,whose common language was queer Latin, and whose terms, manners, andcustoms were alike in all main points.
Scotland contributed many of her sons to this curious race of vagabondstudents, when she herself was without any university to satisfy thecravings of her thoughtful and intellectual people. 'No country withouta Scot or a flea' was an uncomplimentary proverb due to the numerousyoung clerks, equally fierce for frays and for lectures, who flocked tothe seats of learning on the Continent, and sometimes became naturalizedthere, sometimes came home again, to fight their way to the higherbenefices of the Church, or to become councillors of state.
It was true that Malcolm was an Oxford scholar, or rather bachelor, andthat Oxford and Cambridge were almost the only universities where Scotswere not--their place being taken by multitudinous Irish; yet not onlywere all universities alike in essentials, but he had seen and heardenough of that at Paris to be able to personate a clerk from thence.
It was no small plunge for one hitherto watched, tended, and guarded asMalcolm had been, to set forth entirely alone; but as he had approachedmanhood, and strengthened in body, his spirit had gained much in courage,and the anxiety about his sister swallowed up all other considerations.Even while he entreated the prayers of the Abbess, he felt quite surethat he had those of Esclairmonde; and when he had hunted out of hismails the plain bachelor's rabbit-skin hood and black gown--which,perhaps, was a little too fine in texture for the poor wanderer--andfastened on his back, with a leathern thong, a package containing a fewbooks and a change of linen, his pale and intellectual face made him lookso entirely the young clerk, that Patrick hardly believed it was Malcolm.
And when the roads parted, and Drummond and his escort had to turntowards Berwick, while Malcolm took the path to the monastery, it was theyounger who was the stronger and more resolute of the two; for Patrickcould neither reconcile himself to peril the boy, who had always been hisanxious trust, nor to return to the King without him; and yet no one wholoved Lilias could withhold him from his quest.
Malcolm did not immediately speed to the monastery on taking leave ofPatrick. He stood first to watch the armour flashes gradually die away,and the little troop grow smaller to his eye, across the brown moor, tillthey were entirely out of sight, and he himself left alone. Then heknelt by a bush of gorse, told his beads, and earnestly entreateddirection and aid for himself, and protection for his sister; and whenthe sun grew so low as to make it time for a wanderer to seek harbour, hestained and daggled his gown in the mire and water of a peat-moss, so asto destroy its Oxford gloss, took a book in his hand, and walked towardsthe monastery, reciting Latin verses in the sing-song tone thenuniversally followed.
As he came among the fields, he saw that the peasants, and lay brethrenwho had been working among them, were returning, some from sowing, othersfrom herding the cattle, which they drove before them to the byre withinthe protecting wall of the monastery.
A monk--with a weather-beaten face and athletic figure, much like afarmer's of the present day--overtook him, and hailed him with'_Benedicite_, you there and welcome to your clerkship! Are you comingfor supper and bed in the convent?'
Malcolm knew good-natured Brother Nicolas, and kept his hood well overhis face after the first salutation; though he felt confident that LordMalcolm could hardly be recognized in the begging scholar, as he madereply, '_Salve, reverende frater. Venio de Lutetia Parisiorum_.' {1}
'Whisht with your Latin, laddie,' said the brother. 'Speak out, ifyou've a Scots tongue in your head, and have not left it in foreignparts.'
'For bed and board, holy father, I shall be most thankful,' repliedMalcolm.
'That's more like it,' said the brother, who acted as a kind of farmingsteward, and was a hearty, good-natured gossip. 'An' what's the name ofye?'
He gave his real Christian name; and added that he came from Glenuskie,where the good Tutor of Glenuskie had been kind enough to notice him.
'Ay,' said Brother Nicolas, 'he was a guid man to all towardly youths. Hedied in this house, more's the pity.'
'Yea, Sir--so I heard say,' returned Malcolm. 'He was a good friend tome!' he added, to cover his heavy sigh. 'And, Sir, how went it with theyoung laird and leddy?'
'For the young laird--a feckless, ugsome, sickly wean he was, puirladdie--a knight cam by, an' behoved to take him to the King. Nay, butif you've been at Parish--if that's what ye mean with your Lutetia--ye'llhave seen him an' the King.'
'I saw the King,' answered Malcolm; 'but among the Englishry.'
'A sorry sight enow!' said the monk; 'but he'll soon find his Scots heartagain; and here we've got rid of the English leaven from the house, andbe all sound and leal Scots here.'
'And the lady?' Malcolm ventured to ask. 'She had a winsome face.'
'Ho! ho! what have young clerks to do wi' winsome faces?' laughed theBenedictine.
'She was good to me,' Malcolm could truly say.
'They had her in St. Abbs yonder,' said the monk.
'Is she there?' asked Malcolm. 'I would pay my duty and thanks to her.'
'Now--there I cannot say,' replied Brother Nicolas. 'My good MotherAbbess and our Prior are not the friends they were in Prior Akefield'stime; and there's less coming and going between the houses. There was anoise that Lord Malcolm had been slain, and I did hear that, thereupon,she had been claimed as a ward of the Crown. But I cannot say. If yegang to St. Abbs the morn, ye may hear if she be there--and at any rateget the dole.'
It was clear that the good brother knew no more, and Malcolm could onlythank him for his condescension, and follow among the herdsmen into thewell-known monastery court.
Here he availed himself of his avowed connection with Glenuskie, to begto be shown good old Sir David Drummond's grave. A flat gray stone inthe porch was pointed out to him; and beside this he knelt, until themonks flocked in for prayers--which were but carelessly and hurriedlysung; and then followed supper. It was all so natural to him, that itwas with an effort that he recalled that his place was not at the hightable, as Lord Malcolm Stewart, but that Malcolm, the nameless beggingscholar, must be trencher-fellow with the servants and lay brethren. Hewas the less concerned, that here there was less danger of recognition,and more freedom of conversation.
Things were evidently much altered. A novice was indeed, as usual,placed aloft in the refectory pulpit, to read aloud to the brethrenduring their repast, but no one seemed to think it needful to preservethe decorous silence that had been rigidly exacted during PriorAkefield's time, and there was a continual buzz of conversation. Lentthough it was, the fish was of the most esteemed kinds, and it wasevident that, like the monks of Melrose, they 'made gude kale.' Few ofthe kindly old faces that Malcolm remembered were to be seen under theircowls. Prior Drax himself had much more the countenance of amoss-trooper than of a monk--mayhap he was then meditating that which heafterwards carried out successfully, _i.e_. the capture and appropriationof a whole instalment of King James's ransom, on its way across theBorder; and there was a rude recklessness and self-indulgence about thelooks, voices, and manners of the brethren he had
brought with him, suchas made Malcolm feel that if he had had his wish, and remained atColdingham, he should soon have found it no haven of peace.
The lay-brothers and old servants were fixtures, but the old faithful anddevout ones looked forlorn and unhappy and there had been a greatimportation of the ruffianly men-at-arms, whom the more pugnaciousecclesiastics, as well as nobles, of Scotland, were apt to maintain.Guards there had been in old times, but kept under strict discipline;whereas, in the rude conduct of these men, there was no sign that theyknew themselves to be in a religious house. Malcolm, keeping aloof fromthese as much as might be, gave such an account of himself as was mostconsistent with truth, since it was necessary to account for hisreturning so young from his studies. He had, he said, been told thatthere was an inheritance fallen due to him, and that the kinsman, inwhose charge his sister had been left, was dead; and he had come home toseek her out, and inquire into the matter of his heirship.
Rude jokes, from some of the new denizens of the monastery, were spent onthe improbability of his finding sister or lands; if it were in theBarony of Glenuskie, the House of Albany had taken the administration ofthat into their own hands.
'Nay--but,' said Malcolm, 'could I but see my young Lady Lilias, shemight make suit for me.'
The gray-headed lay-brother, to whom he addressed himself, replied thatit was little the Lady Lilias could do, but directed him to St. Abbs tofind her; whereat one of the men-at-arms burst out laughing, and crying,'That's a' that ye ken, auld Davie! As though the Master of Albany wouldlet a bonnie lassie ware hersel' and her tocher on stone walls and dourold nuns.'
'Has she wedded the Master of Albany, then?' asked Malcolm, concealinghis anxiety as best he might.
'That's as he pleases; and by my troth he took pains enow to get her!'
'What pains?'
'Why, once she slipped out of his very fingers; that time that he hadlaid hands on her, and the hirpling doited brother of hers cam down witha strange knight, put her into St. Abbs, and made off for England--sothey said. Some of the rogues would have it 'twas St. Andrew in bodilyshape, and that he tirled the young laird, as was only fit for a saint,aff to heaven wi' him; for he was no more seen in these parts.'
'Nay, that couldna be,' put in another soldier. 'Sandy M'Kay took hisaith that he was in the English camp--more shame till him--an' wasstickit dead for meddling between King Harry's brother and his luve. Itsorted him weel, I say.'
'Aweel!' continued the first; 'gane is he, and sma' loss wi' him! An'yon old beldame over at St. Abbs, she kens weel how to keep a lass wi' atocher--so what does the Master but sends a letter ower to our Prior,bidding him send two trusty brethren, as though from the King, to conducther to Whitby?'
'Ha!' said Malcolm; 'but that's ower the Border.'
'Even so; but the Glenuskies are all English at heart, and it sickertrained away the silly lassie.'
'And then?'--the other man-at-arms laughed.
'Why, at the first hostelry, ye can guess what sort of nuns were ready tomeet her! I promise ye she skirled, and ca'ed Heaven and earth to help;but Brother Simon and Brother Ringan gave their word they'd see nae illdune to her, and she rade with them on each side of her, and us tallfellows behind and before, till we cam to Doune.'
'And what became of her, the poor lassie, then?' inquired Malcolm,steadying his voice with much effort.
'Ye maun ask the Master that,' said the soldier. 'I ken nae mair; I wassent on anither little errand of the Earl of Fife into the Highlands, andonly cam back hither a week syne, to watch the Border.'
'Had it been St. Andrew that saved her before, he wad hae come again,'pondered the lay-brother. 'He'd hardly hae given her up.'
'Weel, I heard the lassie cry on the Master to mind the aith he had madethe former time; an' though he tried to laugh her to scorn, his eyes grewwild, and there were some that tell'd me they lookit to see thatglittering awsome knight among them again! My certie, they maun hae beenfeared enow the time he did come.'
Malcolm had now had his fears and suspicions so far confirmed, that heperceived what his course should next be. Strange to say, in spite ofthe horror of knowing his sister to have been a whole year in WalterStewart's power, he was neither hopeless nor disheartened. Lilias seemedto have kept her persecutor at bay once, and she might have done soagain--if only by the appeal to the mysterious relic, on which his oathto abstain from violence had been sworn. And confidence inEsclairmonde's prayers continued to buoy him up, as he recited his own,and formed his designs for ascertaining whether she were to be found atDoune--either as wife, or as captive, to Walter, Earl of Fife and heir ofAlbany.
So soon as the doors of Coldingham Priory were opened, he was on his waynorthward. It was a sore and trying journey, in the bitter Marchweather, for one so little used to hardship. He did not fail inobtaining shelter or food; his garb was everywhere a passport; but hegrew weary and footsore, and his anxiety greatly increased when he foundthat fatigue was bringing back the lameness, which greatly enhanced thelikelihood of his being recognized. Kind monks, and friendly gude-wives,hospitably persuaded the worn student to remain and rest, till hisblistered feet were whole; but he pressed on whenever he found itpossible to travel, and after the first week found his progress lesstardy and painful.
Resting at Edinburgh for Passion-tide and Easter Day, he found that theRegent Albany himself, with all his family, were at Doune, and heaccordingly made his way thither; rejoicing that he had had some littletime to perfect himself in his part, before rehearsing it to the personsmost likely to detect his disguise.
Along the banks and braes of bonny Doune he slowly moved, with wearylimbs; looking up to the huge pile of the majestic castle in sickening ofheart at the doubt that was about to become a certainty, and thatinvolved the happiness or the absolute misery of his sister's life. Nay,he would almost have preferred to find that she had perished in herresistance, rather than have become wife to such a man as Walter Stewart.
The Duke of Albany, as representing majesty, kept up all the state thatScottish majesty was capable of, in its impoverished irregular state.Hosts of rough lawless warriors, men-at-arms, squires and knights, livedat free quarters, in a sort of rude plenty, in and about the Castle;eating and drinking at the Regent's expense, sleeping where they could,in hall or stable, and for clothing and armour trusting to 'spulzie';always ready for violence, without much caring on whomexercised--otherwise hunting, or lounging, or swelling their master'sdisorderly train.
This retinue was almost at its largest at this time, being swelled by thefollowing of the two younger sons of Murdoch, Robert and Alexander; andthe courts of the Castle were filled with rude, savage-looking men, somefew grooming horses, others with nothing to do but to shout forth theirjeers at the pale, black-gowned student, who timidly limped into theirlair.
Timidly--yes; for the awful chances heavily oppressed him; and thehorrible scurrility and savagery that greeted him on all sides made hisheart faint at the thought of his Lily in this cage of foul animals. Hedid not fear for himself, and never paused until a shouting circle ofidle ruffians set themselves full in his way, to badger and bait the poorscholar with taunts and insults--hemming him in, bawling out ribaldmirth, as a pack of hounds fall on some stray dog, or, as Malcolmthought, in a moment half of sick horror, half of resolute resignation,like wild cattle--fat bulls of Bashan closing in on every side. Sohorrible a moment of distress he had never known; but suddenly, as hestood summoning all his strength, panting with dismay, inwardly praying,and trying to close his ears and commend himself to One who knew whatmockery is, there was an opening of the crowd, a youth darted down amongthem, with a loud cry of 'Shame! Out on you! A poor scholar!' andtaking Malcolm's hand, led him forward; while a laugh of mockery rose inthe distance--'Like to like.'
'Ay, my friend and brother, I am Baccalaureus, even as you are,' eagerlysaid the young gentleman, in whom Malcolm, somewhat to his alarm,recognized his cousin, James Kennedy, the King's nephew, a real Parisian'_bejanus_,' or
_bec jaune_, {2} when they last had met in the Hotel deSt. Pol; and thus not only qualified to confute and expose him, should heshow any ignorance of details, but also much more likely to know him thanthose who had not seen him for many months before he had left Scotland.
But James Kennedy asked no questions, only said kindly, in the Latin thatwas always spoken in the University, 'Pray pardon us! _Mores Hyperboreisdesunt_. {3} The Regent would be grieved, if he knew how these_scelerati_ {4} have sorted you. Come, rest and wash--it will soon besupper-time.'
He took Malcolm to an inner court, filled for him a cup of ale, for hisimmediate refreshment, and led him to a spout of clear water, in the sideof the rock on which the Castle stood; where a stone basin afforded theonly facilities for washing that the greater part of the inhabitants ofthe Castle expected, and, in effect, more than they commonly used.Malcolm, however, was heartily glad of the refreshment of removing thedust from his weary face and feet--and heartily thanked his protector, inthe same dog-Latin. Kennedy waited for him, and as a great bell began toring, said '_Pro caena_,' {5} and conducted him towards the great hallwhile Malcolm felt much impelled to make himself known, but was consciousthat he had not so comported himself towards his cousin at Paris as todeserve much favour from him.
A high table was spread in the hall, with the usual appliances befittingprinces and nobles. The other tables, below the dais, were of the rudestdescription, and stained with accumulations of grease and ale; and nowonder, since trenchers were not, and each man hacked a gobbet forhimself from the huge pieces of beef carried round on spits--nor wouldthe guests have had any objection, during a campaign, to cook the meat inthe fashion described by Froissart, between themselves and the saddle.These were the squirearchy; Malcolm's late persecutors did not aspire tothe benches around these boards, or only at second hand, and for the mostpart had no seat but the unclean straw and rushes that strewed the floor.
As James Kennedy entered the hall with Malcolm, there came from anotherdoor, marshalled by the seneschal in full feudal state, the Regent Dukeof Albany himself, his wife, a daughter or two, two sons--and Malcolmsaw, with beating heart, Lilias herself, pale worn, sorrowful-looking,grievously altered, but still his own Lily. Others followed, chieflyknights and attendants, but Malcolm saw no one but Lily. She took herplace dejectedly, and never raised her eyes towards him, even when, onthe Regent's question, 'What have ye there, Jamie?' Kennedy stood forthand answered that it was a scholar, a student, for whom he asked thehospitality of his kinsman.
'He is welcome,' said the Regent, a man of easy good-nature, whose chiefmisfortune was, that being of weak nature, he came between a wickedfather and wickeder sons. He was a handsome man, with much of thestately appearance of King James himself, and the same complexion; but itwas that sort of likeness which was almost provoking, by seeming todetract from the majesty of the lineaments themselves, as seen in him whoalone knew how to make them a mask for a great soul. His two sons,Robert and Alexander, laughed as they saw Kennedy's companion, and calledout, 'So that's the brotherhood of learning, is it, Jamie?--forgatheringwith any beggar in the street!'
'Yea,' said Kennedy, nothing daunted, 'and finding him much bettermannered than you!'
'Ay!' sighed Murdoch, feebly; 'when I grew up, it was at the Castles ofPerth and Doune that we looked for the best manners. Now--'
'We leave them to the lick-platters that have to live by them,' saidAlexander, rudely.
Kennedy, meanwhile, gave the young scholar in charge to a gray-headedretainer, who seemed one of the few who had any remains of good-breeding;and then offered to say Grace--he being the nearest approach to anecclesiastic present--as the chaplain was gone to an Easter festivity athis Abbey. Malcolm thus obtained a seat at the second table, and atolerable share of supper; but he could hardly eat, from intense anxiety,and scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that he was out of sight ofLily.
By and by, a moment's lull of the universal din enabled Malcolm to hearthe Regent saying, 'Verily, there is a look of gentle nurture about thelad. Look you, James, when the tables are drawn, you shall hold adisputation with him. It will be sport to hear how you chop logic atyour Universities yonder.'
Malcolm's spirit sank. Such disputations were perfectly ordinary work atboth Oxford and Paris, and, usually, he was quite capable of sustaininghis part in them; but his heart was so full, his mind so anxious, hiscondition so dangerous, that he felt as if he could by no means rallythat alertness of argument, and readiness of quotation, that wererequisite even in the merest tyro. However, he made a great effort. Hesecretly invoked the Light of Wisdom; tried to think himself back intothe aisles of St. Mary's Church, and to call up the key-notes of some ofthe stock arguments; hoping that, if the selection of the subject wereleft to Kennedy, he would hit on one of those most familiar at Oxford.
The supper was ended, the tables were removed, and the challenge tookplace. Duke Murdoch, leaning back in his high chair by the peat-fire,while the ladies sat round at their spinning, called for the two youngclerks to begin their tourney of words. They stood opposite one another,on the step of the dais; and Kennedy, as host and challenger, assigned tohis opponent the choice of a subject, when Malcolm, brightening, proposedone that he had so often heard and practised on, as to have the argumentsat his fingers' ends; namely, that the real consists only in that whichis substantial to the senses, and which we see, hear, taste, smell, ortouch.
Kennedy's shrewd gray eye glanced at him in a manner that startled him,as he made reply, 'Fellow-_alumnus_, you speak as Oxford scholars speak;but I rede ye well that the real is not that which is grossly tangible tothe corporeal sense, but the idea that is conceived within the immortalintelligence.'
The argument was carried on in the vernacular, but there was an unlimitedlicense of quotation from authors of all kinds, classics, Fathers, andschoolmen. It was like a game at chess, in which the first moves werealways so much alike, that they might have been made by automatons; andMalcolm was repeating reply and counter-reply, almost by rote, when acitation brought in by Kennedy again startled him.
'Outward things,' said James, 'are the mere mark; for have we not heardhow
"Telephus et Peleus, quum pauper et exsul uterque, Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba"?' {6}
Was this to prove that he recognized a wandering prince in his opponent?thought Malcolm; but, much on his guard, he made answer, as usual, in hisnative tongue. 'That which is not touched and held is but a vain andfleeting shadow--"_solvitur in nube_." {7}
'_Negatur_, it is denied!' said Kennedy, fixing his eyes full upon him.'The Speculum of the Soul, which is immortal, retains the image evenwhile the bodily presence is far away. Wherefore else was it thatUlysses sat as a beggar by his paternal hearth, or that Cadmus wanderedto seek his sister?'
This was anything but the regular illustration--the argument was far toodirectly _ad hominem_--and Malcolm hesitated for a moment, ere framinghis reply. 'If the image had satisfied the craving of their hearts, theyhad never wandered, nor endangered themselves.'
'Nor,' said Kennedy, 'endeared themselves to all who love the leal andthe brave, and count these indeed as verities for which to live.'
From the manner in which these words were spoken, Malcolm had no furtherdoubt either that Kennedy knew him, or that he meant to assist him; andthe discussion thenceforth proceeded without further departures from theregular style, and was sustained with considerable spirit, till theRegent grew weary of it, and bed-time approached, when Kennedy announcedhis intention of taking his fellow-student to share his chamber; and, asthis did not appear at all an unnatural proposal, in the crowded Castle,Malcolm followed him up various winding stairs into a small circularchamber, with a loop-hole window, within one of the flanking towers.
Carefully closing the heavy door, Kennedy held out his hands. 'Faircousin,' he said, 'this is bravely done of you.'
'Will it save my sister?' asked Malcolm, anxiously.
'It should,' said his kinsman; 'b
ut how can it be? Whatever is done,must be ere Walter Stewart returns.'
'Tell me all! I know nothing--save that she was cruelly lured from St.Abbs.'
'I know little more,' said Kennedy. 'It was on a false report of yourdeath, and Walter had well-nigh obtained a forcible marriage; when herresistance and cries to Heaven daunted the monk who was to have performedthe rite, so that he, in a sort, became her protector. When she wasbrought here, Walter swore he would bend her to his will; shut her up inthe old keep, and kept her there, scantily fed, and a close prisoner,while he went forth on one of his forays. The Regent coming heremeantime, found the poor maiden in her captivity, and freed her so farthat she lives, to all appearance, as becomes his kinswoman; but theDuchess is cruelly strict with her, being resolved, as she says, to takedown her pride.'
'They must know that I live,' said Malcolm.
'They do; but Walter is none the less resolved not to be balked. Thingscame to a wild pass a few weeks syne. The Regent had never dared tellhim how far matters had gone for bringing back the King, when one dayWalter came in, clad for hawking; and, in his rudest manner, demanded thefalcon that was wont to sit on his father's wrist, and that had neverbeen taken out by any other. The Regent refused to part with the bird,as he had oft done before; whereupon his son, in his fury, snatched herfrom his wrist, and wrung her head off before all our eyes; then turningfiercely on your poor sister, told her that "yon gled should be a tokento her, of how they fared who withheld themselves from him." Then rosethe Duke, trembling within rage; "Ay, Wat," said he, "ye hae beenowermuch for me. We will soon have ane at home that will ken how toguide ye." Walter looked at him insolently, and muttered, "I've heard ofthis before! They that wad have a master, may live under a master--butI'm not ane of them;" and then, turning upon Lady Lilias, he pointed tothe dead hawk, and told her that, unless she yielded to him with a goodgrace, that bird showed her what she might expect, long ere the King orher brother were across the border.'
'And where is he now?'
'In Fife, striving to get a force together to hinder the King's return.He'll not do that; men are too weary of misrule to join him against KingJames; but he is like, any day, to come back with reivers enough toterrify his father, and get your sister into his hands--indeed, hismother is ready to give her up to him whenever he asks. He has sworn tohave her now, were it merely to vex the King and you, and show that he isto be daunted neither by man, heaven, nor hell.'
'And he may come?'
'Any day or any night,' said James. 'Since he went I have striven, invain, to devise some escape for your sister; but Heaven has surely sentyou to hinder so foul a wrong! Yet, if you went to Glenuskie and raisedyour vassals--'
'It would be loss of time,' said Malcolm; 'and this matter may not be putto the doubtful issue of a fray between my men and his villains. Out ofthis place must she go at once. But, alas! how win to the speech ofher?'
'That can I do,' said Kennedy. 'For a few brief moments, each day, haveI spoken to her in the chapel. Nay, I had left this place before now,had she not prayed me to remain as her only friend.'
'Heaven must requite you, Cousin James,' said Malcolm, warmly. 'Ideserved not this of you.'
'All that I desire,' said Kennedy, 'is to see this land of ours cease tobe full of darkness and cruel habitations. Malcolm, you know the Kingbetter than I; may we not trust that he will come as a redresser ofwrongs?'
'Know you not his pledge to himself?--"I will make the key keep thecastle, and the bracken bush keep the cow, though I live the life of adog to bring it about!"'
'God strengthen his hand,' said Kennedy, with tears in his eyes; 'andbring better days to our poor land. Cousin, has not your heart burntwithin you, to be doing somewhat to bring these countrymen of ours tobetter mind?'
'I have grieved,' said Malcolm. 'The sight has been the woe and horrorof my whole life; and either it is worse now than when I went away, or Isee it clearer.'
'It is both,' said Kennedy; 'and, Malcolm, it is borne in on me that we,who have seen better things, have a heavy charge! The King may punishmarauders, and enforce peace; but it will be but the rule of the stronghand, unless men's hearts be moved! Our clergy--they bear the office ofpriests--but their fierceness and their ignorance would scarce bebelieved in France or England; and how should it be otherwise, with noschools at home save the abbeys--and the abbeys almost all fortressesheld by fierce noblemen's sons?'
Malcolm would much rather have discussed the means of rescuing hissister, but James Kennedy's heart was full of a youth's ardent plans forthe re-awakening of religion in his country, chiefly through the improvededucation of the clergy, and it was not easy to bring his discourse to aclose.
'You--you were to wed a great Flemish heiress?' he said. 'You will doyour part, Cousin, in the founding of a University--such as has changedourselves so greatly.'
Malcolm smiled. 'My only bride is learning,' he said; 'my otherbetrothal is but in name, for the safety of the lady.'
'Then,' cried Kennedy joyfully, 'you will give yourself. Learning andculture turned to God's service, for this poor country's sake, in one ofbirth like you, may change her indeed.'
Was this the reading of Esclairmonde's riddle? suddenly thought Malcolm.Was the true search for heavenly Light, then, to consist in holding up tohis countrymen the lamp he was kindling for himself? Must true wisdomconsist in treasuring knowledge, not for his own honour among learnedmen, or the delectation of his own mind, but to scatter it among theserude northern souls? Must the vision of learned research and scholarlycalm vanish, as cloistral peace, and chivalrous love and glory, hadvanished before? and was the lot of a hard-working secular priest thatwhich called him?