the caged lion-第73章
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ner and harder Beauchamp； Earl of Warwick； it was with little thought that after…generations would load his memory with the fate of Jeanne d'Arc； as though her sufferings had proceeded from his individual malice。
Esclairmonde never saw Bedford again； and only heard through Alice； now Countess of Salisbury； how when good Duchess Anne was dead； and her gentle influence removed； Burgundy's disinclination to the English cause was no longer balanced； and how Bedford； perplexed； disheartened； broken in health； but still earnest to propitiate friends for his helpless nephew； had listened to the wily whisper of the Bishop of Therouenne； that his niece； Jaquette； would secure the devotion of the Count de St。 Pol； and that she was moreover like unto another Demoiselle de Luxemburg。
How like； Esclairmonde could judge； when her kinswoman； widowed in her eighteenth year； at six months' end； came to London to claim her dower。 Never； since her days of wandering and anxiety； had Esclairmonde felt such pain as when she perceived how little store the thoughtless girl had set by the great and noble spirit that had been quenched under the load of toil and care with which it had battled for thirteen long years。 Faithful； great…hearted Bedford； striving to uphold a losing cause； to reconcile selfish contentions； to retain conquests that； though unjustly made； he had no power to relinquish； and all without one trustworthy relation； with friends and fellow…warriors dying； disputing； betraying； or deserting； his was as self…devoted and as mournful a career as ever was run by any prince at any age of the world； and while he slept in his grave at Rouen； that grave which even Louis XI。 respected； Esclairmonde； as； like a true bedeswoman of St。 Katharine； she joined in the orisons for the repose of the souls of the royal kindred； never heard the name of the Lord John without a throb of prayer； and a throb too that warmed her heart with tenderness。
It was some four years later； and the even tenor of Sister Clare's course had only been interrupted by her kinswoman； Jaquette； making her way to her to confess her marriage with Richard Wydville； and to entreat her intercession with the Luxemburg family； when one summer night she was called on to attend a pilgrim priest from the Holy Land； who had been landed from a Flemish vessel； and lay dangerously sick at the 'God's house；' or hospital； by the river side。 He was thought by his accent to be foreign； and Sister Clare was always called on to wait upon the stranger。
As she stood by his bedside； she beheld a man of middle age； but wasted with sickness； and with a certain strange look of horror so imprinted on his brow； that even as he lay asleep； though his mouth was grave and peaceful； the lines were still there； and the locks that hung from around his tonsure were of a whiteness that scarce accorded with the features。 It was a face that Esclairmonde could not look at without waking strange memories； but it was not till the sleeper awakened； opened two dark eyes； gazed on her with dreamy doubtful wonder； and then clasped his hands with the murmured thanksgiving； 'My God； hast Thou granted me this？ Light of my life！' that she was assured to whom she was speaking。
Malcolm Stewart it verily was。 Canon Malcolm Stewart of Dunkeld was his proper title； for he had； as she knew； long ceased to be Lord of Glenuskie。 It was not at first that she knew how he had been brought where she now saw him； but after some few days of her tender care and skilful leechcraft； he somewhat rallied； and she gathered his history from his conversation when he was able to speak。
He had had a time of happy labour in Scotland； fully carrying out the designs with which he and his cousin James Kennedy had taken upon them the ministry。 Their own birth； and the appointments their King gave them； so soon as their age permitted； made them able to exert an influence that told upon the rude and unenlightened clergy around。 It had been almost a mission of conversion； to awaken a spirit of Christianity in the country； that had so long been a prey to anarchy。 The King's declaration； 'I will make the key keep the castle； and the bracken…bush keep the cow； though I live the life of a dog to bring it about；' had been the moving spring of their lives。 James had fought hour by hour with the foul habits of lawlessness； savagery； and violence； that had hitherto been absolutely unchecked； and while he strove with the sword of justice； the two young priests worked within the Word of truth； to implant some sense of conscience in the neglected people。
It had been a life of constant exertion； but full of hope and cheerfulness。 Amid that rude country； James's own home was always a bright spot of peace； sunshine； and refinement。 With his beloved queen； and their fair little brood of children； the King cast aside his cares； and was all； and more than all； he had been as the ornament of Henry's Court。 There all that was sweet； innocent； and beautiful was to be found； and there Malcolm； his royal kinsman's confidant； counsellor； and chaplain； was always welcome as one of the home circle and family； till he broke away from such delights to labour in his task of reviving religion in the land。 A little band of men were gathering round； clergy awakening from their sloth or worldliness； young nobles who began to see what chivalry meant； burghers who rejoiced in order； and hope and encouragement strengthened the hands of the three kinsmen。
But； alas！ there were those who deemed James's justice on the savage prince and noble mere sacrilege on high blood； and who absolutely hated and loathed peace and order。 Those thirteen years of cheerful progress ended in that murder so unspeakably horrible in all its circumstances； which almost merits the name of a martyrdom to right and justice。 Malcolm so shuddered when he did but touch on it； and was so rent with agitation； that Esclairmonde perceived that when his beloved King had perished； he had indeed received the death…wound to his own fragile nature。
He had been actually in the Abbey of Perth； and had been one of those who lifted the mangled corpse from the vault； and sought in vain for a remnant of life； if but to grant the absolution； for which the victim had so piteously besought his murderers。 No wonder that Fastern's E'en had whitened Malcolm's hair！
But when the assassins were captured； and Joan of Beaufort was resolved that their death should be as atrocious as their crime； it was Malcolm who strove to bend her to forgiveness。 He bade her recollect King Henry； and how； when dealing with that cruel monster； the Castellane of Meaux； he had merely required death； without enhancing the agony； but Joan； in her rage and misery； had left the Englishwoman behind her； and was implacable。 All that human cruelty could invent was to be the lot of Robert Graham and his associates； and whereas they had granted no priest to their victim； none should be granted to them。
And then it was that all Malcolm had learnt of the true spirit of the Christian triumphednot only over the dark Keltic spirit of revenge； but over the shuddering of a tender and pitiful nature。 Where no other priest durst venture； he went。 Through all the frightful and protracted sufferings of Athol； Graham； Hall； and the rest； it was Malcolm Stewart who； never flinching； prayed with and for them； gathered their agonized sobs of confession； or strove to soften their hardness； spoke the words of absolution； and commended their departing souls。
When he awoke from the long unconsciousness and delirium that ensued upon the force he had put on himself； he found himself tended by his sister at Glenuskie。 Patrick Drummond had transported him thither； finding that the angry Queen； in the madness of her vindictiveness； was well…nigh disposed to connect him with the treasonable designs of Athol and Graham。 He slowly and partially recovered； but his influence was gone； the Queen would not brook the sound of his name； the little king was beyond his reach； James Kennedy was biding his time； and the country was returned to its state of misrule and violence； wherein an individual priest could do little： yet Malcolm would have held by his p
