Alice Montagu’s indignation knew no bounds. What! was this noble votaress to be forced, not only to resign the glory of being the foundress of a new order of beneficence, but to be married, just like everybody else, and to that wretched little coward? Boëmond of Burgundy was better than that, for he at least was a man!
‘No, no, Alice,’ said Esclairmonde, with a shudder; ‘any one rather than the Burgundian! It is shame even to compare the Scot!’
‘He may not be so evil in himself,’ said Alice; ‘but with a brave man you have only his own sins, while a coward has all those other people may frighten him into.’
‘He bore himself manfully in battle,’ said the fair Fleming in reproof.
But Alice answered with the scorn that sits so quaintly on the gentle daughter of a bold race: ‘Ay, where he would have been more afraid to run than to stand.’
‘You are hard on the Scot,’ said Esclairmonde. ‘Maybe it is because the Nevils of Raby are Borderers,’ she added, smiling; and, as Alice likewise smiled and blushed, ‘Now, if it were not for this madness, I could like the youth. I would fain have had him for a brother that I could take care of.’
‘But what will you do, Esclairmonde?’
‘Trust,’ said she, sighing. ‘Maybe, my pride ought to be broken; and I may have to lay aside all my hopes and plans, and become a mere serving sister, to learn true humility. Anyhow, I verily trust to my Heavenly Spouse to guard me for himself. If the Duke of Burgundy still maintains Boëmond’s suit, then in the dissension I see an escape.
‘And my father will defend you; and so will Sir Richard,’ said Alice, with complacent certainty in their full efficiency. ‘And King Harry will interfere; and we will have your hospital; ay, we will. How can you talk so lightly of abandoning it?’
‘I only would know what is human pride, and what God’s will,’ sighed Esclairmonde.