‘I would you could have been more kind to my poor boy,’ said James.
‘Methought I was the most reasonably kind of you all! Had it not been mere murder to keep him there prating and bleeding, I had asked of him what indiscretion had blown the secret and perilled the signet. No robbers were those between Paris and Vincennes in our midst, but men who knew what he bore. I’ll never—’
Bedford just restrained himself from saying, ‘trust a Scot again;’ but his manner had vexed and pained James, who returned to Malcolm, and left him no more till called by necessity to his post as King Henry’s chief mourner, when the care of him was left to Patrick Drummond and old Bairdsbrae; and Malcolm was a very tranquil patient, who seemed to need nothing but the pleasure of looking at the ring on his finger. The weapon had evidently touched no vital part, and he was decidedly on the way to recovery, when on the second evening Bedford met James, saying: ‘I have seen Robsart. It was no indiscretion of young Glenuskie’s. It was only what comes of dealing with women. Can I see the boy without peril to him?’
Malcolm was so much better, that there was no reason against the Duke’s admission, and soon Bedford’s falcon-face looked down on him in all its melancholy.
‘Thanks, my Lord Glenuskie,’ he said; ‘I thought not to be sending you on a service of such risk.’
‘It was a welcome service,’ said Malcolm.
Bedford’s brows knitted themselves for a moment as he said, ‘I came to ask whether you deem that this hurt was from a common robber or routier.’
‘Assuredly not,’ said Malcolm, but very low; and looking up into his face, as he added, ‘This should be for your ear alone, Sir.’
They were left alone, and the Duke said: ‘I have heard from Robsart how the ring was obtained. You may spare that part of the story.’
‘Sir,’ said Malcolm, ‘when the Lady Esclairmonde’ (for he was not to be balked of dwelling on that name with prolonged delight) ‘had brought me the ring, Sir Lewis Robsart advised my setting forth without loss of time.’