Before many further words could be exchanged, there entered a fair and matronly dame in the widow's veil she had worn ever since the fatal day of Shrewsbury--that eager, loving, yet almost childish woman whom we know so well as Hotspur's gentle Kate (only that unfortunately her name was Elizabeth); fondling, teasing, being fondled and teased in return, and then with all her pretty puerilities scorched away when she upbraids Northumberland with his fatal delay. Could Malcolm and Lilias have known her as we do in Shakespeare, they would have been the more gratified by her welcome, whereas they only saw her kind face and the courtly sweep of her curtsey, as, going straight up to the disguised girl, blushing and trembling now more than ever, she said: 'Poor child, come with me, and we will soon have you yourself again, ere any other eye see you;' and then moved away again, holding Lily by the hand, while Ralf, who had followed close behind her, again grasped Malcolm's hand. 'Well done, Glenuskie; you have all the adventures! They seek you, I believe! So you have borne off your damosel errant, and are just in time to receive your king.' 'Is he wedded then?' 'Ay, and you find us all here in full state, prepared to banquet him and lodge him and his bride for a night, and then I fancy my brother is to go through some ceremony, ere giving him up to his own subjects. We are watching for him every day. Come to my chamber, and I'll apparel you.' 'Nay, but what brings you here, Ralf?--you, whom I thought in France.' ''Twas a Scottish bill that brought me,' answered Ralf. 'What, are you too lost in parchment at Oxford to hear of us poor soldiers, or knew you not how we fought at Crevant?' 'I heard of the battle, and that you were hurt, but that was months ago, and I deemed you long since in the field again. Was it so sore a matter?'