'And she will see Margaret,' said Eleanor. 'Meg the dearie!
Dost remember Meg, Jeanie?'

'Well, well do I remember her, and how she used to let us nestle
in her lap and sing to us. She sang like thee, Elleen, and was
as mother-like as Mary is to the weans, but she was much
blithesomer--at least before our father was slain.'

'Sweetest Meg! My whole heart leaps after her,' cried Eleanor,
with a fervent gesture.

'I loved her better than Isabel, though she was not so bonnie,'
said Jean.

'Jeanie, Jeanie,' cried Eleanor, turning round with a vehemence
strangely contrasting with her previous language, 'wherefore
should we not go with Glenuskie to be with Meg at Bourges?'

Jeanie opened her blue eyes wide.

'Go to the French King's Court?' she said.

'To the land of chivalry and song,' exclaimed Eleanor, 'where
they have courts of love and poetry, and tilts and tourneys and
minstrelsy, and the sun shines as it never does in this cold
bleak north; and above all there is Margaret, dear tender
Margaret, almost a queen, as a queen she will be one day.
Oh! I almost feel her embrace.'