she never have seen him--who warrants me of it?--she dwelling these last
days nigh the castle! Freits are folly, to my thinking, and fools they
that follow them. Lad, you gave me a gliff; pass me another stoup of
wine! Freits, forsooth!"

I served him, and he sat and chuckled in his chair, being pleasured by
the thought of his own wisdom. "Not a word of this to Elliot, though,"
he said suddenly; "when there is a woman in a house--blessings on her!--it
is anything for a quiet life! But, 'nom Dieu!' what with the fright you
gave me, sitting there, whereas I deemed you were meat for eels and carp,
and what with thy tale--ha, ha!--and my tale, and the wine, maybe, I
forgot your own peril, my lad. Faith, your neck is like to be longer, if
we be not better advised."

Hearing him talk of that marvellous thing, wrought through inspiration by
the Maid--whereat, as his manner was, he mocked, I had clean forgotten my
own jeopardy. Now this was instant, for who knew how much the archer
might have guessed, that followed with the Maid and me, and men-at-arms
might anon be at our door.

"It may be," said I, "that Sir Patrick Ogilvie and Sir Hugh Kennedy would
say a word for me in the King's ear."

"Faith, that is our one chance, and, luckily for you, the lad you
drowned, though in the King's service, came hither in the following of a
poor knight, who might take blood-ransom for his man. Had he been La
Tremouille's man, you must assuredly have fled the country."

He took up his Book of Hours, with a sigh, and wrapped it again in its
silken parcel.