sorts, as to how he might escape death, but no one could help
him, for none could find any excuse for the blow he had given to
the prince.

The fourteenth night had come, and in despair the prisoner went
out to take his last walk through the city. He wandered on hardly
knowing where he went, and his face was so white and desperate
that none of his companions dared speak to him. The sad little
procession had passed some hours in this manner, when, near the
gate of a monastery, an old woman appeared round a corner, and
suddenly stood before the young man. She was bent almost double,
and was so wizened and wrinkled that she looked at least ninety;
only her eyes were bright and quick as those of a girl.

'Sir,' she said, 'I know all that has happened to you, and how
you are seeking if in any wise you can save your life. But there
is none that can answer that question save only I myself, if you
will promise to do all I ask.'

At her words the prisoner felt as if a load had all at once been
rolled off him.

'Oh, save me, and I will do anything!' he cried. 'It is so hard
to leave the world and go out into the darkness.'

'You will not need to do that,' answered the old woman, 'you have
only got to marry me, and you will soon be free.'

'Marry you?' exclaimed he, 'but--but--I am not yet twenty, and
you --why, you must be a hundred at least! Oh, no, it is quite