will find, among your own retinue, knights and lords willing enough
to play Sir Pandarus of Troy; it is too knightly a part for poor
Hal of the Wynd."

"Umph--hah!" said the Prince. "My purse, Edgar." (His attendant
whispered him.) "True--true, I gave it to the poor wench. I know
enough of your craft, sir smith, and of craftsmen in general, to
be aware that men lure not hawks with empty hands; but I suppose
my word may pass for the price of a good armour, and I will pay it
thee, with thanks to boot, for this slight service."

"Your Highness may know other craftsmen," said the smith; "but,
with reverence, you know not Henry Gow. He will obey you in making
a weapon, or in wielding one, but he knows nothing of this petticoat
service."

"Hark thee, thou Perthshire mule," said the Prince, yet smiling,
while he spoke, at the sturdy punctilio of the honest burgher; "the
wench is as little to me as she is to thee. But in an idle moment,
as you may learn from those about thee, if thou sawest it not thyself,
I did her a passing grace, which is likely to cost the poor wretch
her life. There is no one here whom I can trust to protect her
against the discipline of belt and bowstring, with which the Border
brutes who follow Douglas will beat her to death, since such is
his pleasure."

"If such be the case, my liege, she has a right to every honest
man's protection; and since she wears a petticoat--though I would
it were longer and of a less fanciful fashion--I will answer
for her protection as well as a single man may. But where am I to