Belike I had dropped asleep,outwearied with what had befallen me,mind and body,but I started up suddenly at the sound of a dagger-hilt smitten against the main door of the house,and a voice crying,"Open,in the name of the Dauphin."They had come in quest of me,and when I heard them,it was as if a hand had given my heart a squeeze,and for a moment my breath seemed to be stopped.This past,I heard the old serving-woman fumbling with the bolts,and peering from behind the curtain of my casement,I saw that the ways were dark,and the narrow street was lit up with flaring torches,the lights wavering in the wind.I stepped to the wide ingle,thinking to creep into the secret hiding-hole.But to what avail?
It might have served my turn if my escape alive from the moat had only been guessed,but now my master must have told all the story,and the men-at-arms must be assured that I was within.Thinking thus,I stood at pause,when a whisper came,as if from within the ingle -"Unbar the door,and hide not."It must be Elliot's voice,speaking through some tube contrived in the ingle of the dwelling-room below or otherwise.Glad at heart to think that she took thought of me,I unbarred the door,and threw myself into a chair before the fire,trying to look like one unconcerned.The bolts were now drawn below;I heard voices,rather Scots than French,to my sense.Then the step of one man climbed up the stair,heavily,and with the tap of a staff keeping tune to it.
It was my master.His face was pale,and falling into a chair,he wiped the sweat from his brow."Unhappy man that I am!"he said,"Ihave lost my apprentice."I gulped something down in my throat ere I could say,"Then it is death?""Nay,"he said,and smiled."But gliff for gliff,{16}you put a fear on me this day,and now we are even.""Yet I scarce need a cup of wine for my recovery,master,"I said,filling him a beaker from the flagon on the table,which he drained gladly,being sore wearied,so steep was the way to the castle,and hard for a lame man.My heart was as light as a leaf on a tree,and the bitterness of shameful death seemed gone by.
"I have lost my prentice another way,"he said,setting down the cup on the table."I had much a do to see Kennedy,for he was at the dice with other lords.At length,deeming there was no time to waste,I sent in the bonny Book of Hours,praying him to hear me for a moment on a weighty matter.That brought him to my side;he leaped at the book like a trout at a fly,and took me to his own chamber.There I told him your story.When it came to the wench in the King's laundry,and Robin Lindsay,and you clad in girl's gear,and kissed in the guard-room,he struck hand on thigh and laughed aloud.
Then I deemed your cause as good as three parts won,and he could not hold in,but led me to a chamber where were many lords,dicing and drinking:Tremouille,Ogilvie,the Bishop of Orleans--that holy man,who has come to ask for aid from the King,--La Hire,Xaintrailles,and I know not whom.There I must tell all the chronicle again;and some said this,and some that,and Tremouille mocks,that the Maid uttered her prophecy to no other end but to make you fulfil it,and slay her enemy for the sake of her "beaux yeux."The others would hear nothing of this,and,indeed,though Iam no gull,I wot that Tremouille is wrong here,and over cunning;he trusts neither man nor woman.Howsoever it be,he went with the story to the King,who is keen to hear any new thing.And,to be short,the end of it is this:that you have your free pardon,on these terms,namely,that you have two score of masses said for the dead man,and yourself take service under Sir Hugh Kennedy,that the King may not lose a man-at-arms."Never,sure,came gladder tidings to any man than these to me.An hour ago the rope seemed tight about my neck;one day past,and Iwas but a prentice to the mean craft of painting and limning,arts good for a monk,or a manant,but,save for pleasure,not to be melled or meddled with by a man of gentle blood.And now I was to wear arms,and that in the best of causes,under the best of captains,one of my own country--a lord in Ayrshire.
"Ay,even so,"my master said,marking the joy in my face,"you are right glad to leave us--a lass and a lameter.{17}Well,well,such is youth,and eld is soon forgotten."I fell on my knees at his feet,and kissed his hands,and I believe that I wept.
"Sir,"I said,"you have been to me as a father,and more than it has been my fortune to find my own father.Never would I leave you with my will,and for the gentle demoiselle,your daughter--"But here I stinted,since in sooth I knew not well what words to say.
"Ay,we shall both miss you betimes;but courage,man!After all,this new life beseems you best,and,mark me,a lass thinks none the worse of a lad because he wears not the prentice's hodden grey,but a Scots archer's green,white,and red,and Charles for badge on breast and sleeve,and a sword by his side.And as for the bonny Book of Hours--"Master,"I said with shame,"was that my ransom?""Kennedy would have come near my price,and strove to make me take the gold.But what is bred in the bone will out;I am a gentleman born,not a huckster,and the book I gave him freely.May it profit the good knight in his devotions!But now,come,they are weary waiting for us;the hour waxes late,and Elliot,I trow,is long abed.You must begone to the castle."In the stairs,and about the door,some ten of Sir Hugh's men were waiting,all countrymen of my own,and the noise they made and their speech were pleasant to me.They gave me welcome with shouts and laughter,and clasped my hands:"for him that called us wine-sacks,you have given him water to his wine,and the frog for his butler,"they said,making a jest of life and death.But my own heart for the nonce was heavy enough again,I longing to take farewell of Elliot,which might not be,nor might she face that wild company.
