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.
"This must be your price with Kennedy," he said, "if better may not be.
It is like parting with the apple of my eye, but, I know not well how, I love you, my lad, and blood is thicker than water.

Give me my staff; I must hirple up that weary hill again, and you, come hither." He led me to his own chamber, where I had never been before, and showed me how, in the chimney-neuk, was a way into a certain black hole of little ease, wherein, if any came in search for me, I might lie hidden.
And, fetching me a cold fish (Lenten cheer), a loaf, and a stoup of wine, whereof I was glad enough, he left me, groaning the while at his ill-fortune, but laden with such thanks as I might give for all his great kindness.
There then, I sat, when I had eaten, my ears pricked to listen for the tramp of armed men below and the thunder of their summons at the door.
But they came not, and presently my thought stole back to Elliot, who, indeed, was never out of my mind then--nay, nor now is.

But whether that memory be sinful in a man of religion or not, I leave to the saints and to good confession.

Much I perplexed myself with marvelling why she did so weep; above all, since I knew what hopeful tidings she had gotten of her friend and her enterprise.