court.

"I had something to say to thee, Smith. Canst thou take up a fallen link
in my Milan hauberk?"

"As well, please your Highness, as my mother could take up a stitch in
the nets she wove. The Milaner shall not know my work from his own."

"Well, but that was not what I wished of thee just now," said the
Prince, recollecting himself: "this poor glee woman, good Smith,
she must be placed in safety. Thou art man enough to be any woman's
champion, and thou must conduct her to some place of safety."

Henry Smith was, as we have seen, sufficiently rash and daring when
weapons were in question. But he had also the pride of a decent burgher,
and was unwilling to place himself in what might be thought equivocal
circumstances by the sober part of his fellow citizens.

"May it please your Highness," he said, "I am but a poor craftsman. But,
though my arm and sword are at the King's service and your Highness's,
I am, with reverence, no squire of dames. Your Highness 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 an