swer for her protection
as well as a single man may. But where am I to bestow her?"

"Good faith, I cannot tell," said the Prince. "Take her to Sir John
Ramorny's lodging. But, no--no--he is ill at ease, and besides, there
are reasons; take her to the devil if thou wilt, but place her in
safety, and oblige David of Rothsay."

"My noble Prince," said the smith, "I think, always with reverence, that
I would rather give a defenceless woman to the care of the devil than of
Sir John Ramorny. But though the devil be a worker in fire like myself,
yet I know not his haunts, and with aid of Holy Church hope to keep him
on terms of defiance. And, moreover, how I am to convey her out of this
crowd, or through the streets, in such a mumming habit may be well made
a question."

"For the leaving the convent," said the Prince, "this good monk"
(seizing upon the nearest by his cowl)--"Father Nicholas or Boniface--"

"Poor brother Cyprian, at your Highness's command," said the father.

"Ay--ay, brother Cyprian," continued the Prince--"yes. Brother Cyprian
shall let you out at some secret passage which he knows of, and I will
see him again to pay a prince's thanks for it."

The churchman bowed in acquiescence, and poor Louise, who, during this
debate, had looked from the one speaker to the other, hastily said, "I
will not scandalise this good man with my foolish garb: I have a mantle
for ordinary wear."

"Why, there, Smith, thou hast a friar's hood and a woman's mantle to
shroud thee under. I would all my frailties were as well shrouded.
Farewell, honest fellow; I will thank thee hereafter."

Then, as if afraid of farther objection on the smith's part, he hastened
into the palace.

Henry Gow remained stupefied at what had passed, and at finding himself
involved in a charge at once inferring much danger and an equal risk
of scandal, both which, joined to a principal share which he had taken,
with his usual forwardness, in the fray, might, he saw, do him no small
injury in the suit he pursued most anxiously. At the same time, to leave
a defenceless creature to the ill usage of the barbarous Galwegians and
licentious followers of the Douglas was a thought which his manly heart
could not brook for an instant.

He was roused from his reverie by the voice of the monk, who, sliding
out his words with the indifference which the holy fathers entertained,
or affected, towards all temporal matters, desired them to follow him.
The smith