smounted
from his hackney and tied the latter to a great oak, into which he
climbed, so he might not be devoured of the wild beasts in the night.
A little after the moon rose and the night being very clear and
bright, he abode there on wake, sighing and weeping and cursing his
ill luck, for that he durst not go to sleep, lest he should fall,
albeit, had he had more commodity thereof, grief and the concern in
which he was for his mistress would not have suffered him to sleep.

Meanwhile, the damsel, fleeing, as we have before said, and knowing
not whither to betake herself, save whereas it seemed good to her
hackney to carry her, fared on so far into the wood that she could not
see where she had entered, and went wandering all day about that
desert place, no otherwise than as Pietro had done, now pausing [to
hearken] and now going on, weeping the while and calling and making
moan of her illhap. At last, seeing that Pietro came not and it being
now eventide, she happened on a little path, into which her hackney
turned, and following it, after she had ridden some two or more miles
she saw a little house afar off. Thither she made her way as
quickliest she might and found there a good man sore stricken in years
and a woman, his wife alike old, who, seeing her alone, said to her,
'Daughter, what dost thou alone at this hour in these parts?' The
damsel replied, weeping, that she had lost her company in the wood and
enquired how near she was to Anagni. 'Daughter mine,' answered the
good man, 'this is not the way to go to Anagni; it is more than a
dozen miles hence.' Quoth the girl, 'And how far is it hence to any
habitations where I may have a lodging for the night?' To which the
good man answered, 'There is none anywhere so near that thou mayst
come thither by daylight.' Then said the damsel, 'Since I can go no
otherwhere, will it please you harbour me here to-night for the love
of God?' 'Young lady,' replied the old man, 'thou art very welcome to
abide with us this night; algates, we must warn you that there are
many ill companies, both of friends and of foes that come and go about
these parts both by day and by night, who many a time do us sore annoy
and great mischief; and if, by ill chance, thou being here, there come
any of them and seeing thee, fair and young as thou art, should offer
to do thee affront and shame, we could not avail to succour thee
therefrom. We deem it well to apprise thee of this, so that, an it
beti