he ran, that I think he was all the better disposed to see one of his
family thus provided for. Besides, he might safely reckon on the more
work from me, when I should have naught to tempt me nightly from my
case. As for my mistress, she was already making ready to take her
younger children to visit a gossip of hers, one Mistress Crane; and it
eased her of some little difficulty to find her party lightened by one
for a season.

So all fell out well for the maiden, and sorrowfully for me. Yet, when
she reproached herself for her selfishness in robbing me of my
sweetheart, I had not the heart to show her all I felt. In sooth, this
maiden needed a friend and comforter sorely; and how was she to fare on
that long troublesome journey with no comrade but a rough man, and
perchance a half-witted poet? For the poet, vowing that Aphrodite
should never need for a gallant, nor a maiden in distress for a knight,
begged so hard to go too, that she was fain to yield and admit him of
the party.

'Twas late in March when our house was left desolate. On the last
evening before they went, she asked me to row her and Jeannette once
again on the river. I guessed why she asked, and needed no telling
which course to take.

And as our boat lay on the oars beneath the shadow of that gloomy tower,
she looked up long and wistfully, as one who takes a long farewell.
Then with a sigh she motioned to me to turn the boat's head and row
home.

Not a word did any of us say during that sad voyage. Only, when we
reached home and I handed her from the boat, she said--

"Humphrey, I am glad you are staying near him."

So, then, I discovered, she believed him living still and that I should
see him again.

That night, as Jeannette and I stood in the garden watching the
moonbeams play on the water, and feeling our hearts very heavy at the
parting that was to come, we heard the splashing of an oar at the river
side, and presently a man stepped up the bank and stood before us,
saluting. At first I was so startled that my hand went to my belt, and
I had out my sword in a twinkling. But I sent it home again directly I
heard his voice, and recognised not an enemy but that same Jack Gedge
whom Ludar had charged long ago at Dunluce to see to the maiden.

Only two days since, he told us, had he been let out of Rochester gaol;
when he had gone forthwith to Canterbury and heard from mine host at the
"Oriflame" that a certain printer's 'prentice b