umbered,
and then she would carry out her plan. A brave plan it was, for
Margaret Twynlace was no coward maid.

Quiet and patient she waited in the little ante-room, close to
the queen's bedchamber, waited until she felt sure the royal pair
were fast asleep. Then tripping lightly on tiptoe, she stole
into the bedroom, where, as she had guessed, both king and queen
were slumbering sound.

She crossed the room, quiet as any mouse, and reached the toilet
table. There lay the king's gold comb, and close to it the little
pearl knife, the king's wedding gift to his queen.

Back tripped Margaret, still on tiptoe, to the ante-room, and
stood, her breath coming quick.

Had she roused the king or queen? Was that the bed creaking?

No, there was not a sound. The royal pair slept sound as before.

Then downstairs in the dark fled Margaret, down to the room where
Sir John Carmichael lay slumbering, without a thought of his
prisoner, the young Laird of Logie.

Loud did the maiden knock at his door, loud and long, until at
last Sir John was roused.

'Sir John,' cried the maid, 'haste thee and wake thy prisoner,
the young Laird of Logie, for the king would speak to him this
very moment. Open the door, for here be the tokens he sends to
thee,' and Margaret held out to Carmichael the gold comb and the
pearl knife.

Now, when Sir John had opened the door, he saw the tokens that
the maid held out to him. He knew them well and hastened to do
the king's will, rubbing his sleepy eyes the while, and muttering
under his breath, 'The king holds audience at strange hours; yet
must his orders be obeyed.'

He took the great key in his hand and went to the prison door.
Margaret followed close, her heart bounding, not wholly in fear,
nor yet wholly in hope.

Sir John turned the prison lock and roused the young Laird of
Logie from his dreams, saying only, 'The king would speak with
thee, without delay.'

Thus in the dead of night Margaret led the captain and his
prisoner to the door of the ante-room.

'Wait thou here, Sir John,' said the maid, until thy prisoner
returns.'

The young laird started as Margaret spoke. He had not guessed
that the maid wrapped in the rough cloak was his own dear
Margaret Twynlace.

But Sir John noticed nothing. He was wondering how long it would
be ere he would be again in his comfortable bed.

Margaret drew the prisoner into her own little room. He tried to
speak, but not a word would she let him