wherefore it went so smooth on its hinges, "I fear I have slain a man,
one of the King's archers. We wrestled together on the drawbridge, and
the palisade breaking, we fell into the moat, whence I clomb by the
hidden stairs."

"One of the archers!" cried she, as pale as a lily, and catching at her
side with her hand. "Was he a Scot?"

"No, maid, but I am; and I pray you hide me, or show me how to escape
from this castle with my life, and that speedily."

"Come hither!" she said, drawing me through a door into a small, square,
empty room that jutted out above the moat. "The other maids are at their
dinner," she went on, "and I all alone--the season being Lent, and I
under penance, and thinking of no danger."

For which reason, I doubt not, namely that the others had gone forth, she
had made her tryst at this hour with Robin Lindsay. But he, if he was,
as she said, one of the Scottish archers that guarded the gate, was busy
enough belike with the tumult on the bridge, or in seeking for the body
of mine enemy.

"How to get you forth I know not," she said, "seeing that from yonder
room you pass into the kitchen and thence into the guard-room, and thence
again by a passage in the wall behind the great hall, and so forth to the
court, and through the gate, and thereby there is no escape: for see you
the soldiers must, and will avenge their comrade."

Hearing this speech, I seemed to behold myself swinging by a tow from a
tree branch, a death not beseeming one of gentle blood. Up and down I
looked, in vain, and then I turned to the window, thinking that, as
better was not to be, I might dive thence into the moat, and take my
chance of escape by the stairs on the further side. But the window was
heavily barred. Yet again, if I went forth by the door, and lurked on
the postern stair, there was Robin Lindsay's dirk to reckon with, when he
came, a laggard, to his love-tryst.

"Stop! I have it," said the girl; and flying into the laundry, she
returned with a great bundle of white women's gear and a gown of linen,
and a woman's white coif, such as she herself wore.

In less time than a man would deem possible, she had my wet hair, that I
wore about my shoulders, as our student's manner was, tucked up under the
cap, and the clean white smock over my wet clothes, and belted neatly
about my middle.

"A pretty wench you make, I swear by St. Valentine," cried she, falling
back to look at me, and then coming forward to p