me hope
into my heart; but the morning hours were long, and colder than the
night, to one wet to the bone with the rains. Now, too, I comforted
myself with believing that, arrive what might, I was wholly quit of
Brother Thomas, whereat I rejoiced, like the man in the tale who had sold
his soul to the Enemy, and yet, in the end, escaped his clutches by the
aid of Holy Church. Death was better to me than life with Brother
Thomas, who must assuredly have dragged me with him to the death that
cannot die. Morning must bring travellers, and my groaning might lead
them to my aid. And, indeed, foot-farers did come, and I did groan as
well as I could, but, like the Levite in Scripture, they passed by on the
other side of the way, fearing to meddle with one wounded perchance to
the death, lest they might be charged with his slaying, if he died, or
might anger his enemies, if he lived.

The light was now fully come, and some rays of the blessed sun fell upon
me, whereon I said orisons within myself, commanding my case to the
saints. Devoutly I prayed, that, if I escaped with life, I might be
delivered from the fear of man, and namely of Brother Thomas. It were
better for me to have died by his weapon at first, beside the broken
bridge, than to have lived his slave, going in dread of him, with a
slave's hatred in my heart. So now I prayed for spirit enough to defend
my honour and that of my country, which I had borne to hear reviled
without striking a blow for it. Never again might I dree this extreme
shame and dishonour. On this head I addressed myself, as was fitting, to
the holy Apostle St. Andrew, our patron, to whom is especially dear the
honour of Scotland.

Then, as if he and the other saints had listened to me, I heard sounds of
horses' hoofs, coming up the road from Chinon way, and also voices.
These, like the others of the night before, came nearer, and I heard a
woman's voice gaily singing. And then awoke such joy in my heart as
never was there before, and this was far the gladdest voice that ever yet
I heard, for, behold, it was the speech of my own country, and the tune I
knew and the words.

"O, we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming over sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed and take me hame!"

"And who shall the French lord be, Elliot?" came another voice, a man's
this time, "though he need not c