“Listen, Edward,” he said, speaking very gravely and resolutely.  “It is needful for our joint safety that we be not seen together, now that we are entering a region of country where we may easily be recognized, and where watch may be kept for us.  Yes, these woods may be watched, although, as you have said, it is probable they will watch even more closely the other routes to the coast.  But we have come slowly, toiling along on foot, and there has been ample time for a mounted messenger to ride back and give the warning to such of the robbers as are yet here.  They know that the twain of us are travelling together.  Wherefore, for the few miles that separate us now from the kindly shelter of the Priory, it will be better that we journey alone.  This smock and battered hat will protect you from recognition, the more so when I have blackened your face with charcoal, as I have means to do, and have hidden away all your bright curls so that none shall see them.  Walk with bent shoulders and heavy gait, as the aged country folks do, and I warrant none will guess who you are or molest you.  Tonight, when we meet to laugh at our adventures over the prior’s roaring fire, we shall forget the perils and the weariness of our long tramp.”

“But, Paul, I love not this clumsy disguise.  It befits not a prince thus to clothe himself.  Wear it yourself, good comrade, for your peril is as great as mine.”

“Nay, Edward, speak not thus idly,” said Paul, with unwonted gravity.  “Princes must think not of themselves alone, but of the nation’s weal.  Edward, listen.  If harm befalls you, then farewell to all the fond hopes of half of the people who obey the sway of England’s sceptre.  You are not your own master; you are the servant of your loyal and true-hearted subjects, who have suffered already so much in the cause.  To throw your life away, nay, even to run into needless peril, were a sin to them and to the country.  I say nothing of your mother’s despair, of the anguish of your bride, if harm befell you:  that you must know better than I can do.  But I am a subject.  I know what your subjects feel; and were you to neglect any safeguard, however trivial, in these remaining hours of threatened danger, you would be doing England a wrong which might be utterly irreparable.”

Edward was struck by this argument, and hesitated.

“I only wish to do what is right; but I cannot bear to play the coward’s part, and save myself when you are still in peril.”

“Tush!” answered Paul lightly, “I am tougher than you, Edward; you are so footsore and weary you can scarce put one leg before the other.  If foes were to spring upon us, you would fall an easy prey at once.  I am strong and full of life.  I could lead them a fine chase yet.  But we may never sight an adversary.  These woods are still and silent, and we have heard no sounds of dread import all these long, weary miles.  It may well be that we shall reach the Priory in safety yet; but it were better now to part company and take different routes thither.  And you must don this warm though clumsy dress; it will keep you the safer, and shield you from the piercing cold, which you feel more than I do.”