“Whither make you, damsel, in such haste?” she cried to me.  “Come, let me present you to this damsel, my friend—­and one of your own country-women.  Elliot, ma mie,” she said to my mistress, “here is this kind lass, a Scot like yourself, who has guided me all the way from the castle hither, and, faith, the way is hard to find.  Do you thank her for me, and let her sit down in your house:  she must be weary with the weight of her basket and her linen”—­for these, when she spoke to me, I had laid on the ground.  With this she led me up to Elliot by the hand, who began to show me very gracious countenance, and to thank me, my face burning all the while with confusion and fear of her anger.

Suddenly a new look, such as I had never seen before on her face in her light angers, came into her eyes, which grew hard and cold, her mouth also showing stiff; and so she stood, pale, gazing sternly, and as one unable to speak.  Then—­

“Go out of my sight,” she said, very low, “and from my father’s house!  Forth with you for a mocker and a gangrel loon!”—­speaking in our common Scots,—­“and herd with the base thieves from whom you came, coward and mocking malapert!”

The storm had fallen on my head, even as I feared it must, and I stood as one bereft of speech and reason.

The Maid knew no word of our speech, and this passion of Elliot’s, and so sudden a change from kindness to wrath, were what she might not understand.

“Elliot, ma mie,” she said, very sweetly, “what mean you by this anger?  The damsel has treated me with no little favour.  Tell me, I pray, in what she has offended.”

But Elliot, not looking at her, said to me again, and this time tears leaped up in her eyes—­“Forth with you! begone, ere I call that archer to drag you before the judges of the good town.”

I was now desperate, for, clad as I was, the archer had me at an avail, and, if I were taken before the men of the law, all would be known, and my shrift would be short.

“Gracious Pucelle,” I said, in French, turning to the Maiden, “my life, and the fortune of one who would gladly fight to the death by your side, are in your hands.  For the love of the blessed saints, your sisters, and of Him who sends you on your holy mission, pray this demoiselle to let me enter the house with you, and tell my tale to you and her.  If I satisfy you not of my honour and good intent, I am ready, in this hour, to go before the men of law, and deliver myself up to their justice.  For though my life is in jeopardy, I dread death less than the anger of this honourable demoiselle.  And verily this is a matter of instant life or death.”

So saying, I clasped my hands in the manner of one in prayer, setting all my soul into my speech, as a man desperate.

The Maiden had listened very gravely, and sweetly she smiled when my prayer was ended.

“Verily,” she said to me, “here is deeper water than I can fathom.  Elliot, ma mie, you hear how gently, and in what distress, this fair lass beseeches us.”