“Fair lass!” cried Elliot:  and then broke off between a sob and a laugh, her hand catching at her side.

“If you love me,” said the Maid, looking on her astonished, and not without anger—­“if you love me, as you have said, you that are the first of my comforters, and, till this day, my only friend in your strange town, let the lass come in and tell us her tale.  For, even if she be distraught, and beside herself, as I well deem, I am sent to be a friend of all them that suffer.  Moreover, ma mie, I have glad tidings for you, which I am longing to speak, but speak it I will never, while the lass goes thus in terror and fear of death or shame.”

In saying these last words, the fashion of her countenance was changed to a sweet entreaty and command, such as few could have beheld and denied her what she craved, and she laid her hand lightly on Elliot’s shoulder.

“Come,” said Elliot, “be it as you will; come in with me; and you”—­turning to myself—­“do you follow us.”

They passed into the house, I coming after, and the archer waiting at the door.

“Let none enter,” said the Maiden to her archer, “unless any come to me from the King, or unless it be the master of the house.”

We passed into the chamber where my master was wont to paint his missals and psalters when he would be alone.  Then Elliot very graciously bade the Maiden be seated, but herself stood up, facing me.

“Gracious Maiden, and messenger of the holy saints,” she said, “this lass, as you deem her, is no woman, but a man, my father’s apprentice, who has clad himself thus to make of you a mockery and a laughing-stock, because that you, being a maid, go attired as a man, by the will of Them who sent you to save France.  Have I said enough, and do I well to be angry?” and her eyes shone as she spoke.

The Maiden’s brows met in wrath; she gazed upon me steadfastly, and I looked—­sinful man that I am!—­to see her hand go to the hilt of the sword that she wore.  But, making no motion, she only said—­

“And thou, wherefore hast thou mocked at one who did thee no evil, and at this damsel, thy master’s daughter?”

“Gentle Maiden,” I said, “listen to me for but a little moment.  It may be, when thou hast heard all, that thou wilt still be wroth with me, though not for mockery, which was never in my mind.  But the gentle damsel, thy friend, will assuredly pardon me, who have already put my life in peril for thy sake, and for the sake of our dear country of Scotland and her good name.”

“Thy life in peril for me!  How mean you?  I stood in no danger, and I never saw your face before.”