d one tiny hand, of
course unconsciously, on the outer framework.

"Thanks, thanks, my dear, my pretty, my darling Mildred!" exclaimed the
young man, and as he spoke, he sprang, musket on arm, upon a stone bench,
which stood out from the wall immediately under Mistress Mildred's window,
and endeavoured to snatch the white hand that just peeped so invitingly
over the edge of the low wooden balcony.

"Out upon you, Master Sentinel," said the young lady, putting back her
hand. "Is it thus you keep your watch? Another such step and I shall sound
the alarm, and denounce you as a deserter to your post. Look ye! your
prisoner will escape."

Gerald instinctively turned his head to the old tower behind him, as he
stepped down again from the stone bench, with somewhat of that
tail-between-the-legs look, which a spaniel wears when repulsed from his
mistress's lap. But there was no one stirring. He shook his head
reproachfully at the laughing girl.

"Nay! I did but remind you of your duty," said Mildred; "and you know my
father sets much store by the capture of this prisoner, whom he supposes
to be some one of rank and note; a fugitive from the dispersed army of the
malignants; perhaps a friend of the young King of Scots, and, as such,
aware of his retreat."

"I saw him as they brought him hither, after capturing him in an attempt
to gain the coast," replied the young soldier. "He is an old cavalier, of
a stately and goodly presence, although cast down by his ill fortune. But
enough of this. Tell me, Mildred"--But here the ears of the young couple
caught the sound of a distant bell as it came booming over the water of
the broad.

"Hush! It is the curfew from the town," said Mildred. "The watch will now
be changed. Back! back! They will be here directly. I must away."

"Already," cried Gerald with vexation. "But another word, Mildred--but
one--some token of your love until we meet again."

"Impossible!" replied the fair girl. "How can you ask me for a token? It
were very wrong in me to give you such. You ask too much." Then, as she
was about to close the window, she exclaimed again, "This poor rose wants
trimming sadly. Alack! these early frosts destroy all my poor plants;" and
taking up her scissors, which hung from her girdle, she snipped at a
withered leaf. Perhaps Mildred's pretty little hand trembled, for of
course it was an accident--the unfortunate scissors, instead of cutting
the withered leaf; closed upon the very