what to
do. He wanted to see Prudence before he departed for the knight's
residence, and yet, with a vague dread of Spikeman's power for
mischief, wished to avoid him.

Meditating upon these embarrassments, Philip mechanically took his way
in the direction of the Assistant's house, unconsciously obeying the
hope that some kind chance would enable him to see his mistress
without being discovered. With this view, and as if believing that she
would be able to see through a disguise impenetrable to others, and
with some sense of shame at having been confined in a dungeon, Philip
drew his slouched hat over his eyes, and muffling his face in the
folds of his short cloak, walked in front of the dwelling, casting
frequent glances at the windows. It was in vain, however; and fearful
of attracting an attention which he desired to shun, he started at
last for the forest, through which he was obliged to pass on his way
to the knight's place. Wearily he dragged his steps along, for the
confinement he had suffered, and the irons he had worn, had diminished
his strength and chafed his limbs. Pondering sadly his unfortunate
fate, he was slowly advancing, and had only just entered the wood,
when he was saluted by a well-known voice, that made him start with a
joyful surprise. It was that of Prudence, who was following him. She
had seen him whom it would have been difficult to disguise from her,
pass the house, and had allowed him to suppose himself undiscovered,
and then pursued, in order to enjoy, undisturbed, a meeting which she
desired as much as he. She was so overjoyed and confused at seeing him
again, that somehow she stumbled as she came near, and would have
fallen had not Philip caught her in his arms--for which benevolent
deed he rewarded himself with a couple of smacks like the report of a
pistol.

"Fie, for shame, Philip," cried Prudence, all in a glow, and looking
wonderfully, as if she wanted the offence repeated; at any rate the
soldier so understood it, and clasping her again in his arms, refused
to release her till her lips had paid the penalty of their sweetness.
"Oh, fie," said she, once more; "what would folk say if they saw
thee?"

"There's only birds or a chance deer to see us," said Philip, "and it
can do them no harm to take a lesson," and he attempted to renew his
demonstrations of affection.

"Be quiet now," said Prudence, pushing him away. "I must soon hurry
back, or I shall be missed, and I want, first,