ieur," said Norah at the door as she took the tray;
"and it's sorry I am I called you names."

"Any name from those pretty lips," began I, but she left me to finish my
compliment to the outside of the door.

When we moored alongside the Quai, I renewed my thanks to the Dutch
skipper, and offered to return him his coat. But he would not hear of
it. Only, said he, if I was disposed to-morrow to lend a hand at
unlading, he would consider the trouble of fishing me out of the North
Sea sufficiently repaid. This I promised by all means to do; and glad
to get free so easily, stepped ashore with the first to land.

As I passed the brig's poop I thought I saw a face peep from the little
cabin window, and after it a little hand wave. I put my own hand to my
lips as a symbol both of secrecy and devotion, and taking advantage of
the bustle attending on the arrival of a fresh craft, slipped out of the
crowd into the street beyond.

Here, among the first, I met a priest, to whom I made obeisance.

"Holy father," said I in French, "I beg you to direct me to the Convent
of the Carmelite Nuns of this town, to which I have a message of
importance from Ireland. I am a stranger here, and have but just
landed."

The priest eyed me suspiciously.

"The holy sisters receive no visitors but the clergy," said he. "I will
carry your letter."

"Alas! I have no letter. My message is by word of mouth, and I am free
to impart it to no one but to the lady superior. Does monseigneur
suspect me of ill motives in seeking the convent?"

He liked to be called monseigneur; and looking me up and down, concluded
the holy sisters had little to fear from me.

"The holy sisters live a mile or so beyond the city, before you come to
Overschie, on the road to Delft. You will know the house by the high
wall and the cross above the gate."

"Monseigneur," said I, "a thousand thanks, and may the saints make your
bed to-night;" and I departed along the road he pointed out.

I had not gone far, or reached the open fields beyond the town, when I
perceived, grazing at the roadside, a horse with saddle and pillion,
such as market folk rode, which had evidently broken tether while its
riders were away on some errand at a neighbouring _auberge_.

Necessity, which knows no law, and made me villain enough to deceive a
priest, was hardly likely to stick at borrowing a nag, especially when
the safety of my dear young mistress was at stake. It went to my