y son, make no noise; I am here as a friend." Then the
door closed, and Archie's visitor produced a lighted lantern from
the folds of his garments, and Archie saw that a priest stood before
him.

"I thank you, father," he said gratefully; "you have doubtless come
to shrive me, and I would gladly listen to your ministrations. I
would fain intrust you, too, with a message to my mother if you
will take it for me; and I would fain also that you told the Lady
Marjory that she must not grieve for my death, or feel that she is
in any way dishonoured by it, seeing that she strove to her utmost
to keep her promise, and is in no way to blame that her uncle has
overriden her."

"You can even give her your message yourself, sir knight," the
priest said, "seeing that the wilful girl has herself accompanied
me hither."

Thus saying, he stepped aside, and Archie perceived, standing
behind the priest, a figure who, being in deep shadow, he had not
hitherto seen. She came timidly forward, and Archie, bending on
one knee, took the hand she held out and kissed it.

"Lady," he said, "you have heard my message; blame not yourself,
I beseech you, for my death. Remember that after all you have
lengthened my life and not shortened it, seeing that but for your
interference I must have been slain as I stood, by your followers.
It was kind and good of you thus to come to bid me farewell."

"But I have not come to bid you farewell. Tell him, good Father
Anselm, our purpose here."

"`Tis a mad brain business," the priest said, shrugging his shoulders;
"and, priest though I am, I shall not care to meet MacDougall in
the morning. However, since this wilful girl wills it, what can I
do? I have been her instructor since she was a child; and instead
of being a docile and obedient pupil, she has been a tyrannical
master to me; and I have been so accustomed to do her will in all
things that I cannot say her nay now. I held out as long as I could;
but what can a poor priest do against sobs and tears? So at last
I have given in and consented to risk the MacDougall's anger, to
bring smiles into her face again. I have tried in vain to persuade
her that since it is the chief's doing, your death will bring no
dishonour upon her. I have offered to absolve her from the promise,
and if she has not faith in my power to do so, to write to the
pope himself and ask for his absolution for any breach that there
may be; but I might as well have spoken to the wi