ave
to take Jeannette with me to see the sport. For by this time the sweet
maid's lameness was nearly cured, and, like a prisoner newly uncaged,
she loved to spread her wings a bit and go abroad.

Had the arm she leaned on been that of Peter Stoupe instead of mine, I
wondered if she would have mended as fast as she did? I was a vain
coxcomb those days, and thought, no. Yet, for anything she said to me
or I to her, we were still 'prentice and young mistress. Only, the duty
I owed her was my great joy; and the service she had a right to claim of
me, she sometimes prettily asked as a gift.

'Twas a wild, weird scene--those hundreds of citizens lit up by the
fierce glare of the bonfires, whose roar mingled with the shoutings, and
whose heat was less than the loyal fires which blazed in our bosoms. I
could feel Jeannette's hand tighten on my arm as the rabble surged
closer round; and presently, seeing her tired and frightened, I made a
way for her through the crowd.

As we reached the skirts there reeled against us a drunken man who, had
I not caught him in my arm, would have fallen against my young mistress
and done her some hurt. He was not so drunk but that, when I set him on
his feet and gave him a kick or two, he was able to stand upright and
talk. And at the first word he uttered, I recognised the voice of my
old acquaintance, Tom Price, the Captain's man; whom I had seen last
with his master the day Alexander McDonnell fell outside Dunluce.

So dark was it away from the fire, that but for his voice I might not
have known him. Certainly he, as he then was, could hardly know me.

"Patience," whispered I to Jeannette, "here is a man can give us some
news. He shall not hurt you; only I must speak with him. Hold close to
me."

And to guard her better, I put an arm around her, while I parleyed with
the sergeant.

"Come, comrade," said I, concealing my voice as best I could, "'tis time
you were in quarters. The Captain will be calling for thee."

"Captain me no captains. Stand thee still, steady--when came he--ugh?"

"He'll be here to look for thee I warrant, an thou go not home."

"Got back? what for? when came-- Harkee, comrade--keep it snug--he'll
not find her--he, he! he'll not find her."

"Not he," said I, making a guess. "We know where she is, though. Eh,
Tom?"

"He, he! do we! So doth that other varlet. But, keep it mum, comrade--
the wall is none too high, but my Captain may climb it."