m
about it, and only hoped so noble a youth was one of Her Majesty's loyal
servants.

Our host had but one small room with a single bed in it to offer us,
which accordingly we shared for the night. Nor was it long before we
were each sound asleep, forgetful of our troubles and quarrels and
weariness.

Before we fell over, however, my comrade said:

"When go you into Oxford?"

"To-morrow, betimes," said I, "for my message is urgent."

"You will have trouble enough," said he. "There is little love between
town and gown there, and unless you like knocks, you had better send
your letter by the hand of one who does."

"I mind no knocks," said I, groaning a little at the memory of some I
had received that very evening; "besides, I am bound to give my letter
by my own hand."

"Then," said he, "take my cap and gown: they are no use to me and may be
a passport to you. Lend me your cloak in exchange. It will serve to
hide me, while it would but betray you as an intruder inside Oxford."

"This cloak," said I, "is the gift of my dear mistress in London. But
perhaps your advice is good. I will go into Oxford in a scholar's garb,
and you meanwhile shall shelter here in my cloak till I return about
noon. Is it a bargain?"

"As you please," said he, and fell asleep.

I was the more pleased with this exchange, as I remembered what Master
Udal had said concerning the fancy Master Penry might take for my brave
cloak. It would be safer here, protecting my comrade, than flaunting in
the eyes of the ravenous youth of Oxford.

When I arose next morning with the sun, my bedfellow still slept
heavily. I could not forbear taking a look at him as he lay there. His
face in sleep, with all the care and unrest out of it, looked like that
of some boyish, resolute Greek divinity. His arm was flung carelessly
behind his head, and the tawny hair which strayed over the pillow served
as a setting for his fine-cut features.

But I had no time for admiring Greek divinities just then; and slipping
on the scholar's robe and cap, which, to my thinking, made me a
monstrous fine fellow, I left my own cloak at his bedside, and, taking
my letter, started on my errand, afoot.

In the clear morning I could plainly see the towers of the city ahead of
me before I had been long on the road. But it is one thing to see and
another to touch. The inn where I had lain was at the river's bank, and
yet no road seemed to lead to it or from it. As