e, of course."

"Well, I suppose it would. In which case we can only hope not to come
near enough to the enemy to be closely inspected."

"Had I not better cut it off?" said Miss Talbot.

"What!" exclaimed Brooke, with amazement in his face.

Miss Talbot repeated her question.

"Cut off your hair--that hair!" said Brooke. "What a horrible idea!"

"Will you cut it?"

"Never!" said Brooke, fervently.

"Shall I?"

Brooke drew a long breath and looked earnestly at her.

"Oh, don't ask me," said he, at length, in a dejected tone. "I'm
floored! It's like throwing overboard a cargo of gold, and silver,
and precious stones to lighten the ship. Yea, more--it's like the
Russian woman who threw over her child to the wolves to make possible
the escape of the rest of the family. But there are some who would
prefer to be eaten by wolves rather than sacrifice the child."

"Well," said Miss Talbot, "your comparison of the child is a little
too much; but if it comes to throwing the treasure overboard to save
the ship, I shall not hesitate a moment."

Brooke made no reply, and Miss Talbot went into the tower.

Brooke then resumed his seat, and, looking thoughtfully into vacancy,
sang in a low voice all to himself:

"Oh, a princess there was in the north countree,
And her hair reached down below her knee;
And lovers they gathered by thousands there,
For love of the maid with the golden hair."

CHAPTER XII.

HOW BROOKE AND TALBOT TAKE TO FLIGHT.

Brooke was roused from his meditations by a light footstep close
beside him. He looked up, and saw Miss Talbot standing before him in
her new costume. As he looked he rose to his feet and gazed at her
fixedly without a word.

The change was wonderful.

It was no longer a young lady that he saw--it was a young priest. The
broad hat came down low upon the head, and beneath it there was a
face full of sweet dignity and gentle grace--a face serene, and
noble, and pure. Such a face Raffaelle loved to reproduce while
portraying the Angel of the Visitation, where youth, and radiant
beauty, and unsullied purity, and divinest grace all appear combined
in one celestial visage.

Brooke looked for some time with the an intent gaze, and in utter
silence.

"How do you think I look?" asked Miss Talbot.

"Look?" repeated Brooke. He hesitated as if at a loss, and then went
on in a way that was peculiarly his own. "Look? Oh, first-rate--very
well--very well indeed.