"But how shall I get admittance to her?" demanded Sam. "Why, those knaves, those grooms of hers, will look me all over from head to foot, and then drive me from the door. How should a poor piper get speech of a princess?"
"You shall have the means," answered Boyd. "Wait here for a minute;" and, retiring once more into his cottage, he was a short time absent. When he returned, he bore a piece of written paper in hand, and gave it to his messenger, saying. "There, take that to Sir William Stanley's bailiff at Atherston. He will help to send you on the way."
"A horse----believe him," said the piper, reading. "Does that mean he is to believe a horse?"
"No," replied the woodman, gravely, "to believe you, and give you a horse. I knew not that you could read. Now look here," he continued, giving the man a large gold cross, of what is called the Greek form, set with five sardonix stones, and attached to two very beautifully wrought chains, terminating in the heads of serpents. It seemed of very ancient workmanship, but was so splendid as greatly to excite the admiration of the poor piper.
"There, cease gazing!" said the woodman; "but take that cross, and put it up carefully, where it will be seen by no one, lest you should be robbed and murdered for its sake. When you meet with the lady's train--you will find her either in Tewksbury or some of the neighbouring villages--ask to speak with her chief woman. Tell her to take the cross to her mistress, and ask if she will purchase it. There is money for your journey too. Methinks she will soon see you, when she looks upon that cross."
"But what if she do not?" asked Sam. "What then?"
"Return," replied the woodman, apparently greatly moved; and, without further words, he was re-entering his cottage, when the piper called after him aloud, saying:
"Hark ye, hark ye, yet a minute, Master Boyd. There are two words to the bargain, remember. If I undertake your errand, you must not spoil mine."
"Thine, man!" exclaimed the woodman, turning upon him sharply. "What is thine?"
"If I understood you rightly," said Sam, with a tone of deference, "you said, or meant to say, that the secret of this dear lady's abode was not to be told to the young lord as yet, but that it might be told by and by. Now, I must be the teller; for I made the discovery."