“'T is I myself, Reverend Father!” laughed Melissa. “O my dear, good Friar John, methinks the kind Saints have brought thee to my need.”
“Saints, quotha!” exclaimed the Friar, rolling merry eye towards his several captors. “Call ye these—Saints? Long have I sought thee, thou naughty maid, and to-day in my quest these brawny 'saints' beset me with bow and quarterstaff and me constrained hither—but my blessing on them since they have brought me to thee. And now, sweet child and daughter, whiles the news yet runneth hot-foot or, like bird unseen, wingeth from lip to lip, I thy ghostly father have rare good news for thee—”
“Nay, Friar John, I will guess thy tidings: Sir Agramore of Biename lieth sorry and sore of a cudgelling.”
“How!” cried the Friar. “Thou dost know—so soon?”
“Verily, Reverend Father, nor have I or my worthy guardians aught to fear of him hereafter. And now have I right wondrous news for thee, news that none may guess. List, dear Friar John, thou the wisest and best loved of all my guardians ten; to-day ye are absolved henceforth all care of your wilful ward since to-day she passeth from the guardianship of ye ten to the keeping of one. Come forth, Pertinax, thou only one beloved of me for no reason but that thou art thou and I am I—as is ever the sweet, mad way of True-love—come forth, my dear-loved, poor soldier!” Out from the trees strode Pertinax but, beholding his face, Friar John scowled and, viewing his rich surcoat and goodly armour, fell to perspiring wonder and amaze.
“Now by the sweet Saint Amphibalus!” quoth he. “Surely these be the arms of Sir Agramore, dread Lord of Biename?”
“Most true, dear Friar John,” answered Melissa, “and by this same token Sir Agramore lieth sore bruised e'en now.”
“Aha!” quoth the Friar, mopping moist brow. “'T is well—'t is very well, so shall these two ears of mine, with eighteen others of lesser account, scathless go and all by reason of this good, tall fellow. Howbeit, I do know this same fellow for fellow of none account, and no fit mate for thee, noble daughter, love or no. A fierce, brawling, tatterdemalion this, that erstwhile tramped in company with long-legged ribald—a froward jesting fellow. Wherefore this fellow, though fellow serviceable, no fellow is for thee and for these sufficing reasons. Firstly—”
“Ha—enough!” quoth Sir Pertinax, chin out-thrust. “'Fellow' me no more, Friar—”
“Firstly,” continued Friar John, “because this out-at-elbows fellow is a rogue.”