“Just as we set forth, he came up to the leader of our party, and said in a whisper I could overhear: ‘Remember—the mistress to the house by the wood, and the little one to Dublin—and hands-off.’ Then all the villainy of the thing flashed on me in a moment. ‘Mistress,’ cried I, ‘we are betrayed!’ But before the words were out, a rough hand was laid across my mouth, and we were galloping. Nay, Humphrey,” said she, laying her hand gently on mine, “if thou start and toss like this, ’tis a sign my story doeth thee harm, and I will cease.”
“Would you have me lie still and hear all this?” cried I, in a fever.
“Yes, dear heart,” said she, and that so sweetly that I was forced to obey. “We were galloping away from Castleroe. For a whole day we galloped, till we were faint and ready to drop. Then, as we came to a wood, which I guessed to be the place where my mistress and I were to be parted, our leader suddenly reined in and turned to give an order to the man who held me. As he did so, four men sprang out from among the trees and a horrible fight ensued. In the midst of it, one of the new-comers advanced to me and said, ‘You are safe!’ and I knew it to be no other than the soldier Gedge himself.”
“And he who came to my side,” put in the maiden, smiling amid her heaviness, “said: ‘Let Diana shake off her clouds. Apollo himself hath come to lead her out into the Empyrean.’”
“God reward them both for this!” said I.
“Amen,” said Jeannette. “Two of the villains they slew and the other staggered away, as I fear, mortally wounded. ’Twas him you saw.
“As for us, our rescuers brought us here, where the McDonnell hath welcomed us, and, as you know, loveth my mistress as his own daughter. Yet, little thought we, as we looked out from the turret window at the storm last night, and prayed side by side for those at sea, that you, and—and Sir Ludar were coming to us on the wild waves!”
The day wore on, and still neither soldier nor poet nor any news came to comfort us.
Then I demanded to be taken to Sorley Boy McDonnell, and the maiden led my tottering steps to the great hall. There sat the old man, bare-headed and motionless, at the head of the empty table, with his sword laid out before him. “Is my son come?” demanded he, as we entered.
“Not yet, dear sire,” said the maiden, going to him.