“Sir William is my mother’s kinsman. Is his house far from here?”
“Not far. I pray you let me take you so far.”
“By no means,” said she, “our ways lie in different directions. I have a conductor, as you see. Will you inform him as to the way?”
I obeyed, and, further, bade the fellow look well to his mistress, and keep his eye on a certain captain, who might be at the place to which they went.
Then, as I assisted the maiden to mount her horse, I summoned up courage, cost what it would, to say:
“Sir William hath a guest whom you and I saw last at Finsbury Fields. I beseech you, maiden, let me go thither as your servant.”
She bridled up proudly, yet, not unkindly.
“No,” said she, “if I needed a protector, I could have none better than you. But I need none. Farewell, and thanks, good Master Dexter. The O’Neill’s daughter will not forget that one Englishman at least never did her harm. Adieu.”
And without waiting for more, she rode forward, followed by her attendants.
Then it seemed as if the sun had gone out of heaven. What was I, a mean London ’prentice, to such as she? Nay, what right had I to suppose she needed either my warning or my protection?