“Oh, you have hours and hours enough to see any one,” said Mysie; “but you must think of the distress of the household even now, and get Edward to sleep for a while, for he has kept watch this whole night.”
“I will have another kiss first,” answered Dan of the Howlet-hirst.
But Mysie was now on her guard, and, conscious of the vicinity of the wood-hole, offered such strenuous resistance, that the swain cursed the nymph's bad humour with very unpastoral phrase and emphasis, and ran up stairs to relieve the guard of his comrade. Stealing to the door, she heard the new sentinel hold a brief conversation with Edward, after which the latter withdrew, and the former entered upon the duties of his watch.
Mysie suffered him to walk there a little while undisturbed, until the dawning became more general, by which time she supposed he might have digested her coyness, and then presenting herself before the watchful sentinel, demanded of him “the keys of the outer tower, and of the courtyard gate.”
“And for what purpose?” answered the warder.
“To milk the cows, and drive them out to their pasture,” said Mysie; “you would not have the poor beasts kept in the byre a' morning, and the family in such distress, that there is na ane fit to do a turn but the byre-woman and myself?”
“And where is the byre-woman?” said Dan.
“Sitting with me in the kitchen, in case these distressed folks want any thing.”
“There are the keys, then, Mysie Dorts,” said the sentinel.
“Many thanks, Dan Ne'er-do-weel,” answered the Maid of the Mill, and escaped down stairs in a moment.