“What farther can I do for you, kind Molinara?” said Sir Piercie Shafton, himself hesitating and blushing; for, to the grace of Queen Bess's age be it spoken, her courtiers wore more iron on their breasts than brass on their foreheads, and even amid their vanities preserved still the decaying spirit of chivalry, which inspired of yore the very gentle Knight of Chaucer,
Who in his port was modest as a maid.
Mysie blushed deeply, with her eyes fixed on the ground, and Sir Piercie proceeded in the same tone of embarrassed kindness. “Are you afraid to return home alone, my kind Molinara?—would you that I should accompany you?”
“Alas!” said Mysie, looking up, and her cheek changing from scarlet to pale, “I have no home left.”
“How! no home!” said Shafton; “says my generous Molinara she hath no home, when yonder stands the house of her father, and but a crystal stream between?”
“Alas!” answered the Miller's maiden, “I have no longer either home or father. He is a devoted servant to the Abbey—I have offended the Abbot, and if I return home my father will kill me.”
“He dare not injure thee, by Heaven!” said Sir Piercie; “I swear to thee, by my honour and knighthood, that the forces of my cousin of Northumberland shall lay the Monastery so flat, that a horse shall not stumble as he rides over it, if they should dare to injure a hair of your head! Therefore be hopeful and content, kind Mysinda, and know you have obliged one who can and will avenge the slightest wrong offered to you.”
He sprung from his horse as he spoke, and, in the animation of his argument, grasped the willing hand of Mysie, (or Mysinda as he had now christened her.) He gazed too upon full black eyes, fixed upon his own with an expression which, however subdued by maidenly shame, it was impossible to mistake, on cheeks where something like hope began to restore the natural colour, and on two lips which, like double rosebuds, were kept a little apart by expectation, and showed within a line of teeth as white as pearl. All this was dangerous to look upon, and Sir. Piercie Shafton, after repeating with less and less force his request that the fair Mysinda would allow him to carry her to her father's, ended by asking the fair Mysinda to go along with him—“At least,” he added, “until I shall be able to conduct you to a place of safety.”
Mysie Happer made no answer; but blushing scarlet betwixt joy and shame, mutely expressed her willingness to accompany the Southron Knight, by knitting her bundle closer, and preparing to resume her seat en croupe. “And what is your pleasure that I should do with this?” she said, holding up the chain as if she had been for the first time aware that it was in her hand.
“Keep it, fairest Mysinda, for my sake,” said the Knight.