The monastery; The abbot.

THE MONASTERY. 199
bank of the river, until they arrived nearly opposite to the weir, or
dam-dike, where Father Philip concluded his extraordinary aquatic excursion.
Sir Piercie Shafton, whose brain seldom admitted more than one idea at
a time, had hitherto pushed forward without very distinctly considering
where he was going. But the sight of the Monastery so near to him, reminded him that he was still on dangerous ground, and that he must necessarily provide for his safety by choosing some settled -plan of escape. The
situation of his guide and deliverer also occurred to him, for he was far
from being either selfish or ungrateful. IIe listened, and discovered that
the Miller's daughter was sobbing and weeping bitterly as she rested her
head on his shoulder.
"What ails thee," he said, "my generous Molinara? —is there aught that
Piercie Shafton can do which may show his gratitude to his deliverer?"
Mysie pointed with her finger across the river, but ventured not to turn her
-eyes in that direction. "Nay, but speak plain, most generous damsel,"
said the knight, who, for once, was puzzled as much as his own elegance
of speech was wont to puzzle others, "for I swear to you that I comprehend nought by the extension of thy fair digit."
"Yonder is my father's house," said Mysie, in a voice interrupted by the
increased burst of her sorrow.
" And I was carrying thee discourteously to a distance from thy habitation?" said Shafton, imagining he had found out the source of her grief.
"Wo worth the hour that Piercie Shafton, in attention to his own safety,
neglected the accommodation of any female, far less of his most beneficent
liberatrice! Dismount, then, 0 lovely Molinara, unless thou wouldst
rather that I should transport thee on horseback to the house of thy
molendinarv father, which, if thou sayest the word, I am prompt to do,
defying all dangers which may arise to me personally, whether by monk
or miller."
Mysie suppressed her sobs, and with considerable difficulty muttered her
desire to alight, and take her fortune by herself. Sir Piercie Shafton, too
devoted a squire of dames to consider the most lowly as exempted from a
respectful attention, independent of the claims which the Miller's maiden
possessed over him, dismounted instantly from his horse, and received in
his arms-the poor girl, who still wept bitterly, and, when placed on the
ground, seemed scarce able t6 support herself, or at least still clung,
though, as it appeared, unconsciously, to the support he had afforded. He
carried her to a weeping birch tree, which grew on the green-sward bank
around which the road winded, and, placing her on the ground beneath it,
exhorted her to compose herself. A strong touch of natural feeling struggled with, and half overcame, his acquired affectation, while he said,
"Credit me, most generous damsel, the service you have done to Piercie
Shafton he would have deemed too dearly bought, had he foreseen it was to
cost you these tears and singults. Show me the cause of your grief, and
if I can do aught to remove it, believe that the rights you have acquired
over me will make your commands sacred as those of an empress. Speak,
then, fair Molinara, and command him whom fortune hath rendered at
once your debtor and your champion. What are your orders?"
"Only that you will fly and save yourself," said Mysie, mustering up her
utmost efforts to utter these few words.
"Yet," said the knight, "let me not leave you without some token of
remembrance." Mysie would have said there needed none, and most truly
would she have spoken, could she have spoken for weeping. "Piercie
Shafton is poor," he continued, "but let this chain testify he is not ungrateful to his deliverer."
He took from his neck the rich chain and medallion we have formerly
mentioned, and put it into the powerless hand of the poor maiden, who