"Tush, man," answered Scarlett, pettishly, "for all you know, your Kate may be shut up in the next street. And besides, as I said, after all, she is your lass, not mine." Wat stepped back with a fine gesture of renunciation. "Well," he said, "has it come to this? Never did I think to see the day when Jack Scarlett--old Jack Scarlett of the wrist-of-steel--would turn sheep and be afraid to set his shoulder to Wat Gordon's, or even to cross blades with him, as he did the other night in the Inn of Brederode. But old Jack has become no better than a gross, rotten, grease-lined crock, and--Lord, Lord, such a flock as he leads on parade after him!" "S'blood! I will e'en break thy head, Wat, an' thou cease not thy cackle. Now I will come with thee just to prove I am no sheep. No, nor craven either. But only the greatest and completest old fool that ever held a commission from a brave prince and one of the few good paymasters in Europe." With this Jack Scarlett rose, and did upon him his cloak and all his fighting-gear with an air grave and sullen, as though he were going to his own beheading. Then he searched all his drawers and pockets for money--which, in spite of the vaunted excellence of the paymaster's department, appeared to be somewhat scarce with the master-at-arms. Presently he announced himself as ready. His decision took this shape: "This is the excellentest fool's-errand in the world, and I the greater fool to go with another fool upon it. Lead on, Wat Gordon." So, grumbling and muttering, he followed Wat down the stairs. "And now," said Scarlett, "pray, have you so much as thought upon our need of horses?" "Nay," said Wat, "I have thought of naught but getting out of prison, finding a friend, and winning back my lass." "Aye, marry," grunted Scarlett, "thy lass! Mickle hast thou thought of taking thy fool comrade away from the best pay-roll and the most complaisant landlady he has found these thirty years." CHAPTER XVIII A PERILOUS MEETING At the corner of the square, as they were turning under the shadow of the cathedral, a smallish, slender youth came running trippingly towards them. "You want horses," he said to Wat; "there are three of them ready waiting over there in the dark of the trees beyond the canal yonder." "And who are you, my skip-jack manling," said Scarlett, "that makes so free with your horses in this country of donkeys?" "A friend!" said the boy, sliding away from the rasp in the voice of the master-at-arms. Something familiar in gait and manner struck Wat through the disguise of the unfamiliar dress. "It is the Little Marie!" he said, gladly enough. "What do you here in this attire?" The slim figure had slipped round to Wat's side and now laid a soft, small hand on his. "I have come to help you to escape. I have three horses waiting for you, and I have discovered that the password for the night is 'Guelderland.'" "And the horses," queried Wat, "whence came they?"