"Good-by, Mistress Phil," said he, and "Good-by, dear Ned," said I. My father here slipping quietly out to spy up and down the gallery, and holding the door to behind him, in that last moment I seized Ned's hand, not knowing it was the sooty one, and whispered in his ear: "Why will you be ever throwing _mistress_ at me, dear? Am I not your old friend Phil?" And he: "I did but think, Phil, that so unceremoniously visiting your chamber at night-time, which you know is a thing I never purposed, did call for terms of address more formal than our usage of childhood." Which before I could answer, Sir Michael, satisfied that he was not observed, had him swiftly out in the gallery, my door was closed for the last time that night, and I fell weeping on the bed as if the sun should never shine again. I slept none of that night, and much of it I wept. But, rising in the sheer idleness of fatigue, when the dawn was well advanced, and chancing to see my face in the mirror, I perceived that I had most plentifully streaked and smeared a tear-wet countenance with the blackness of the soot that had passed in our last moment together from Ned's fingers to mine. Now my eyes and cheeks presented doubtless a spectacle that had moved another to laughter. But from the eyes that alone beheld the figure of ridicule that I was, the thought of how I became so besmirched brought fresh tears, plentiful enough, in all conscience, to have washed it clean of all the grime that face ever carried. But I washed hands and face, and so back to bed, where, worn out, and by this tolerably secure of Ned's evasion, I fell asleep, nor awoke until I was roused somewhat past eight o'clock of the morning. Meantime to the tale of that same evasion which was, as I supposed, well accomplished. To tell it briefly, my father bade him play the clown as best he could, and, after his face had been cunningly smeared with that same soot, had led him by the back stair to the kitchen; whence, after Sir Michael had joined the soldiers eating and drinking in the great hall, he was sent by the cook, who was in the secret, to bear a dish of some dainty to the company. This, as before arranged, he let fall with a great clatter, bringing Sir Michael down upon him in pretence of anger; who did there, with many a curse on his clumsiness, so cuff him about head and ears, that it set all the redcoats laughing. "Silly varlet!" quoth Sir Michael, "is the cook underhanded that such as you must be fetched from garden and stable to spoil our meat? I warrant men are hanged for less in these days."