"Aha! there he goes!" said Dan: "There's nae guidance to be had o' him, and as little mense in meddling wi' him." "Ay, let him e'en gang," said the miller; "he's the warst mouse o' the mill. Ane had better tine the blind bitch's litter than hae the mill singed wi' brimstone. I lurd rather deal wi' the thankless maltster, that neither gi'es coup, neivefu', nor lippie, than wi' him. I have no part of the breviary but a glorious preamble; kneel till I repeat it." The troopers kneeled round the miller, who, lifting up his hands, said, with great fervour, "O semper timidum scelus! Obstupui, steteruntque comæ et vox faucibus hæsit. O Deus; nusquam tuta fides! Amen." "Amen!" repeated all the group, and arose greatly strengthened and encouraged by the miller's _preamble_. They spent that night around the miller's hearth, and had a cog of good brose to their supper. The next morning Dan and two associates rode off for Melrose, to lay their case before the friendly abbot, and to beg assistance; which, notwithstanding the devil's brag, they were not afraid of obtaining. But the important events that followed must be related in course, while we return to those friends in their elevated confinement, to whom that night the poet related the following tale. CHAPTER II. _Lord Duf._ Did you not wake them, Cornaro? _Cor._ Alas! my lord, I could not. Their slumber was so deep, it seemed to me A sleep eternal. Not a sleep of death, But of extatic silence. Such a beam Of joy and happiness I ne'er beheld Shed from the human face. _The Prioress, a Tragedy._ The Poet's Tale.