"There is, by your leave, a maiden in this castle, a prisoner, and daughter to the O'Neill.

She craves your permission to return to her father; and hath bidden me ask it of you." He nodded his head, as if the petition were too trifling to be heeded; and, having got what I was in need of, I withdrew, thankful.
Next day, at daybreak, the maiden, white as a sheet, and with lips close-pressed to hinder their trembling, walked slowly across the bridge to the castle gate.

I had got her two horses, one for her and one for the old nurse; and a trusty escort of six McDonnells and the English soldier to conduct her to Toome.
At parting she held out her hand.
"Humphrey," said she, "tell him of this; and may she who loves you never lose you as I have lost him." "All is not lost," said I, "we shall meet again, and all will be happy yet." And I lifted her to her horse.
"Now, sirrah," said the old nurse, as I did the like service for her, "be happy for a year and a day! You have broken a sweet heart among you, and what matters it to you, so you be rid of us?
Mark my word; some heads shall ache for this! What is to become of us, do you suppose, in this O'Neill's house?
Little trouble to you to send us from one cruel fate to a worse! Be proud that you, a soldier, forsooth, and calling yourself an honest man, thus betray my poor maiden to her step- dame and your English Captain." "He is dead by now," said I.
"Not he," said she.

"What is to become of us, dost thou hear?
Who is to help us now ?" "Dame," said I, "is there no God in heaven that you chide thus?
Farewell, we shall meet again, I think, in a happier season." Then I stepped once more to the maiden and said: "Lady, that maiden's name we spoke of is young Mistress Walgrave, the printer's daughter in London.

Should chance bring you thither, she will be your friend for my sake.