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STORIES FROM OLD ENGLISH POETRY.

Bungay, till my eyelids are heavy, and I would fain take a brief rest. But I dare not leave the head unguarded, lest in my sleep it should utter that which I must heed. Can I trust you to wait here in my sleep, and if the head gives signs of speech, to wake me suddenly, that I may follow its magical instruction? It is but for an hour or two, and then I will again resume my watch.”

“I will watch here as bravely as if I never knew what fear meant, good master,” answered Miles. “I warrant the head will do me no harm, and I will repeat so many Aves and Paters that not a foul fiend will venture to come near me. So good-night and to sleep. Let me but get my trusty stave, which sets without, that I may arm myself, if any one enter to do me any hurt; and in a trice I will be here to guard thy wondrous handiwork.”

So saying, Miles brought in a huge bludgeon, which he carried on his shoulder in true soldierly fashion. The friar rose, and pouring a small glass of strong liquor from a flask, he handed it to Miles, saying,—“Drink that. It will keep thee from growing timorous in thy watch. Remember that on thy wakefulness rests all my hopes, and that a moment’s slumber may wreck them. Good-night and Benedicite.” Thus saying, the friar, who could hardly speak from