How Sir Mark played his Cards.There was news at the Pool-house next day that Culverin Carr’s ship had sailed; Jeremiah Cobbe hearing thereof from his man, Tom Croftly.“Heaven send them a good voyage, master,” said the workman. “I hear the girt ship went down the river at daybreak, and there’s a brave deal of our work on board.”“Yes,” said the founder, thoughtfully; and then he began thinking about Gil.“He’s gone off, poor boy, and without a word of good-bye. I was rough enough to him yesterday, and yet he showed me a plan that is a little fortune in itself. Poor lad, I like him; but tut—tut; there, it can never be; Mace is no mate for him, and I’m glad that he has gone.”He was busying himself soon after in seeing the big howitzer dragged back to the shelter of a shed, so as to be free to talk to Sir Mark, who had intimated or rather ordered him to be ready for a conference at ten of the clock; and, in spite of his bluff independence, there was that in his guest’s manner that made him rather uneasy, as much on his child’s account as upon his own.“There’s something behind,” he said; “something I don’t understand; and, though I could fight him well enough in a fair and open quarrel, when they get to their diplomacy and policy, and underhanded-behind-your-back ways, I’m done.”The thoughts of the previous day’s shell-firing, however, put Sir Mark out of his head; and he was thinking whether it would not be wise to have the howitzer out once more to try the same experiments, when Sir Mark, who had been waiting since breakfast to gain an interview with Mace, and quite in vain, now joined him by the edge-stone of the race.For Mace had had hard work to maintain her composure at the morning meal; having heard, as she had from Janet only just before, that Gil’s ship had sailed.She was not satisfied with their parting, for she felt in her heart that he would be troubled at the presence of Sir Mark, whose inopportune return had, as it were, cast a shadow on Gil’s last day.“But he’ll trust me,” she said, with a satisfied smile; “and he may. There, I’ll fret no more, for time will make all smooth, no doubt.”As to Sir Mark, she felt that she must be very plain with him, and trust to his being enough of a gentleman to cease what would degenerate into persecution if continued in face of her declaration that she could not listen to his suit.So Mace brightened up, and told herself that there was no need to be at all uneasy about their guest, setting him down as a vain coxcomb, without giving him the credit for being, to gain his own ends, unscrupulous to a degree.“Ah, Sir Mark,” exclaimed the founder, heartily; “I’ve seen thy two fellows, and a hearty breakfast has set them right. They are none the worse for their last night’s dip.”“Bodily, perhaps not, Master Cobbe; but mentally I’ll vow that they are very ill. My followers are soldiers and gentlemen, and cannot suffer so great an affront without some heed. Those people with their leader will have to be hunted out of the place.”“Thou’lt want ships to limit them now,” said the founder, drily; “for they are off to sea.”“What! at sea? Why, they were here but now.”“But now?”“Well, last even,” said Sir Mark. “They cannot be gone.”“Tut, man. Culverin Carr and his men work by night, when such as we are asleep. They were at the mouth of the river, where the sea beats on the sand-bar, before you woke this morning, I’ll be bound.”“You seem to be well acquainted with their movements, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark.“Not I,” was the reply. “When I’ve sold cargo to Captain Gil I ask no more except to have a written promise from him to pay me my money, which generally comes in sulphur and in Chinese salt. I never inquire into his sailings or comings-in. It is as well not, and they’re pretty secret over them, taking on board, sailing, and the like.”“This is curious work, Master Cobbe, in his Majesty’s dominions. Law and order seem to be held cheaply here. It was time something was done.”“And yet, sir, we have gone on for years, offending none, and have found life very bearable,” said the founder, warmly. “Weowe no man aught, and we ask no favours from any. But you had business to do with me, Sir Mark. Shall we go in?”“No,” said Sir Mark, “I’ll say what I have to say out here.”The founder softly rubbed his hands and wished that the great howitzer had not been replaced in the shed, for it might have been fired again, and its wonderful strength and carrying powers exhibited to the King’s messenger. If he saw its value, and made good representations at court, that would be a large fortune for his child.He rubbed his hands again, smiling to himself the while, till he awoke suddenly to the fact that Sir Mark was watching, when he seemed suddenly to tighten himself up, and gazed back shrewdly at his companion, who smiled and said—“I came back to you, Master Cobbe, armed with great powers by His Majesty, to whom I have talked long and learnedly upon your works and knowledge of the arts and mysteries of making guns.”“That is well, Sir Mark,” said the founder, smiling. “And what said his Majesty?”“He left in my hands the power and discretion to order of you—largely—sundry munitions of war.”“That is good,” said the founder, rubbing his hands, as if the palms began to itch to feel the money.“Hi was satisfied with the quality and workmanship.”“I tell thee, Sir Mark, that the equals of my pieces are not to be found in this country, search where you will. I take such pains to have naught but the toughest iron, and as to finish—”“Exactly, Master Cobbe,” said the knight, smiling in a half-cynical manner; “but that is your view of the matter.”“No man ever knew me to lie or to cheat in trading, Sir Mark,” said the founder, hotly. “I will compare my pieces with those of any foundry in—”“Yes, yes, exactly, Master Cobbe, exactly. But, hark ye, I have, as I tell thee, full authority to deal with thee, but everything depends upon my report.”“Try the report of the pieces themselves,” said the founder, chuckling. “There, speak out, my lad. If it be a case of commission, say what you require, and I’ll tell thee at once whether I’ll pay or no.”“Do you wish to insult me, Master Cobbe?” said the knight, haughtily.“Insult thee? No, my lad, not I. Would it be any insult to offer thee a hundred or two for thine introduction?”“Silence, man!” cried Sir Mark, angrily. “I am no dealer seeking a bribe, but one who would do you a good turn, if possible, at a very difficult time. You have enemies.”“If successful, didst ever know a man without?”“And they have somehow given the King to understand that it was really you who supplied the conspirators with the powder for their deadly plot.”“But I swear—” began the founder.“What good will that do, sir? An enemy swears against thee, and humours the king, who, so great is his hatred of such matters, lends willing ear to the charge, and would rather believe the treason of thee than not.”“That’s a pretty state of affairs!” cried the founder. “Do you mean to tell me, Sir Mark, that the king would willingly believe an honest man guilty?”“His Majesty gives much of his time to two subjects—that of witchcraft and that of schemes against his person. You know how deadly a plot was laid against him by his Papist enemies?”“Ay, I know all that; but—”“Hear me out, Master Cobbe, then you shall speak to your heart’s content. Here is the case. It has been reported to his Majesty that you are a great factor of deadly gunpowder; that you sell it largely to his Majesty’s enemies; and that at the present time you are receiving into your house a Papist spy—one Father Brisdone, who is making arrangement for a fresh supply of powder for some new plan.”“It’s a lie!” roared the founder, striking his doubled fist in his opened hand. “Now, look here, Master Ambassador, or whatever you call yourself, how comes his Majesty to know aught about my powder and Father Brisdone? It strikes me, sir, that yours have been the lips that made the mischief.”Sir Mark was taken aback by this outburst, but he recovered himself pretty quickly.“I will not take offence, neither will I argue with you upon such a point, Master Cobbe,” he said, coldly. “Let me ask you this—Was mine the speech that gave evil report of thee to the King, which said evil report first brought me down?”“True!” exclaimed the founder. “I beg thy pardon, my lad. There is some busy meddling rascal, then, who tells tales of me and mine. Well, all I say is, let him look to it. I would not be he for a something if we two stood together some night by the mill-pool.”“You would not throw him in?” said Sir Mark.“No; but I might push him in, and leave him to get out how he could. But there, you can send word to his Majesty that he has been deceived. Certainly I sell powder to go abroad along with my guns—powder made of the softest dogwood charcoal we can burn.”“Yes,” said Sir Mark; “I could, as you say, send word to his Majesty that it is not so, but it would require backing up with stronger asseveration.”“To be sure,” said the founder; “and that you will make. You tell his Majesty that I am the last man in the kingdom to do him harm.”“Why should I tell him this, Master Cobbe?”“Why? Why tell him?” said the blunt founder. “Why? Because it is the truth.”Sir Mark smiled, and stood apparently thinking for a while before he spoke again.“Master Cobbe, I have the power to place in thy hands,” he said at last, “the supplying of as many pieces of ordnance, and as much good, strong powder, as thou could’st make, for the use of his Majesty’s forces, in an expedition to be sent to Holland. What say you; will you supply the guns?”“Price, my lad, price? Will his Highness pay me well?”“I will undertake to say that he will, Master Cobbe; and, what is more, I can see that it is done. Make your own fair, honest charge for the pieces and their food, and there will be no demur.”“Look here, Sir Mark,” replied the founder, looking the speaker full in the face; “you turned angry when I talked of giving you a recompense for this order, and called it bribery. What does it all mean? Thou would’st not do all this for naught.”“Is there no such thing as gratitude in the world, Master Cobbe?”“Plenty, sir; but court gallants don’t come spreading it out like beaten gold over a rough country work-master, unless they want to get something back.”“You are witty at the expense of court gallants, as you call them, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, laughing. “Tut, man, be not so dense. Is it a surprise to you that I should have spent my time in London working hard on thy behalf? Here was an order for ordnance going a-begging. What more natural for me to say than—Here is honest Jeremiah Cobbe, who can make better pieces than his Majesty will get elsewhere, and it will force him back into the King’s esteem, instead of his lying under the stigma of being a traitor? What more likely for me to do than to get him the order?”“Then, thou hast gotten me the order, eh, Sir Mark?”“Nay, I have obtained for myself the power to give thee that order, Master Cobbe.”“And at what price?”“Tush, man, speak not of price,” cried the other, eagerly. “What are prices to us? Can you not see that our interests are one, and that I am working for myself as well as thee?”“Nay,” said the founder, bluntly; “I see it not.”“You will not see it, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, smiling. “Why, man, I have but one thought—for thy welfare.”“Indeed,” said the founder, bluntly; “and why?”“Why?” cried Sir Mark. “You ask me why, when you know so well that I would do aught for the father of the woman I love.”“Ah,” said the founder, drily; “now we have got to it at last. So that mad wish of thine is not dead yet.”“Mad wish! Why, Master Cobbe, for what do you take me?”“A very good hand at a bargain, Sir Mark. Nay, nay, stop you, and let me speak, for you have had a goodly say. You come to me then, now, scorning all kinds of commission for the great order you have to bestow, but you say to me all the same—Here is the order, give me thy daughter in return.”“Master Cobbe!”“Sir Mark Leslie! Now, sir, what manner of man do you take me to be, that you offer me goodly orders in exchange for my own poor flesh and blood?”“No, no, Master Cobbe; you do not speak me fair.”“I think I do, sir,” replied the founder. “Go, take thy great order elsewhere, I’ll have none of it. My child weds some day a man of her own station, who is a suitable mate. I shall not take a bribe to give her to the first who tries to tempt me.”“Come, come, Master Cobbe, you are too hard. You know I love her.”“Yes; you say so, sir.”“Be not so hard, then. Give me access to her.”“Access to her, man? You speak as if I locked her in her room. My child is free enough, and she will tell thee readily that she is no mate for Sir Mark Leslie.”“Nay, nay, Master Cobbe!”“Nay, nay, Sir Mark. There, sir, you are welcome to what my house affords while it pleases thee to stay, for I will not quarrel with thee; but let us have no more converse about such matters as these.”“And the order, Master Cobbe, one that would bring thee thousands?”“Take it elsewhere, sir; take it elsewhere. You are a very good, generous kind of devil, no doubt, but thy temptations will not succeed at so great a price.”“Bah!” ejaculated Sir Mark. “Devil, forsooth! One would think, man, I asked for thy soul.”“And what else dost ask for?” cried the founder, angrily, “but for the pure, sweet girl who is to me my very life and soul. There, I’ll speak no more on it. I get angered, and I’ve had repentance enough for quarrelling with you once before, good guest. There, sir, as I said before, the house is open to you and to your men. Take its hospitality; as to that order, make of it what you can.”Evidently growing hot and angry, the founder turned away to go and cool himself—so it seemed—in his hottest furnace, while Sir Mark stood watching him till he disappeared, with a smile upon his lips.“The old fellow is tougher than I thought,” he said. “I expected the prospect of the money would have won his consent. Well, it makes me feel a kind of respect for him after all, rough as he is. But stop a bit, Master Cobbe, you’ll execute the King’s order and make money by it. You’ll give me sweet Mace’s hand, and sooner or later I’ll have thy savings to the last penny to clear off my little debts, and enable my beautiful rustic wife to keep up such style as shall make the sneering dames at court think twice before they slight one who has beauty, power, and position.”As he spoke, he glanced at an open window, where Mace, trembling and excited, had been an unseen spectator of the meeting, standing far back in the room, and giving a sigh of relief as she saw her father stride angrily away.
There was news at the Pool-house next day that Culverin Carr’s ship had sailed; Jeremiah Cobbe hearing thereof from his man, Tom Croftly.
“Heaven send them a good voyage, master,” said the workman. “I hear the girt ship went down the river at daybreak, and there’s a brave deal of our work on board.”
“Yes,” said the founder, thoughtfully; and then he began thinking about Gil.
“He’s gone off, poor boy, and without a word of good-bye. I was rough enough to him yesterday, and yet he showed me a plan that is a little fortune in itself. Poor lad, I like him; but tut—tut; there, it can never be; Mace is no mate for him, and I’m glad that he has gone.”
He was busying himself soon after in seeing the big howitzer dragged back to the shelter of a shed, so as to be free to talk to Sir Mark, who had intimated or rather ordered him to be ready for a conference at ten of the clock; and, in spite of his bluff independence, there was that in his guest’s manner that made him rather uneasy, as much on his child’s account as upon his own.
“There’s something behind,” he said; “something I don’t understand; and, though I could fight him well enough in a fair and open quarrel, when they get to their diplomacy and policy, and underhanded-behind-your-back ways, I’m done.”
The thoughts of the previous day’s shell-firing, however, put Sir Mark out of his head; and he was thinking whether it would not be wise to have the howitzer out once more to try the same experiments, when Sir Mark, who had been waiting since breakfast to gain an interview with Mace, and quite in vain, now joined him by the edge-stone of the race.
For Mace had had hard work to maintain her composure at the morning meal; having heard, as she had from Janet only just before, that Gil’s ship had sailed.
She was not satisfied with their parting, for she felt in her heart that he would be troubled at the presence of Sir Mark, whose inopportune return had, as it were, cast a shadow on Gil’s last day.
“But he’ll trust me,” she said, with a satisfied smile; “and he may. There, I’ll fret no more, for time will make all smooth, no doubt.”
As to Sir Mark, she felt that she must be very plain with him, and trust to his being enough of a gentleman to cease what would degenerate into persecution if continued in face of her declaration that she could not listen to his suit.
So Mace brightened up, and told herself that there was no need to be at all uneasy about their guest, setting him down as a vain coxcomb, without giving him the credit for being, to gain his own ends, unscrupulous to a degree.
“Ah, Sir Mark,” exclaimed the founder, heartily; “I’ve seen thy two fellows, and a hearty breakfast has set them right. They are none the worse for their last night’s dip.”
“Bodily, perhaps not, Master Cobbe; but mentally I’ll vow that they are very ill. My followers are soldiers and gentlemen, and cannot suffer so great an affront without some heed. Those people with their leader will have to be hunted out of the place.”
“Thou’lt want ships to limit them now,” said the founder, drily; “for they are off to sea.”
“What! at sea? Why, they were here but now.”
“But now?”
“Well, last even,” said Sir Mark. “They cannot be gone.”
“Tut, man. Culverin Carr and his men work by night, when such as we are asleep. They were at the mouth of the river, where the sea beats on the sand-bar, before you woke this morning, I’ll be bound.”
“You seem to be well acquainted with their movements, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark.
“Not I,” was the reply. “When I’ve sold cargo to Captain Gil I ask no more except to have a written promise from him to pay me my money, which generally comes in sulphur and in Chinese salt. I never inquire into his sailings or comings-in. It is as well not, and they’re pretty secret over them, taking on board, sailing, and the like.”
“This is curious work, Master Cobbe, in his Majesty’s dominions. Law and order seem to be held cheaply here. It was time something was done.”
“And yet, sir, we have gone on for years, offending none, and have found life very bearable,” said the founder, warmly. “Weowe no man aught, and we ask no favours from any. But you had business to do with me, Sir Mark. Shall we go in?”
“No,” said Sir Mark, “I’ll say what I have to say out here.”
The founder softly rubbed his hands and wished that the great howitzer had not been replaced in the shed, for it might have been fired again, and its wonderful strength and carrying powers exhibited to the King’s messenger. If he saw its value, and made good representations at court, that would be a large fortune for his child.
He rubbed his hands again, smiling to himself the while, till he awoke suddenly to the fact that Sir Mark was watching, when he seemed suddenly to tighten himself up, and gazed back shrewdly at his companion, who smiled and said—
“I came back to you, Master Cobbe, armed with great powers by His Majesty, to whom I have talked long and learnedly upon your works and knowledge of the arts and mysteries of making guns.”
“That is well, Sir Mark,” said the founder, smiling. “And what said his Majesty?”
“He left in my hands the power and discretion to order of you—largely—sundry munitions of war.”
“That is good,” said the founder, rubbing his hands, as if the palms began to itch to feel the money.
“Hi was satisfied with the quality and workmanship.”
“I tell thee, Sir Mark, that the equals of my pieces are not to be found in this country, search where you will. I take such pains to have naught but the toughest iron, and as to finish—”
“Exactly, Master Cobbe,” said the knight, smiling in a half-cynical manner; “but that is your view of the matter.”
“No man ever knew me to lie or to cheat in trading, Sir Mark,” said the founder, hotly. “I will compare my pieces with those of any foundry in—”
“Yes, yes, exactly, Master Cobbe, exactly. But, hark ye, I have, as I tell thee, full authority to deal with thee, but everything depends upon my report.”
“Try the report of the pieces themselves,” said the founder, chuckling. “There, speak out, my lad. If it be a case of commission, say what you require, and I’ll tell thee at once whether I’ll pay or no.”
“Do you wish to insult me, Master Cobbe?” said the knight, haughtily.
“Insult thee? No, my lad, not I. Would it be any insult to offer thee a hundred or two for thine introduction?”
“Silence, man!” cried Sir Mark, angrily. “I am no dealer seeking a bribe, but one who would do you a good turn, if possible, at a very difficult time. You have enemies.”
“If successful, didst ever know a man without?”
“And they have somehow given the King to understand that it was really you who supplied the conspirators with the powder for their deadly plot.”
“But I swear—” began the founder.
“What good will that do, sir? An enemy swears against thee, and humours the king, who, so great is his hatred of such matters, lends willing ear to the charge, and would rather believe the treason of thee than not.”
“That’s a pretty state of affairs!” cried the founder. “Do you mean to tell me, Sir Mark, that the king would willingly believe an honest man guilty?”
“His Majesty gives much of his time to two subjects—that of witchcraft and that of schemes against his person. You know how deadly a plot was laid against him by his Papist enemies?”
“Ay, I know all that; but—”
“Hear me out, Master Cobbe, then you shall speak to your heart’s content. Here is the case. It has been reported to his Majesty that you are a great factor of deadly gunpowder; that you sell it largely to his Majesty’s enemies; and that at the present time you are receiving into your house a Papist spy—one Father Brisdone, who is making arrangement for a fresh supply of powder for some new plan.”
“It’s a lie!” roared the founder, striking his doubled fist in his opened hand. “Now, look here, Master Ambassador, or whatever you call yourself, how comes his Majesty to know aught about my powder and Father Brisdone? It strikes me, sir, that yours have been the lips that made the mischief.”
Sir Mark was taken aback by this outburst, but he recovered himself pretty quickly.
“I will not take offence, neither will I argue with you upon such a point, Master Cobbe,” he said, coldly. “Let me ask you this—Was mine the speech that gave evil report of thee to the King, which said evil report first brought me down?”
“True!” exclaimed the founder. “I beg thy pardon, my lad. There is some busy meddling rascal, then, who tells tales of me and mine. Well, all I say is, let him look to it. I would not be he for a something if we two stood together some night by the mill-pool.”
“You would not throw him in?” said Sir Mark.
“No; but I might push him in, and leave him to get out how he could. But there, you can send word to his Majesty that he has been deceived. Certainly I sell powder to go abroad along with my guns—powder made of the softest dogwood charcoal we can burn.”
“Yes,” said Sir Mark; “I could, as you say, send word to his Majesty that it is not so, but it would require backing up with stronger asseveration.”
“To be sure,” said the founder; “and that you will make. You tell his Majesty that I am the last man in the kingdom to do him harm.”
“Why should I tell him this, Master Cobbe?”
“Why? Why tell him?” said the blunt founder. “Why? Because it is the truth.”
Sir Mark smiled, and stood apparently thinking for a while before he spoke again.
“Master Cobbe, I have the power to place in thy hands,” he said at last, “the supplying of as many pieces of ordnance, and as much good, strong powder, as thou could’st make, for the use of his Majesty’s forces, in an expedition to be sent to Holland. What say you; will you supply the guns?”
“Price, my lad, price? Will his Highness pay me well?”
“I will undertake to say that he will, Master Cobbe; and, what is more, I can see that it is done. Make your own fair, honest charge for the pieces and their food, and there will be no demur.”
“Look here, Sir Mark,” replied the founder, looking the speaker full in the face; “you turned angry when I talked of giving you a recompense for this order, and called it bribery. What does it all mean? Thou would’st not do all this for naught.”
“Is there no such thing as gratitude in the world, Master Cobbe?”
“Plenty, sir; but court gallants don’t come spreading it out like beaten gold over a rough country work-master, unless they want to get something back.”
“You are witty at the expense of court gallants, as you call them, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, laughing. “Tut, man, be not so dense. Is it a surprise to you that I should have spent my time in London working hard on thy behalf? Here was an order for ordnance going a-begging. What more natural for me to say than—Here is honest Jeremiah Cobbe, who can make better pieces than his Majesty will get elsewhere, and it will force him back into the King’s esteem, instead of his lying under the stigma of being a traitor? What more likely for me to do than to get him the order?”
“Then, thou hast gotten me the order, eh, Sir Mark?”
“Nay, I have obtained for myself the power to give thee that order, Master Cobbe.”
“And at what price?”
“Tush, man, speak not of price,” cried the other, eagerly. “What are prices to us? Can you not see that our interests are one, and that I am working for myself as well as thee?”
“Nay,” said the founder, bluntly; “I see it not.”
“You will not see it, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, smiling. “Why, man, I have but one thought—for thy welfare.”
“Indeed,” said the founder, bluntly; “and why?”
“Why?” cried Sir Mark. “You ask me why, when you know so well that I would do aught for the father of the woman I love.”
“Ah,” said the founder, drily; “now we have got to it at last. So that mad wish of thine is not dead yet.”
“Mad wish! Why, Master Cobbe, for what do you take me?”
“A very good hand at a bargain, Sir Mark. Nay, nay, stop you, and let me speak, for you have had a goodly say. You come to me then, now, scorning all kinds of commission for the great order you have to bestow, but you say to me all the same—Here is the order, give me thy daughter in return.”
“Master Cobbe!”
“Sir Mark Leslie! Now, sir, what manner of man do you take me to be, that you offer me goodly orders in exchange for my own poor flesh and blood?”
“No, no, Master Cobbe; you do not speak me fair.”
“I think I do, sir,” replied the founder. “Go, take thy great order elsewhere, I’ll have none of it. My child weds some day a man of her own station, who is a suitable mate. I shall not take a bribe to give her to the first who tries to tempt me.”
“Come, come, Master Cobbe, you are too hard. You know I love her.”
“Yes; you say so, sir.”
“Be not so hard, then. Give me access to her.”
“Access to her, man? You speak as if I locked her in her room. My child is free enough, and she will tell thee readily that she is no mate for Sir Mark Leslie.”
“Nay, nay, Master Cobbe!”
“Nay, nay, Sir Mark. There, sir, you are welcome to what my house affords while it pleases thee to stay, for I will not quarrel with thee; but let us have no more converse about such matters as these.”
“And the order, Master Cobbe, one that would bring thee thousands?”
“Take it elsewhere, sir; take it elsewhere. You are a very good, generous kind of devil, no doubt, but thy temptations will not succeed at so great a price.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Sir Mark. “Devil, forsooth! One would think, man, I asked for thy soul.”
“And what else dost ask for?” cried the founder, angrily, “but for the pure, sweet girl who is to me my very life and soul. There, I’ll speak no more on it. I get angered, and I’ve had repentance enough for quarrelling with you once before, good guest. There, sir, as I said before, the house is open to you and to your men. Take its hospitality; as to that order, make of it what you can.”
Evidently growing hot and angry, the founder turned away to go and cool himself—so it seemed—in his hottest furnace, while Sir Mark stood watching him till he disappeared, with a smile upon his lips.
“The old fellow is tougher than I thought,” he said. “I expected the prospect of the money would have won his consent. Well, it makes me feel a kind of respect for him after all, rough as he is. But stop a bit, Master Cobbe, you’ll execute the King’s order and make money by it. You’ll give me sweet Mace’s hand, and sooner or later I’ll have thy savings to the last penny to clear off my little debts, and enable my beautiful rustic wife to keep up such style as shall make the sneering dames at court think twice before they slight one who has beauty, power, and position.”
As he spoke, he glanced at an open window, where Mace, trembling and excited, had been an unseen spectator of the meeting, standing far back in the room, and giving a sigh of relief as she saw her father stride angrily away.
How Gil interrupted a Discussion.There must be something very fascinating in the herb called tobacco, or else the reverend gentlemen, who had commenced taking it with distaste, would never have grown to be steady smokers; and, in spite of Mistress Hilberry’s sour looks, met evening by evening to enjoy their pipes with the regularity of a clock.But so it was, and it grew to be quite a custom for Master Peasegood to welcome Father Brisdone daily, and lay his pipe ready to his hand when he seated himself at the table.“Yes,” said Master Peasegood, as they sat together; “our gay spark has come back, and he has had a long talk with Jeremiah Cobbe. He wants to have our little maiden’s hand.”“But he must not,” cried Father Brisdone, excitedly. “Better that she should enter some holy walls as the bride of Christ.”“Humph!” ejaculated Master Peasegood; “I don’t quite agree with you there, brother; but we will not argue. I am with you that he should not marry our little maiden. By the way, he let drop to friend Cobbe something about you.”“How know you this?” said the father. “Why Cobbe told me, to be sure.”“Under the seal of confession?”“Seal of stuff!” cried Master Peasegood, testily. “I don’t confess. He told me, and asked my advice, and I tell my most intimate friend. Look here, brother. It seems they won’t let thee alone.”“Indeed! And why?”“There’s a rumour out that thou art down here to purchase powder for some new plot, and Master Cobbe is in a fine way about it.”“And you? What did you say to him?”“Told him he was a fool.”“Hah!” said Father Brisdone.“I was just in the humour,” said Master Peasegood. “I am just in the humour now. Why I’d rather marry the poor girl myself than see her handed over to that court pie.”“And Master Cobbe—what says he?”“That he’d sooner see her in her grave.”“Poor girl, poor, sweet girl!” said Father Brisdone. “It must not be, brother. We must fight on the other side.”“There’ll be no need.”“Nay, but there will. Yon spark is cunning and crafty, and he will work upon the old man till he consents. If they have designs against me, I may at any time be removed or have to flee. If this be so, I leave you to on that poor girl’s side to the very last.”“Have you seen her lately?”“I was there four days since for a good and pleasant hour,” said Father Brisdone, with a sigh. “Nay,” he said, smiling, “look not so suspiciously; I said no word on religion to her. What need was there when her breast is so pure and free from guile?”Master Peasegood stretched out his broad fat hand, and pressed that of his friend.“Thank you, brother,” he said, smiling. “It’s strange how we have drifted together. I’ll confess it; I’ve tried hard indirectly, and hoped to get thee over to our Church.”“Not harder than I have tried indirectly with thee,” said Father Brisdone, smiling. “Ah, brother, why should we trouble ourselves about it when we are both journeying on the highway. You like to walk in boots, and I prefer sandals.”“Hah, yes,” said Master Peasegood; “but then I do save my feet from the grit, and dust, and thorns of the way.”“Yes, but then I travel with shaven crown and cooler head than you in your thick flap hat.”“Yes, perhaps so. But there, there, why should we discourse about such matters?”“True, brother, when we are both hopeful that, in spite of contending dogma, we may reach the heavenly gate in company; and it strikes me,” he added with a smile, “that if we do the good saint may give us both a welcoming smile.”“Brother,” said Master Peasegood, leaning across the table, “if he had not one for you, I’d, I’d—bless me that I would—I’d take him to task about the fact.”“Take him to task!”“Ay! Remind him of a bit of weakness of his when a certain cock did crow.”Father Brisdone looked up with a half-amused, half-sorrowful expression. Then, with a sigh:“If the good saint had no welcome for my companion, and held the door open for me alone, I should feel that I had been mistaken all my life, join hands with my friend, and accompany him back.”There was another hearty shake of the hand at this, and then the two friends sat and smoked in silence for a time.“Look here, brother,” said Master Peasegood, suddenly; “we both love and like to direct sweet Mace, and leave another roaming about like a poor lost lamb. Now, why don’t you take up Mistress Anne Beckley? She is young, and easily moulded.”“Nay,” was the reply; “I’d rather you tried your hand. I shall not seek to make her a proselyte to our cause.”Master Peasegood sat gazing at his friend for a while, and then exclaimed—“The news I gave you does not seem to have much effect.”“What news?”“That thou art a papist emissary, and come to purchase powder for a new plot.”“Heaven grant that such a bloody and atrocious crime be not again upon the way. It makes me shudder to think that men could have such ideas, and say that they are in the cause of the Church.”Father Brisdone spoke excitedly, and his pale face flushed as he rose and paced the room. “Oh, brother, we live in bitter times when men can think a good and gracious God could smile down upon such crimes.”“Ah,” said Master Peasegood, re-lighting his little pipe, “you are a bad Catholic, and I no longer wonder that thou art left here by thy party.”Father Brisdone looked back on him, and smiled.“The captain has sailed,” said Master Peasegood.“Yes; he asked me to keep a protecting eye over our child.”“He did, did he? Then I have a counter turn with him. Why did he not ask me to play that part?”“Because he knew thee of old, and that our child would be certain of thy protection.”“Ah!” said Master Peasegood, with a sigh; “that girl is a great strain upon my mind—bless her!”“Ay, bless her!” said Father Brisdone, fervently. Then, after a pause, “I may have to flee one of these days, for persecutions are sometimes very bitter against such as I. If I do go suddenly, you will remember all my words.”“Remember them! Yes. But where should you go?”“Throw myself upon the hands of Captain Carr, and trust to his generosity.”“Yes, if at home; but he has sailed.”“There are the woods and rocky hills.”“Yes,” said Master Peasegood! “and plenty of blackberries, and hips and haws, and cold night-dews, and damp ferns. Bah, man, we can’t live like hermits here in this Christian land. This is not a place where a man can be happy in a hair-shirt and a scooped-out hole in the rock, with a handful of dates and a cup of water. My word, it would puzzle some of those early fathers to exist on such terms down here. But there, have no fear, there is not a man for miles round who would not give either of us a hiding-place and a regular meal if we were in need.”“Brother Peasegood, you are a true friend,” said Father Brisdone; “and I shall resign myself to thy advice, for I am weak, and I own that I shrink from the thought of martyrdom; for life is, after all, so very sweet.”“Of course it is, or it wouldn’t be given to us. Bah! When you meet with a man who talks much about the weariness and wretchedness of the world, depend upon it there is something wrong.”Father Brisdone bowed his head. “I’m afraid I have a good deal of the evil one in me, brother,” said Master Peasegood, helping himself to more tobacco. “See here, I try this herb to see what it is like, so that I may be able to follow out his Majesty’s wishes, and duly preach it down; and how do I find myself? Why, tied neck and heels, and given over to the hands of the tempter.”“Ah, yes,” said Father Brisdone, re-lighting his own pipe, “it is a soothing and seductive weed.”“Then again, about you? Sir Thomas at the Moat twitted me again with our intimacy, as not becoming the parson of Roehurst, and I told him I was converting you fast.”“An untruth, brother Peasegood.”“Yes; but it slipped out unawares. Ah, Brother Francis, I’m afraid that I resemble the unjust steward, and am making friends with such as thou against the days when thy party has the ascendancy once more, and we Protestants are of small account.”Father Brisdone shook his head sadly.“Nay,” he said, “the day is gone; and, if it were not, thou art not the man to stand on the order of taking care of self. But was not that a step?”They ceased speaking, for it was plainly enough a step, and directly after the door was unceremoniously opened and a figure stood on the threshold.“Gilbert Carr!” cried Master Peasegood; “why I thought thee miles away.”“And so I should be,” was the reply; “but I could not go without first saying a few words.”Master Peasegood rose from his chair, and made way for his fresh visitor to take a seat; but Gil laid his hands upon the stout clerk’s shoulders, and gently pressed him back.“Sit still,” he said; “I have not a minute to stay. I have come across from Curtport, and must be back at daybreak, or my vessel will have to wait another tide.”“Have you a horse?”“No; I walked,” said Gil, smiling.“Why, it is nearly thirty miles,” said Father Brisdone.“Quite,” was the reply. “Look here, Master Peasegood, I can speak before Father Brisdone, for he is a friend.”“But first have bite and sup,” cried Master Peasegood, essaying to rise.“I have both in my wallet here,” said Gil. “Now, listen to me: I am uneasy about matters at the house by the Pool.”“And thou would’st have me watch over some one there?” said Master Peasegood.“Yes,” was the reply.“Be easy in thy mind, then, lad, for it is done. Not that I favour thee, or think well of thy suit, mind; but rely on my taking care of the little treasure there.”“I am content, Master Peasegood,” said Gil, holding out his hand.“But you did not walk across country from Curtpool to tell me this?” said Master Peasegood.“I did; and why not, Master Peasegood? There, my mission is ended, so good night to both.”Before either could reply he had passed out into the darkness, and they heard his steps die away in the distance.“A true-hearted, brave man!” said Father Brisdone, fervently. “Heaven’s blessing be upon him!”“Heaven’s blessing be upon him, by all means,” said Master Peasegood drily; “and I hope it will do him good.”“Why do you speak so cynically of the young man?”“Because I don’t like him after all for our child, and he shall never have her with my consent.”“Poor girl! And yet she loves him.”“He’s not good enough man for her,” growled Master Peasegood.“No man that I know is,” replied Father Brisdone. “But, there, we cannot dislike him for his love for one so sweet and true. Good night, brother; I must be for home. It grows late.”“I’ll see thee half-way back,” cried Master Peasegood; and after a short walk with his friend he returned to his cottage, and was soon making the bed vibrate with his heavy breathing, which often degenerated into a snore. But he had not been sleeping many minutes before there was a loud pattering at the casement, one that was repeated again and again.“He gave them hailstones for rain,” muttered Master Peasegood, in his sleep.Patter, patter, patter again at the casement, when Master Peasegood started up, and the bed gave forth a dismal groan.Patter, patter, patter at the window once more.“There’s some one ill,” said the stout clerk, and, rising hastily, while the bedstead emitted a sound like a sigh of relief, he threw on his old gown, went to the window and threw it open.“Hallo!” he cried.“Hallo, parson,” came up out of the darkness in a deep growl.“What is it thou, old son of Belial,” said Master Peasegood, sourly, for he had been awakened from a pleasant sleep.“Ay, Wat Kilby it is.”“I thought thee with thy master, far at sea—safe enough, for thou’lt be hanged some day, Wat Kilby, and never drowned.”“Thou’rt a false prophet,” growled Wat Kilby.“Thou’rt a villainous old unbeliever, worse than a Jew!” cried Master Peasegood, angrily.“I wish all thy country flock were as good as Jews, parson.”“I wish they were,” said Master Peasegood, angrily. “And now why art thou here?”“We’re at anchor. Skipper’s ashore.”“He was here an hour ago, man.”“Eh? Was he then? I must get me back. Here, hold down thy hand; I’ve brought thee some tobacco. I know thou’rt converted, parson, and can smoke.”“I’ll come down, if I can convert thee, Wat Kilby.”“Convert me, Master Peasegood; why, what’s amiss with me?”“Amiss, thou wicked old reprobate? Why thou’rt an open sinner, and never com’st to church.”“Eh, but I would if thou’dst let me smoke my pipe by the open door.”“Then you are repenting of your evil ways.”“Nay, I’ve nothing to repent of, but a love or two.”“And spiriting away poor Abel Churr.”“Nay, parson, I never did; I wish I had,” growled Wat.“Then that’s as bad.”“Nay, parson, don’t preach; I arn’t a bad ’un after all. I always tries, and gets along pretty well for a time, but, just as I’ve got as perfect as can be, down comes the devil with a pretty girl, and then I’m done.”“Out upon thee, Wat Kilby, my cheeks burn with shame.”“Ay, it do make the cheeks burn, parson. But it always was so, parson, and that’s the devil’s way. He always did serve me so, and you may preach at me and preach, and preach, and preach, but unless you can preach all the pretty women off the earth, if you’re right in what you say, I’m sartain to be burnt.”“But you must resist the devil and he’ll flee, Wat Kilby.”“Nay: not he, parson. He knows his man too well. There, it’s all no good. Reach down thy hand—got it. That’s well.”“Thanks, Wat Kilby. Man, it is a goodly offering of the precious weed.”“Thou and the king said it was devilish poison.”“Ah, um, yes; but my ideas are being modified, my man. And now what does this mean?”“Well, you see, parson, it’s all about a woman I have come.”“Is this a time man to speak about a wedding?”“Yes, parson; when you have to go by orders.”“Well speak out quick, for the night is chill.”“I will, parson. It’s like this: I love pretty Mistress Janet at the Pool.”“For a grandchild, Wat Kilby?”“Nay, master; for a wife. I wanted to get speech of her, but could not get me near. Tell her, and keep thy eye on her as well, that Wat Kilby han’t forgot, and will come back and wed her.”“Well man, well?”“And I ask thee, parson, not to wed her to any other man.”“But man, how can I help—”“Why, forbid it all, and I’ll sattle down to be a better man and come to church when I be not at sea. Sometimes I’ll come and sit in the porch o’ Sunday afternoons. And now I must hasten to catch the skipper. Tell her from me, parson, Wat Kilby will come and make her an honest woman, and be true; and now good night.”“Here, stop, you vile old sinner!” cried Master Peasegood, but he only heard old Wat Kilby striding rapidly away, and after listening for a few moments he closed the lattice with a slam.“The place gets worse the more I preach,” he cried, angrily. “Master and man. A nice charge, verily—but Wat and that Janet! My preaching must be stronger, yet. That wicked wench!”Five minutes later Master Peasegood was fast asleep, and the casement-frames vibrated to his snore.
There must be something very fascinating in the herb called tobacco, or else the reverend gentlemen, who had commenced taking it with distaste, would never have grown to be steady smokers; and, in spite of Mistress Hilberry’s sour looks, met evening by evening to enjoy their pipes with the regularity of a clock.
But so it was, and it grew to be quite a custom for Master Peasegood to welcome Father Brisdone daily, and lay his pipe ready to his hand when he seated himself at the table.
“Yes,” said Master Peasegood, as they sat together; “our gay spark has come back, and he has had a long talk with Jeremiah Cobbe. He wants to have our little maiden’s hand.”
“But he must not,” cried Father Brisdone, excitedly. “Better that she should enter some holy walls as the bride of Christ.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Master Peasegood; “I don’t quite agree with you there, brother; but we will not argue. I am with you that he should not marry our little maiden. By the way, he let drop to friend Cobbe something about you.”
“How know you this?” said the father. “Why Cobbe told me, to be sure.”
“Under the seal of confession?”
“Seal of stuff!” cried Master Peasegood, testily. “I don’t confess. He told me, and asked my advice, and I tell my most intimate friend. Look here, brother. It seems they won’t let thee alone.”
“Indeed! And why?”
“There’s a rumour out that thou art down here to purchase powder for some new plot, and Master Cobbe is in a fine way about it.”
“And you? What did you say to him?”
“Told him he was a fool.”
“Hah!” said Father Brisdone.
“I was just in the humour,” said Master Peasegood. “I am just in the humour now. Why I’d rather marry the poor girl myself than see her handed over to that court pie.”
“And Master Cobbe—what says he?”
“That he’d sooner see her in her grave.”
“Poor girl, poor, sweet girl!” said Father Brisdone. “It must not be, brother. We must fight on the other side.”
“There’ll be no need.”
“Nay, but there will. Yon spark is cunning and crafty, and he will work upon the old man till he consents. If they have designs against me, I may at any time be removed or have to flee. If this be so, I leave you to on that poor girl’s side to the very last.”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“I was there four days since for a good and pleasant hour,” said Father Brisdone, with a sigh. “Nay,” he said, smiling, “look not so suspiciously; I said no word on religion to her. What need was there when her breast is so pure and free from guile?”
Master Peasegood stretched out his broad fat hand, and pressed that of his friend.
“Thank you, brother,” he said, smiling. “It’s strange how we have drifted together. I’ll confess it; I’ve tried hard indirectly, and hoped to get thee over to our Church.”
“Not harder than I have tried indirectly with thee,” said Father Brisdone, smiling. “Ah, brother, why should we trouble ourselves about it when we are both journeying on the highway. You like to walk in boots, and I prefer sandals.”
“Hah, yes,” said Master Peasegood; “but then I do save my feet from the grit, and dust, and thorns of the way.”
“Yes, but then I travel with shaven crown and cooler head than you in your thick flap hat.”
“Yes, perhaps so. But there, there, why should we discourse about such matters?”
“True, brother, when we are both hopeful that, in spite of contending dogma, we may reach the heavenly gate in company; and it strikes me,” he added with a smile, “that if we do the good saint may give us both a welcoming smile.”
“Brother,” said Master Peasegood, leaning across the table, “if he had not one for you, I’d, I’d—bless me that I would—I’d take him to task about the fact.”
“Take him to task!”
“Ay! Remind him of a bit of weakness of his when a certain cock did crow.”
Father Brisdone looked up with a half-amused, half-sorrowful expression. Then, with a sigh:
“If the good saint had no welcome for my companion, and held the door open for me alone, I should feel that I had been mistaken all my life, join hands with my friend, and accompany him back.”
There was another hearty shake of the hand at this, and then the two friends sat and smoked in silence for a time.
“Look here, brother,” said Master Peasegood, suddenly; “we both love and like to direct sweet Mace, and leave another roaming about like a poor lost lamb. Now, why don’t you take up Mistress Anne Beckley? She is young, and easily moulded.”
“Nay,” was the reply; “I’d rather you tried your hand. I shall not seek to make her a proselyte to our cause.”
Master Peasegood sat gazing at his friend for a while, and then exclaimed—
“The news I gave you does not seem to have much effect.”
“What news?”
“That thou art a papist emissary, and come to purchase powder for a new plot.”
“Heaven grant that such a bloody and atrocious crime be not again upon the way. It makes me shudder to think that men could have such ideas, and say that they are in the cause of the Church.”
Father Brisdone spoke excitedly, and his pale face flushed as he rose and paced the room. “Oh, brother, we live in bitter times when men can think a good and gracious God could smile down upon such crimes.”
“Ah,” said Master Peasegood, re-lighting his little pipe, “you are a bad Catholic, and I no longer wonder that thou art left here by thy party.”
Father Brisdone looked back on him, and smiled.
“The captain has sailed,” said Master Peasegood.
“Yes; he asked me to keep a protecting eye over our child.”
“He did, did he? Then I have a counter turn with him. Why did he not ask me to play that part?”
“Because he knew thee of old, and that our child would be certain of thy protection.”
“Ah!” said Master Peasegood, with a sigh; “that girl is a great strain upon my mind—bless her!”
“Ay, bless her!” said Father Brisdone, fervently. Then, after a pause, “I may have to flee one of these days, for persecutions are sometimes very bitter against such as I. If I do go suddenly, you will remember all my words.”
“Remember them! Yes. But where should you go?”
“Throw myself upon the hands of Captain Carr, and trust to his generosity.”
“Yes, if at home; but he has sailed.”
“There are the woods and rocky hills.”
“Yes,” said Master Peasegood! “and plenty of blackberries, and hips and haws, and cold night-dews, and damp ferns. Bah, man, we can’t live like hermits here in this Christian land. This is not a place where a man can be happy in a hair-shirt and a scooped-out hole in the rock, with a handful of dates and a cup of water. My word, it would puzzle some of those early fathers to exist on such terms down here. But there, have no fear, there is not a man for miles round who would not give either of us a hiding-place and a regular meal if we were in need.”
“Brother Peasegood, you are a true friend,” said Father Brisdone; “and I shall resign myself to thy advice, for I am weak, and I own that I shrink from the thought of martyrdom; for life is, after all, so very sweet.”
“Of course it is, or it wouldn’t be given to us. Bah! When you meet with a man who talks much about the weariness and wretchedness of the world, depend upon it there is something wrong.”
Father Brisdone bowed his head. “I’m afraid I have a good deal of the evil one in me, brother,” said Master Peasegood, helping himself to more tobacco. “See here, I try this herb to see what it is like, so that I may be able to follow out his Majesty’s wishes, and duly preach it down; and how do I find myself? Why, tied neck and heels, and given over to the hands of the tempter.”
“Ah, yes,” said Father Brisdone, re-lighting his own pipe, “it is a soothing and seductive weed.”
“Then again, about you? Sir Thomas at the Moat twitted me again with our intimacy, as not becoming the parson of Roehurst, and I told him I was converting you fast.”
“An untruth, brother Peasegood.”
“Yes; but it slipped out unawares. Ah, Brother Francis, I’m afraid that I resemble the unjust steward, and am making friends with such as thou against the days when thy party has the ascendancy once more, and we Protestants are of small account.”
Father Brisdone shook his head sadly.
“Nay,” he said, “the day is gone; and, if it were not, thou art not the man to stand on the order of taking care of self. But was not that a step?”
They ceased speaking, for it was plainly enough a step, and directly after the door was unceremoniously opened and a figure stood on the threshold.
“Gilbert Carr!” cried Master Peasegood; “why I thought thee miles away.”
“And so I should be,” was the reply; “but I could not go without first saying a few words.”
Master Peasegood rose from his chair, and made way for his fresh visitor to take a seat; but Gil laid his hands upon the stout clerk’s shoulders, and gently pressed him back.
“Sit still,” he said; “I have not a minute to stay. I have come across from Curtport, and must be back at daybreak, or my vessel will have to wait another tide.”
“Have you a horse?”
“No; I walked,” said Gil, smiling.
“Why, it is nearly thirty miles,” said Father Brisdone.
“Quite,” was the reply. “Look here, Master Peasegood, I can speak before Father Brisdone, for he is a friend.”
“But first have bite and sup,” cried Master Peasegood, essaying to rise.
“I have both in my wallet here,” said Gil. “Now, listen to me: I am uneasy about matters at the house by the Pool.”
“And thou would’st have me watch over some one there?” said Master Peasegood.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Be easy in thy mind, then, lad, for it is done. Not that I favour thee, or think well of thy suit, mind; but rely on my taking care of the little treasure there.”
“I am content, Master Peasegood,” said Gil, holding out his hand.
“But you did not walk across country from Curtpool to tell me this?” said Master Peasegood.
“I did; and why not, Master Peasegood? There, my mission is ended, so good night to both.”
Before either could reply he had passed out into the darkness, and they heard his steps die away in the distance.
“A true-hearted, brave man!” said Father Brisdone, fervently. “Heaven’s blessing be upon him!”
“Heaven’s blessing be upon him, by all means,” said Master Peasegood drily; “and I hope it will do him good.”
“Why do you speak so cynically of the young man?”
“Because I don’t like him after all for our child, and he shall never have her with my consent.”
“Poor girl! And yet she loves him.”
“He’s not good enough man for her,” growled Master Peasegood.
“No man that I know is,” replied Father Brisdone. “But, there, we cannot dislike him for his love for one so sweet and true. Good night, brother; I must be for home. It grows late.”
“I’ll see thee half-way back,” cried Master Peasegood; and after a short walk with his friend he returned to his cottage, and was soon making the bed vibrate with his heavy breathing, which often degenerated into a snore. But he had not been sleeping many minutes before there was a loud pattering at the casement, one that was repeated again and again.
“He gave them hailstones for rain,” muttered Master Peasegood, in his sleep.
Patter, patter, patter again at the casement, when Master Peasegood started up, and the bed gave forth a dismal groan.
Patter, patter, patter at the window once more.
“There’s some one ill,” said the stout clerk, and, rising hastily, while the bedstead emitted a sound like a sigh of relief, he threw on his old gown, went to the window and threw it open.
“Hallo!” he cried.
“Hallo, parson,” came up out of the darkness in a deep growl.
“What is it thou, old son of Belial,” said Master Peasegood, sourly, for he had been awakened from a pleasant sleep.
“Ay, Wat Kilby it is.”
“I thought thee with thy master, far at sea—safe enough, for thou’lt be hanged some day, Wat Kilby, and never drowned.”
“Thou’rt a false prophet,” growled Wat Kilby.
“Thou’rt a villainous old unbeliever, worse than a Jew!” cried Master Peasegood, angrily.
“I wish all thy country flock were as good as Jews, parson.”
“I wish they were,” said Master Peasegood, angrily. “And now why art thou here?”
“We’re at anchor. Skipper’s ashore.”
“He was here an hour ago, man.”
“Eh? Was he then? I must get me back. Here, hold down thy hand; I’ve brought thee some tobacco. I know thou’rt converted, parson, and can smoke.”
“I’ll come down, if I can convert thee, Wat Kilby.”
“Convert me, Master Peasegood; why, what’s amiss with me?”
“Amiss, thou wicked old reprobate? Why thou’rt an open sinner, and never com’st to church.”
“Eh, but I would if thou’dst let me smoke my pipe by the open door.”
“Then you are repenting of your evil ways.”
“Nay, I’ve nothing to repent of, but a love or two.”
“And spiriting away poor Abel Churr.”
“Nay, parson, I never did; I wish I had,” growled Wat.
“Then that’s as bad.”
“Nay, parson, don’t preach; I arn’t a bad ’un after all. I always tries, and gets along pretty well for a time, but, just as I’ve got as perfect as can be, down comes the devil with a pretty girl, and then I’m done.”
“Out upon thee, Wat Kilby, my cheeks burn with shame.”
“Ay, it do make the cheeks burn, parson. But it always was so, parson, and that’s the devil’s way. He always did serve me so, and you may preach at me and preach, and preach, and preach, but unless you can preach all the pretty women off the earth, if you’re right in what you say, I’m sartain to be burnt.”
“But you must resist the devil and he’ll flee, Wat Kilby.”
“Nay: not he, parson. He knows his man too well. There, it’s all no good. Reach down thy hand—got it. That’s well.”
“Thanks, Wat Kilby. Man, it is a goodly offering of the precious weed.”
“Thou and the king said it was devilish poison.”
“Ah, um, yes; but my ideas are being modified, my man. And now what does this mean?”
“Well, you see, parson, it’s all about a woman I have come.”
“Is this a time man to speak about a wedding?”
“Yes, parson; when you have to go by orders.”
“Well speak out quick, for the night is chill.”
“I will, parson. It’s like this: I love pretty Mistress Janet at the Pool.”
“For a grandchild, Wat Kilby?”
“Nay, master; for a wife. I wanted to get speech of her, but could not get me near. Tell her, and keep thy eye on her as well, that Wat Kilby han’t forgot, and will come back and wed her.”
“Well man, well?”
“And I ask thee, parson, not to wed her to any other man.”
“But man, how can I help—”
“Why, forbid it all, and I’ll sattle down to be a better man and come to church when I be not at sea. Sometimes I’ll come and sit in the porch o’ Sunday afternoons. And now I must hasten to catch the skipper. Tell her from me, parson, Wat Kilby will come and make her an honest woman, and be true; and now good night.”
“Here, stop, you vile old sinner!” cried Master Peasegood, but he only heard old Wat Kilby striding rapidly away, and after listening for a few moments he closed the lattice with a slam.
“The place gets worse the more I preach,” he cried, angrily. “Master and man. A nice charge, verily—but Wat and that Janet! My preaching must be stronger, yet. That wicked wench!”
Five minutes later Master Peasegood was fast asleep, and the casement-frames vibrated to his snore.
How the Game went against Master Cobbe.A very different scene was enacting at the Pool-house on that very evening. Sir Mark had spent the day mostly out of doors, and had sought out the founder, who, finding that he made no further allusions to his child, but turned the conversation to the works, readily showed him the busy tasks in progress, where, about a mile from the house, men were digging ironstone from out of a pit. Then on the way back he pointed with pride to the deep hole in the face of a precipitous mass of stone, where the shell had torn for itself a place in which to explode, and then rent out the rock in splintered fragments, which lay about side by side with the pieces of iron of which the shell was composed.“Does that hole go in far?” said Sir Mark, eyeing it curiously.“Goodness knows,” was the reply. “Deep enough. That shot would destroy part of an enemy’s stronghold, or drive in the side of a ship. But come, and you shall see them get ready a furnace for my next gun.”Sir Mark followed, and watched the process as layers of ironstone were alternated with charcoal from a mighty heap that lay hard by.A visit to one of the powder-sheds came next, after Sir Mark had left outside his sword, dagger, and spurs.“Are you not too particular?” he said, rather disdainfully.“Not a bit,” was the bluff reply. “Would’st have his Majesty’s Ambassador blown into fragments, like one of my shells? I am none too particular,” he said, as he saw his companion shudder. “I have had so many accidents here that you must allow me to know what is best.”After this Sir Mark seemed disposed to shirk the visit, but he made an effort, and walked through the place more manfully, looking with curious eyes at the dull black grains, or masses of composition in an unfinished state.“How would his Majesty like a run through here?” said the founder, with a chuckle. “Powder will always have an ill savour in his nostrils.”It was with no little sense of relief that Sir Mark found himself outside, close by the shed where the great howitzer had been placed, and at his solicitation the founder readily consented to have the gun out once more, and with boyish eagerness devoted himself to test the powers of the piece and its bursting shells, when loaded after Gil’s own fashion.At last the founder and his guest had returned, partaken of the evening meal, which Mace dispensed with the calmness of one whose heart was quite at rest; and finally she had retired to find occasion to take Janet to task for being giggling and whispering in the shrubbery with one of Sir Mark’s gaily-dressed men, for by dint of careful drying and smoothing, the traces of the plunge into the mill-race had been made to disappear.“Now, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, “let us calmly and in friendly spirit talk over our affairs again. Suppose you fill your glass.”“That I will,” said the founder; “and you do the same.”“I’ll drink with you and welcome,” said Sir Mark, filling his glass, nodding, and then wetting his lips, while the founder took a hearty draught.“That’s better,” he said. “And now, sir, what is it to be—a good order for his Majesty’s troops?”“Yes, and fortune for you Master Cobbe. This order will be but the introduction to many. Why should you not be ordnance-master to his Majesty?”“Why, indeed, my lad,” said the founder, composedly. “I should gain, of course, but the King would be no loser.”“Then why not have it so, Master Cobbe. Come, I appeal to you—I plead to you. Are you blind to your daughter’s advantages? I am not a moneyed man, but I offer position and a title.”“If I sell her to thee,” said the founder, looking through the wine in his glass.“Tush! Why call things by such hard names? ’tis no sale—I love her dearly, and to help my cause I own that I do try to press upon thee by means of the interest I have at court.”“What should I make by your order, Sir Mark?” said the founder, musingly.“How can I tell?” cried Sir Mark, eagerly. “What do I know of the profits? All I know is that I can give you an order for guns and ammunition, to the value of three thousand pounds, to be paid in hard coin. You shall supply as many of those great howitzers and shells as you can, and then take on more men and make others, for from what I have seen of the performance of those guns you have made both name and fortune.”The founder sat gazing through his wine again, as if musing, and the visitor watched the play of his features with anxiety.“Harkye, Master Cobbe,” he whispered, “I offer marriage and a place at court for your child. Of course I know that there has been some love-talk between her and this Carr, as they call him, but he has sailed away, and what could be a better opportunity for my suit?”“But, suppose she loves this Gilbert Carr, Sir Mark?”“Tush, man; a girl’s fancy! She will forget him in a week. The sight of a wedding-dress would drive him out of her head. You but give me access to her and your aid, and, trust me, she will be a willing bride. There, it is settled, is it not?”“Sir Mark Leslie,” said the founder, sitting back in his chair; “if you could offer me ten times three thousand pounds in orders I would say the same. Sir, I am a bluff south-country yeoman, and I would sooner become the meanest beggar that crawls than sell my poor child as I would chaffer away a gun. There, I’ll listen to no more. Stay, if you please; you are just as welcome. But I’ll hear no more from you or any man upon this point.”He gazed frankly into his guest’s eye as Sir Mark’s brow knit, and the young man strove hard to keep down the annoyance he felt at the rejection of his suit by this, in his eyes, common man.For some minutes neither spoke, and then Sir Mark began in a low husky voice.“Master Cobbe, I have come to you offering you friendship, and you reject it. I cannot be your enemy for your child’s sake; but you compel me to bring force to bear.”“Force, sir, what force?” cried the founder angrily. “Do you mean you’ll carry her away? ’fore Heaven I warn you that the lives of you and your servants would not be worth a snap of the fingers did you try such a thing. There are more men here in this neighbourhood than you think for, ready and willing to fight for her at word of mine.”“No, Master Cobbe; the force I bring to bear is of another sort. Mind, you bring me to this by your obstinate rejection of my suit. I now tell you that Mace must and shall be my wife, and that you will give her to me.”“Indeed!”“Yes,” said Sir Mark, “and soon. Listen: I hold the power here to seize upon this place in his Majesty’s name; to arrest you for high treason as the man who supplied his Majesty’s enemies, and as one who is now in league with papist emissaries. Stop, sir, hear me out. You are leagued with one Father Brisdone, a notorious follower of Spain; with a rough adventurer named Carr, who is more pirate than trader. In fact, you and yours are attainted, and at a word from me ruin falls upon you all.”“And you will do all this with two men whom the very boys who work for me would throw into the Pool?”“I came in peace, with two men only, Master Cobbe; but a messenger would fetch twenty, fifty, or a hundred good swordsmen and harquebusiers to my side to seize your person, raze the works to the ground, and then—yes, then, Master Cobbe, your daughter would become an easy prize.”“What you say is all false!” cried the founder, who sat aghast as he felt what a web the man before him had contrived to spread around.“False or true, I am no judge, Master Cobbe. I am here to execute the King’s commands. The case is left in my hands to act as I see fit. If you prove a good subject of his Majesty, and supply him with the ordnance, well. If you refuse, you stamp yourself a rebel, and as one guilty of high treason.”“But I do not refuse, Sir Mark; I offer to supply his Majesty.”“You refuse the proposal of his servant.”“Did his Majesty bid thee truck and bargain with me, making my child the price at which I should obtain this order?” said the founder, curtly.“His Majesty bade me do what seemed the best,” said Sir Mark; “so what is it to be, Master Cobbe—Peace or war?”“War,” cried the founder, angrily; and he brought his fist down heavily on the table.“As you will, Master Cobbe; but I warn you of your folly. You lose heavily in wealth and liberty, and you deprive your child of her natural protector, leaving her almost entirely at my mercy.”“No,” cried the founder, “not so. If by your lies and trickery I am snatched from her, there are two men who would take upon themselves the part of guardian. Father Brisdone would—”“Be in prison or a fugitive,” said Sir Mark, quietly.“Then Master Peasegood would—”“Be suspended from his office for evil dealing, and allowing himself to be won over to the Papist cause.”“Then I’d trust Gil Carr, and bid him wed my child.”“Gilbert, otherwise Culverin, Carr’s ship, when it returned, would by my orders be watched and seized, as a suspected vessel, and its captain and crew imprisoned to await their trial.”“Then Sir Thomas Beckley, justice and just man, with all his faults, would protect my daughter.”“Sir Thomas Beckley might be called upon to seize the person of Mistress Mace Cobbe, for divers malpractices, held in common with a woman here known as Mother Goodhugh, a notorious witch. His Majesty has determined to put down and root out of his kingdom all those vile traffickers with the works of darkness, and has placed great power in the hands of the magistrates of this realm.”“What!” cried the founder, half in anger, half-laughing. “My child a witch!”“I say not so, Master Cobbe; I only speak of the common report. Both thy daughter and her maid have been regular visitors to this notorious woman, and by this they have exposed themselves to great risk; for to be attainted now of witchcraft, even of holding communion with the powers of darkness, may mean the stake.”“Curse thy quibbling, glib, plot-weaving ways?” cried the founder. “Failing those I have named there is not a man, woman, or boy in Roehurst who would not raise a hand for the white moth.”“Yes,” said Sir Mark, quickly; “that is it. Even that tells against her. She is known commonly as the White Moth of Roehurst; and there are those who whisper that she is a witch.”“Sir Mark Leslie!” cried the founder, who was white with anger, “I will not quarrel with thee again. I forgot myself once towards my guest; I hope to control myself now, but you try me sore.”“It grieves me, Master Cobbe, and, though I speak this, it is not as an enemy but as a friend. I merely place my position before you, and say is it not better to avoid all this trouble, when instead the way is open to wealth and honour, and a peaceful old age?”“Who and what are you?” cried the founder, passionately; “and why do you come to disturb my peaceful home?”“I am his Majesty’s servant, Master Cobbe. I came here at his command to investigate certain malpractices alleged against thee. I found them to be true, but I found here also a greater king than his Majesty James the First. I found here that all-powerful monarch—Love, and, vanquished by him, I suffered thy sword; I made reports that softened thy case; I returned from my mission with so goodly an account that the King gave me leave to offer thee honour and wealth if, in place of being of doubtful allegiance, thou becomest his faithful liege subject, and work for him as you have been accused of working for others. There, Master Cobbe, it is late, and thou art angry. Think over it all; sleep on it; take time to consider. I am one who can wait; for, believe me, I would rather see thee honoured than know that a lingering imprisonment was sapping thy vital forces and bringing thee low. Good night, Master Cobbe, good night.”Sir Mark held out his hand, but it was not noticed; the founder sitting back in his stiff old-fashioned chair, and going over the words of his guest, who, with a peculiar smile, glanced at him mockingly, and slowly ascended to his chamber, leaving his host to sit thinking hour after hour, and at last to stumble off heavily to bed with the feeling upon him that he had been playing at some game with heavy stakes, and that the luck had been all upon the other side.
A very different scene was enacting at the Pool-house on that very evening. Sir Mark had spent the day mostly out of doors, and had sought out the founder, who, finding that he made no further allusions to his child, but turned the conversation to the works, readily showed him the busy tasks in progress, where, about a mile from the house, men were digging ironstone from out of a pit. Then on the way back he pointed with pride to the deep hole in the face of a precipitous mass of stone, where the shell had torn for itself a place in which to explode, and then rent out the rock in splintered fragments, which lay about side by side with the pieces of iron of which the shell was composed.
“Does that hole go in far?” said Sir Mark, eyeing it curiously.
“Goodness knows,” was the reply. “Deep enough. That shot would destroy part of an enemy’s stronghold, or drive in the side of a ship. But come, and you shall see them get ready a furnace for my next gun.”
Sir Mark followed, and watched the process as layers of ironstone were alternated with charcoal from a mighty heap that lay hard by.
A visit to one of the powder-sheds came next, after Sir Mark had left outside his sword, dagger, and spurs.
“Are you not too particular?” he said, rather disdainfully.
“Not a bit,” was the bluff reply. “Would’st have his Majesty’s Ambassador blown into fragments, like one of my shells? I am none too particular,” he said, as he saw his companion shudder. “I have had so many accidents here that you must allow me to know what is best.”
After this Sir Mark seemed disposed to shirk the visit, but he made an effort, and walked through the place more manfully, looking with curious eyes at the dull black grains, or masses of composition in an unfinished state.
“How would his Majesty like a run through here?” said the founder, with a chuckle. “Powder will always have an ill savour in his nostrils.”
It was with no little sense of relief that Sir Mark found himself outside, close by the shed where the great howitzer had been placed, and at his solicitation the founder readily consented to have the gun out once more, and with boyish eagerness devoted himself to test the powers of the piece and its bursting shells, when loaded after Gil’s own fashion.
At last the founder and his guest had returned, partaken of the evening meal, which Mace dispensed with the calmness of one whose heart was quite at rest; and finally she had retired to find occasion to take Janet to task for being giggling and whispering in the shrubbery with one of Sir Mark’s gaily-dressed men, for by dint of careful drying and smoothing, the traces of the plunge into the mill-race had been made to disappear.
“Now, Master Cobbe,” said Sir Mark, “let us calmly and in friendly spirit talk over our affairs again. Suppose you fill your glass.”
“That I will,” said the founder; “and you do the same.”
“I’ll drink with you and welcome,” said Sir Mark, filling his glass, nodding, and then wetting his lips, while the founder took a hearty draught.
“That’s better,” he said. “And now, sir, what is it to be—a good order for his Majesty’s troops?”
“Yes, and fortune for you Master Cobbe. This order will be but the introduction to many. Why should you not be ordnance-master to his Majesty?”
“Why, indeed, my lad,” said the founder, composedly. “I should gain, of course, but the King would be no loser.”
“Then why not have it so, Master Cobbe. Come, I appeal to you—I plead to you. Are you blind to your daughter’s advantages? I am not a moneyed man, but I offer position and a title.”
“If I sell her to thee,” said the founder, looking through the wine in his glass.
“Tush! Why call things by such hard names? ’tis no sale—I love her dearly, and to help my cause I own that I do try to press upon thee by means of the interest I have at court.”
“What should I make by your order, Sir Mark?” said the founder, musingly.
“How can I tell?” cried Sir Mark, eagerly. “What do I know of the profits? All I know is that I can give you an order for guns and ammunition, to the value of three thousand pounds, to be paid in hard coin. You shall supply as many of those great howitzers and shells as you can, and then take on more men and make others, for from what I have seen of the performance of those guns you have made both name and fortune.”
The founder sat gazing through his wine again, as if musing, and the visitor watched the play of his features with anxiety.
“Harkye, Master Cobbe,” he whispered, “I offer marriage and a place at court for your child. Of course I know that there has been some love-talk between her and this Carr, as they call him, but he has sailed away, and what could be a better opportunity for my suit?”
“But, suppose she loves this Gilbert Carr, Sir Mark?”
“Tush, man; a girl’s fancy! She will forget him in a week. The sight of a wedding-dress would drive him out of her head. You but give me access to her and your aid, and, trust me, she will be a willing bride. There, it is settled, is it not?”
“Sir Mark Leslie,” said the founder, sitting back in his chair; “if you could offer me ten times three thousand pounds in orders I would say the same. Sir, I am a bluff south-country yeoman, and I would sooner become the meanest beggar that crawls than sell my poor child as I would chaffer away a gun. There, I’ll listen to no more. Stay, if you please; you are just as welcome. But I’ll hear no more from you or any man upon this point.”
He gazed frankly into his guest’s eye as Sir Mark’s brow knit, and the young man strove hard to keep down the annoyance he felt at the rejection of his suit by this, in his eyes, common man.
For some minutes neither spoke, and then Sir Mark began in a low husky voice.
“Master Cobbe, I have come to you offering you friendship, and you reject it. I cannot be your enemy for your child’s sake; but you compel me to bring force to bear.”
“Force, sir, what force?” cried the founder angrily. “Do you mean you’ll carry her away? ’fore Heaven I warn you that the lives of you and your servants would not be worth a snap of the fingers did you try such a thing. There are more men here in this neighbourhood than you think for, ready and willing to fight for her at word of mine.”
“No, Master Cobbe; the force I bring to bear is of another sort. Mind, you bring me to this by your obstinate rejection of my suit. I now tell you that Mace must and shall be my wife, and that you will give her to me.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes,” said Sir Mark, “and soon. Listen: I hold the power here to seize upon this place in his Majesty’s name; to arrest you for high treason as the man who supplied his Majesty’s enemies, and as one who is now in league with papist emissaries. Stop, sir, hear me out. You are leagued with one Father Brisdone, a notorious follower of Spain; with a rough adventurer named Carr, who is more pirate than trader. In fact, you and yours are attainted, and at a word from me ruin falls upon you all.”
“And you will do all this with two men whom the very boys who work for me would throw into the Pool?”
“I came in peace, with two men only, Master Cobbe; but a messenger would fetch twenty, fifty, or a hundred good swordsmen and harquebusiers to my side to seize your person, raze the works to the ground, and then—yes, then, Master Cobbe, your daughter would become an easy prize.”
“What you say is all false!” cried the founder, who sat aghast as he felt what a web the man before him had contrived to spread around.
“False or true, I am no judge, Master Cobbe. I am here to execute the King’s commands. The case is left in my hands to act as I see fit. If you prove a good subject of his Majesty, and supply him with the ordnance, well. If you refuse, you stamp yourself a rebel, and as one guilty of high treason.”
“But I do not refuse, Sir Mark; I offer to supply his Majesty.”
“You refuse the proposal of his servant.”
“Did his Majesty bid thee truck and bargain with me, making my child the price at which I should obtain this order?” said the founder, curtly.
“His Majesty bade me do what seemed the best,” said Sir Mark; “so what is it to be, Master Cobbe—Peace or war?”
“War,” cried the founder, angrily; and he brought his fist down heavily on the table.
“As you will, Master Cobbe; but I warn you of your folly. You lose heavily in wealth and liberty, and you deprive your child of her natural protector, leaving her almost entirely at my mercy.”
“No,” cried the founder, “not so. If by your lies and trickery I am snatched from her, there are two men who would take upon themselves the part of guardian. Father Brisdone would—”
“Be in prison or a fugitive,” said Sir Mark, quietly.
“Then Master Peasegood would—”
“Be suspended from his office for evil dealing, and allowing himself to be won over to the Papist cause.”
“Then I’d trust Gil Carr, and bid him wed my child.”
“Gilbert, otherwise Culverin, Carr’s ship, when it returned, would by my orders be watched and seized, as a suspected vessel, and its captain and crew imprisoned to await their trial.”
“Then Sir Thomas Beckley, justice and just man, with all his faults, would protect my daughter.”
“Sir Thomas Beckley might be called upon to seize the person of Mistress Mace Cobbe, for divers malpractices, held in common with a woman here known as Mother Goodhugh, a notorious witch. His Majesty has determined to put down and root out of his kingdom all those vile traffickers with the works of darkness, and has placed great power in the hands of the magistrates of this realm.”
“What!” cried the founder, half in anger, half-laughing. “My child a witch!”
“I say not so, Master Cobbe; I only speak of the common report. Both thy daughter and her maid have been regular visitors to this notorious woman, and by this they have exposed themselves to great risk; for to be attainted now of witchcraft, even of holding communion with the powers of darkness, may mean the stake.”
“Curse thy quibbling, glib, plot-weaving ways?” cried the founder. “Failing those I have named there is not a man, woman, or boy in Roehurst who would not raise a hand for the white moth.”
“Yes,” said Sir Mark, quickly; “that is it. Even that tells against her. She is known commonly as the White Moth of Roehurst; and there are those who whisper that she is a witch.”
“Sir Mark Leslie!” cried the founder, who was white with anger, “I will not quarrel with thee again. I forgot myself once towards my guest; I hope to control myself now, but you try me sore.”
“It grieves me, Master Cobbe, and, though I speak this, it is not as an enemy but as a friend. I merely place my position before you, and say is it not better to avoid all this trouble, when instead the way is open to wealth and honour, and a peaceful old age?”
“Who and what are you?” cried the founder, passionately; “and why do you come to disturb my peaceful home?”
“I am his Majesty’s servant, Master Cobbe. I came here at his command to investigate certain malpractices alleged against thee. I found them to be true, but I found here also a greater king than his Majesty James the First. I found here that all-powerful monarch—Love, and, vanquished by him, I suffered thy sword; I made reports that softened thy case; I returned from my mission with so goodly an account that the King gave me leave to offer thee honour and wealth if, in place of being of doubtful allegiance, thou becomest his faithful liege subject, and work for him as you have been accused of working for others. There, Master Cobbe, it is late, and thou art angry. Think over it all; sleep on it; take time to consider. I am one who can wait; for, believe me, I would rather see thee honoured than know that a lingering imprisonment was sapping thy vital forces and bringing thee low. Good night, Master Cobbe, good night.”
Sir Mark held out his hand, but it was not noticed; the founder sitting back in his stiff old-fashioned chair, and going over the words of his guest, who, with a peculiar smile, glanced at him mockingly, and slowly ascended to his chamber, leaving his host to sit thinking hour after hour, and at last to stumble off heavily to bed with the feeling upon him that he had been playing at some game with heavy stakes, and that the luck had been all upon the other side.
How Mistress Anne was Unquiet, and how the Founder came to Terms.The coming back of Sir Mark had the effect of driving Mace to her room, where she stayed as much as possible. Gil need have had no jealous fears, could he have read her heart, for her every thought was of him. Seated at her window, looking over the Pool, her eyes might be gazing at some azure kingfisher darting across the shallows, or seated on some twig, ready to plunge down and emerge from the water with the drops falling like glistening pearls from its sides, as it bore away a tiny silvery fish; or her pensive look be fixed upon the heron, so grey and lank of mien, standing motionless, deep in the water, amidst the varied aquatic growth, where it seemed at times to launch its long beak, like some javelin, at a luckless fish, to stab or seize it for its prey; or at even, when the soft wreaths of mist came floating over the Pool, she watched the flight of the owl as it uttered its peculiar cry, and swept by so softly that it passed as noiselessly as a ghost, while the white moths flitted and danced amidst the roses round her casement by night, as the golden flies and gauzy-winged dragons darted and played about in the sun. By soft balmy day, or cool delicious dreamy night, Mace sat at her window, watching and thinking, but it was always of the white sails of a ship, ever gliding farther and farther away.These thoughts formed her bright dreams, to which she turned when fancies about Sir Mark became obtrusive; for the days glided on, and he stayed, growing each hour more courtly and respectful to her. While he was bright and full of compliments she could fence with him, and turn away the points of his speeches, but now that he had become grave and earnest she was full of fears.A greater cause for fear though was the conduct of her father, who seemed to be giving way to their guest, though at times he broke out with his old independent ways, and appeared to be setting him at defiance.Mace was puzzled, for she could not comprehend her father’s manner. He had never been more tender and affectionate, but there was something behind which troubled her.Sir Mark left at last, to her great relief, and for the next fortnight she was as joyous as a bird, singing about the house, and in the highest of spirits, when, to her horror, the guest returned, accompanied by a dozen well-armed followers, who proved to be artisans, and began work the very next morning, assisting the founder’s staff.Then by degrees it leaked out that Sir Mark had brought a great order from the King for guns and their ammunition—an order that must lead to wealth for the founder, who was busy almost night and day.At the end of another week half-a-score more men arrived, to be distributed through the village, lodging with different workmen, whom they assisted during the day.They were nominally in the founder’s service, and he paid them their weekly wage, but they looked to Sir Mark for guidance in all else saving the work at the foundry, and to Master Cobbe came plenty of complaints.For Roehurst was no longer what it had been. Sir Mark’s followers brought with them London ways, and an amount of freedom which the founder’s men had on more than one occasion to resent; though certain maidens, notably Janet, at the Pool-house, and Polly, the handmaid of Mistress Anne, thought that the place had never been so gay and bright before.And all the time the furnaces roared and made liquid the iron from the hills which had grown the wood-coal that supplied the heat, while careful moulds were made by the founder himself, who watched the casting of every piece.Then powder was made in large quantities, and carefully stowed away in Master Cobbe’s magazine, a cool, deep, stone cavern, half natural, half cut in the soft sand-rock.From being generally calm and peaceful, the place now grew to be like a busy hive. Nearly every day Mace shuddered as the casements rattled with the explosion of some great piece which was being tested, and in this part of the business Sir Mark took great interest himself. Butts were made, and targets set up for practice, and one by one great black howitzers were turned out, considered perfect, and then placed aside ready for sending to London, or to one of the shipping-ports upon the coast.Every now and then came a messenger from some one high in authority in the great city, and the despatch he bore was duly perused and replied to by Sir Mark; who passed the greater part of his time at the foundry, but paid occasional visits to the Moat, where he was always most courteously received. There were cold grave looks for the young knight at the Pool-house, but always smiles and side-long glances at the Moat; but somehow the cold, grave looks only inflamed his passion, while the sight of Mistress Anne begat dislike.But she knew well enough how to play her part, and though after Sir Mark’s departure Polly had her ears well boxed for the first remark she made—Dame Beckley fled to her garden of simples to seek for peace, as if it were some cunning plant—and Sir Thomas blew out his cheeks, opened his eyes, and then went into his sanctum to study the King’s work on witchcraft—the tremendous storms that arose never spread outside the precincts of the Moat, and Sir Mark believed the lady to be simplicity and gentleness itself.These visits of Sir Mark brought wealth to one inhabitant of Roehurst, to wit, Mother Goodhugh, who always received a visit from Anne Beckley directly after the visitor had left; when the old woman, who had been cunning enough to learn all the news of the place, was ready enough in pointing out how matters were working for her good.“Don’t be afraid, dearie,” she said one day, after going through a good deal of mummery. “That spell seemed to point to the fact that Captain Gil was to be thy lord, but his terrible crime has changed all that, and Sir Mark will marry thee.”“But he is always there!” cried Anne.“Well, child, is it not to be near to thee? Don’t you fear. Ask thy maiden Polly to question Janet Burger, and she will learn that Mace and Sir Mark hardly meet, and when they do she be as cold as so much ice.”“Yes,” said Anne; “that is true enough.”“And how did you know, dearie?”“I bade Polly question Janet.”“Then you see how right I am, my child. Oh, yes; it will all work right. Trust me, the gallant youth be only down here that he may be near to thee.”A few days later Anne Beckley arrived at the cottage with flaming eyes.“Mother Goodhugh,” she cried, “you failed before, but now you must try, and try well, to work some spell on that creature at the Pool.”“And why, child?”“Because I hear it said that Sir Mark is going to marry her.”“Tchch! nonsense! What put that silly notion in thine head?”“It is true. It came from Janet.”“Oh, pay no heed to her, my dearie. Only trust to me and all will come right in the end.”“But, mother,” began Anne, impatiently.“Nay, nay, child, all you have to do is to wait and see. I promise thee again that thy gallant shall never wed Jeremiah Cobbe’s child; and it will be well for her if she does not perish at the stake.”Anne Beckley looked curiously at the old woman, who met her eyes with a malicious leer.“Ay, ay,” she said, laughing; “you’re thinking some one else might perish there, but we keep our own secrets, child, and we shall not denounce one another. Besides, our little spells are only innocent love affairs, and we keep our own counsel, dearie, only too well. Ah, I shall be glad to see thee happily wedded to the man of thy choice, and then the present you make me will keep me to the end of my days.”It was with a strange sense of uneasiness that the two women parted; Anne biting one of her fingers as she told herself that she was an idiot to listen to the drivellings of that old woman, and yet feeling a curious superstitious dread of her, and belief that she could exercise some influence on her destiny.“Let her mind, though,” she muttered: “let her be careful how she behaves to me. I could denounce her as a witch, only she is very dangerous; but what did she mean by sayingweandone another? She dare not say I join with her.”On the other side Mother Goodhugh watched her out of sight, and then entered her cottage, shaking her fist threateningly in the direction Anne had taken, and a laugh of no very pleasant kind escaped her lips.“There are other philtres besides love-philtres, my dear,” she said; “and if she thinks that she will crush me she will make a great mistake.”Mother Goodhugh might laugh the words of Janet to scorn, but that astute maiden had eyes and ears always on thequi vivefor fresh news. She gave a great deal of her attention to one or another of Sir Mark’s followers, but all the same there was a willing smile for Sir Mark himself when he condescended to notice her, which was not seldom; and in spite of the freedom of her own temperament, and the liberality with which she would bestow a favour upon first one and then another, she was jealous enough in disposition to angrily resent Sir Mark’s attentions to her mistress. Hence it was that she was often on the watch, and always on the listen, with the result that by degrees she saw the founder after a hard fight gradually give way to the pressure brought to bear.For a long time Mace could not believe it, but by degrees her eyes became opened to the fact that Sir Mark was daily getting more influence over her father.Naturally avaricious, the founder could not withstand the temptations thrown in his way by his guest, who was diplomatic enough to be content with a little advance at a time.The founder held out for a while, and told himself that he would not submit to this upstart from court; but, as he went over again and again the position in which he stood, he could not help seeing how troublous might be the condition into which he could be brought by an enemy.At first he did not scruple to call his visitor an enemy, and a bitter enemy, but by degrees the thoughts of gaining thousands, of occupying the position of first ordnance-founder to the King, softened him, and the effect of Sir Mark’s words was shown in his saying to himself that it was after all but a fair thing for a man in love to try all he could to win the object of his choice.It was the entry of the enemy into the outer works of the founder’s fortress, and as Sir Mark quietly went on sapping and mining so did Jeremiah Cobbe give way.“I want to do the best I can for my child,” he said to himself, one evening, as he stood watching the great wheel go round. “She must not listen to Gil Carr, for that would be destroying her young life, even if he should prove to be innocent. No, that would never do, and she is getting weaned from him. He’s a fine fellow, but not good enough to be my darling’s mate.”Then over his pipe at night he sat and considered, after Sir Mark had left him, their converse for the evening having probably been of the merits of iron or brass pieces, for the guest was cunning enough to see that with patience the besieged would fall. How would it be if he did give way? This Sir Mark was haughty, and over-bearing, and proud, but he was a gentleman, high in favour at court. He was poor certainly, but he could give his wife a great position.“And he was honest over it,” said the founder, refilling his pipe; “I like him for that. He said he had no money. Humph, perhaps he’d like to get hold of mine! Well, and if he did he’d put me in the way of making more. First ordnance-founder to his Majesty King James!“No—no—no!” he cried, rising to go to bed, “I’ll not give way. It would be like selling her, and I love her too well for that.”It was clever, the way in which Sir Mark flattered the founder’s vanity. There might have been no Mace in the world, only that he was courteous and reverent to her in the extreme when they met at meals, for he never mentioned her name, but followed the founder like a shadow, inquiring into the toughness of this iron and that, and delighting his dupe by laying aside his showy doublet to take part in the trial of some piece, to come away as besmirched with powder as Gil himself.“There’s stuff in the fellow,” said the founder; “and I blame him for what is, after all, only his education.”The fortress was beginning to give way.“Courts have their peculiarities, and he, fresh from ordering and commanding, thought he could do as he liked with me. It was fine, too, the way he whipped out his sword when I damned the King.”The founder laughed heartily, and wiped the tears out of his eyes, for he was again sitting alone before retiring for the night.“Well, it was brave and true of him. A man who would risk his life like that for the honour of his master must be a noble gentleman at heart, and would make a good husband.”He shook his head at that, and once more went to bed.The next night he was sitting alone again, indulging in his evening pipe.“Poor little darling, it would bring some tears in her eyes if I did consent, and give her to him as his wife.Give; yes, give! I would not sell her; but, after all, what a position for her! I think I should like it; and, after all, I am but mortal. Why should I not wear velvet and a gold chain, and strut about as Sir Jeremiah Cobbe, Master of the King’s Ordnance?”He refilled his glass and pipe and smiled to himself, for the stones were getting very loose, and the walls of the outworks were tottering to their fall.“My darling, too, my lady—Dame Mace Leslie. Hang the honours for myself! I’d give something, though, to see my little maiden in her gay stomacher and fardingale, with jewel-studded coif, and lace ruff, go rustling into court, all abloom with her youth and beauty, the envy of everybody in the place.”He sat and smoked as he pictured the scene.“God bless her!” he cried; “there wouldn’t be one there who was her equal. My word, how they’d all gird as they feasted their eyes on the daughter of Jeremiah Cobbe!“Pah! What idiots my old people were! Jeremiah! What a name for a stout-hearted Englishman! I think we did better in calling our darling Mace. I don’t know, though,” he muttered; “it don’t seem to go well withDame.“Humph! I wonder what her poor mother would say, whether she would hold out as I have done.”He sat on thinking till long past midnight, with the sapping and mining of Sir. Mark insidiously doing its work, though the founder heeded it not.“Curse the money,” he said; “I care not a jot for that, but am I doing right in standing like this in my darling’s light? Suppose I said yea to Sir Mark’s proposal, and let him become her suitor? What then?”He sat and smoked out his pipe to the very ash, and then thought on as he sucked at the empty bowl:—“Ay, what then?”Jeremiah Cobbe sat there the long night through, and at early dawn only went up to his chamber, where, after a refreshing wash, he sat and thought again before going down, as the workers came from the various cottages to their daily toil.As he stood by one of the windows gazing out he saw his child in the garden culling flowers, and Sir Mark watching her, but he did not follow her, only went away with bent head, and stood leaning over the breech of a gun.The founder stayed thinking again for a little while, and then, drawing a long breath, he crossed the intervening space, clapped the young man on the shoulder, and held out his hand.“Give me your word as a gentleman, Sir Mark, that your suit shall be in all kindliness and love,—that you will use no undue pressure, but wait patiently for my consent,—and—you understand?”“I promise,” said Sir Mark, earnestly, as he laid his hand in that of the founder, fighting hard the while to keep down a triumphant look.Hand clasped hand, and, as if moved by the same influence, the two parties to the unholy bargain glanced towards the house, at whose door stood Mace, gazing at them with labouring, unquiet breast, for a greater trouble than that of her father’s warlike weapons now assailed her heart.
The coming back of Sir Mark had the effect of driving Mace to her room, where she stayed as much as possible. Gil need have had no jealous fears, could he have read her heart, for her every thought was of him. Seated at her window, looking over the Pool, her eyes might be gazing at some azure kingfisher darting across the shallows, or seated on some twig, ready to plunge down and emerge from the water with the drops falling like glistening pearls from its sides, as it bore away a tiny silvery fish; or her pensive look be fixed upon the heron, so grey and lank of mien, standing motionless, deep in the water, amidst the varied aquatic growth, where it seemed at times to launch its long beak, like some javelin, at a luckless fish, to stab or seize it for its prey; or at even, when the soft wreaths of mist came floating over the Pool, she watched the flight of the owl as it uttered its peculiar cry, and swept by so softly that it passed as noiselessly as a ghost, while the white moths flitted and danced amidst the roses round her casement by night, as the golden flies and gauzy-winged dragons darted and played about in the sun. By soft balmy day, or cool delicious dreamy night, Mace sat at her window, watching and thinking, but it was always of the white sails of a ship, ever gliding farther and farther away.
These thoughts formed her bright dreams, to which she turned when fancies about Sir Mark became obtrusive; for the days glided on, and he stayed, growing each hour more courtly and respectful to her. While he was bright and full of compliments she could fence with him, and turn away the points of his speeches, but now that he had become grave and earnest she was full of fears.
A greater cause for fear though was the conduct of her father, who seemed to be giving way to their guest, though at times he broke out with his old independent ways, and appeared to be setting him at defiance.
Mace was puzzled, for she could not comprehend her father’s manner. He had never been more tender and affectionate, but there was something behind which troubled her.
Sir Mark left at last, to her great relief, and for the next fortnight she was as joyous as a bird, singing about the house, and in the highest of spirits, when, to her horror, the guest returned, accompanied by a dozen well-armed followers, who proved to be artisans, and began work the very next morning, assisting the founder’s staff.
Then by degrees it leaked out that Sir Mark had brought a great order from the King for guns and their ammunition—an order that must lead to wealth for the founder, who was busy almost night and day.
At the end of another week half-a-score more men arrived, to be distributed through the village, lodging with different workmen, whom they assisted during the day.
They were nominally in the founder’s service, and he paid them their weekly wage, but they looked to Sir Mark for guidance in all else saving the work at the foundry, and to Master Cobbe came plenty of complaints.
For Roehurst was no longer what it had been. Sir Mark’s followers brought with them London ways, and an amount of freedom which the founder’s men had on more than one occasion to resent; though certain maidens, notably Janet, at the Pool-house, and Polly, the handmaid of Mistress Anne, thought that the place had never been so gay and bright before.
And all the time the furnaces roared and made liquid the iron from the hills which had grown the wood-coal that supplied the heat, while careful moulds were made by the founder himself, who watched the casting of every piece.
Then powder was made in large quantities, and carefully stowed away in Master Cobbe’s magazine, a cool, deep, stone cavern, half natural, half cut in the soft sand-rock.
From being generally calm and peaceful, the place now grew to be like a busy hive. Nearly every day Mace shuddered as the casements rattled with the explosion of some great piece which was being tested, and in this part of the business Sir Mark took great interest himself. Butts were made, and targets set up for practice, and one by one great black howitzers were turned out, considered perfect, and then placed aside ready for sending to London, or to one of the shipping-ports upon the coast.
Every now and then came a messenger from some one high in authority in the great city, and the despatch he bore was duly perused and replied to by Sir Mark; who passed the greater part of his time at the foundry, but paid occasional visits to the Moat, where he was always most courteously received. There were cold grave looks for the young knight at the Pool-house, but always smiles and side-long glances at the Moat; but somehow the cold, grave looks only inflamed his passion, while the sight of Mistress Anne begat dislike.
But she knew well enough how to play her part, and though after Sir Mark’s departure Polly had her ears well boxed for the first remark she made—Dame Beckley fled to her garden of simples to seek for peace, as if it were some cunning plant—and Sir Thomas blew out his cheeks, opened his eyes, and then went into his sanctum to study the King’s work on witchcraft—the tremendous storms that arose never spread outside the precincts of the Moat, and Sir Mark believed the lady to be simplicity and gentleness itself.
These visits of Sir Mark brought wealth to one inhabitant of Roehurst, to wit, Mother Goodhugh, who always received a visit from Anne Beckley directly after the visitor had left; when the old woman, who had been cunning enough to learn all the news of the place, was ready enough in pointing out how matters were working for her good.
“Don’t be afraid, dearie,” she said one day, after going through a good deal of mummery. “That spell seemed to point to the fact that Captain Gil was to be thy lord, but his terrible crime has changed all that, and Sir Mark will marry thee.”
“But he is always there!” cried Anne.
“Well, child, is it not to be near to thee? Don’t you fear. Ask thy maiden Polly to question Janet Burger, and she will learn that Mace and Sir Mark hardly meet, and when they do she be as cold as so much ice.”
“Yes,” said Anne; “that is true enough.”
“And how did you know, dearie?”
“I bade Polly question Janet.”
“Then you see how right I am, my child. Oh, yes; it will all work right. Trust me, the gallant youth be only down here that he may be near to thee.”
A few days later Anne Beckley arrived at the cottage with flaming eyes.
“Mother Goodhugh,” she cried, “you failed before, but now you must try, and try well, to work some spell on that creature at the Pool.”
“And why, child?”
“Because I hear it said that Sir Mark is going to marry her.”
“Tchch! nonsense! What put that silly notion in thine head?”
“It is true. It came from Janet.”
“Oh, pay no heed to her, my dearie. Only trust to me and all will come right in the end.”
“But, mother,” began Anne, impatiently.
“Nay, nay, child, all you have to do is to wait and see. I promise thee again that thy gallant shall never wed Jeremiah Cobbe’s child; and it will be well for her if she does not perish at the stake.”
Anne Beckley looked curiously at the old woman, who met her eyes with a malicious leer.
“Ay, ay,” she said, laughing; “you’re thinking some one else might perish there, but we keep our own secrets, child, and we shall not denounce one another. Besides, our little spells are only innocent love affairs, and we keep our own counsel, dearie, only too well. Ah, I shall be glad to see thee happily wedded to the man of thy choice, and then the present you make me will keep me to the end of my days.”
It was with a strange sense of uneasiness that the two women parted; Anne biting one of her fingers as she told herself that she was an idiot to listen to the drivellings of that old woman, and yet feeling a curious superstitious dread of her, and belief that she could exercise some influence on her destiny.
“Let her mind, though,” she muttered: “let her be careful how she behaves to me. I could denounce her as a witch, only she is very dangerous; but what did she mean by sayingweandone another? She dare not say I join with her.”
On the other side Mother Goodhugh watched her out of sight, and then entered her cottage, shaking her fist threateningly in the direction Anne had taken, and a laugh of no very pleasant kind escaped her lips.
“There are other philtres besides love-philtres, my dear,” she said; “and if she thinks that she will crush me she will make a great mistake.”
Mother Goodhugh might laugh the words of Janet to scorn, but that astute maiden had eyes and ears always on thequi vivefor fresh news. She gave a great deal of her attention to one or another of Sir Mark’s followers, but all the same there was a willing smile for Sir Mark himself when he condescended to notice her, which was not seldom; and in spite of the freedom of her own temperament, and the liberality with which she would bestow a favour upon first one and then another, she was jealous enough in disposition to angrily resent Sir Mark’s attentions to her mistress. Hence it was that she was often on the watch, and always on the listen, with the result that by degrees she saw the founder after a hard fight gradually give way to the pressure brought to bear.
For a long time Mace could not believe it, but by degrees her eyes became opened to the fact that Sir Mark was daily getting more influence over her father.
Naturally avaricious, the founder could not withstand the temptations thrown in his way by his guest, who was diplomatic enough to be content with a little advance at a time.
The founder held out for a while, and told himself that he would not submit to this upstart from court; but, as he went over again and again the position in which he stood, he could not help seeing how troublous might be the condition into which he could be brought by an enemy.
At first he did not scruple to call his visitor an enemy, and a bitter enemy, but by degrees the thoughts of gaining thousands, of occupying the position of first ordnance-founder to the King, softened him, and the effect of Sir Mark’s words was shown in his saying to himself that it was after all but a fair thing for a man in love to try all he could to win the object of his choice.
It was the entry of the enemy into the outer works of the founder’s fortress, and as Sir Mark quietly went on sapping and mining so did Jeremiah Cobbe give way.
“I want to do the best I can for my child,” he said to himself, one evening, as he stood watching the great wheel go round. “She must not listen to Gil Carr, for that would be destroying her young life, even if he should prove to be innocent. No, that would never do, and she is getting weaned from him. He’s a fine fellow, but not good enough to be my darling’s mate.”
Then over his pipe at night he sat and considered, after Sir Mark had left him, their converse for the evening having probably been of the merits of iron or brass pieces, for the guest was cunning enough to see that with patience the besieged would fall. How would it be if he did give way? This Sir Mark was haughty, and over-bearing, and proud, but he was a gentleman, high in favour at court. He was poor certainly, but he could give his wife a great position.
“And he was honest over it,” said the founder, refilling his pipe; “I like him for that. He said he had no money. Humph, perhaps he’d like to get hold of mine! Well, and if he did he’d put me in the way of making more. First ordnance-founder to his Majesty King James!
“No—no—no!” he cried, rising to go to bed, “I’ll not give way. It would be like selling her, and I love her too well for that.”
It was clever, the way in which Sir Mark flattered the founder’s vanity. There might have been no Mace in the world, only that he was courteous and reverent to her in the extreme when they met at meals, for he never mentioned her name, but followed the founder like a shadow, inquiring into the toughness of this iron and that, and delighting his dupe by laying aside his showy doublet to take part in the trial of some piece, to come away as besmirched with powder as Gil himself.
“There’s stuff in the fellow,” said the founder; “and I blame him for what is, after all, only his education.”
The fortress was beginning to give way.
“Courts have their peculiarities, and he, fresh from ordering and commanding, thought he could do as he liked with me. It was fine, too, the way he whipped out his sword when I damned the King.”
The founder laughed heartily, and wiped the tears out of his eyes, for he was again sitting alone before retiring for the night.
“Well, it was brave and true of him. A man who would risk his life like that for the honour of his master must be a noble gentleman at heart, and would make a good husband.”
He shook his head at that, and once more went to bed.
The next night he was sitting alone again, indulging in his evening pipe.
“Poor little darling, it would bring some tears in her eyes if I did consent, and give her to him as his wife.Give; yes, give! I would not sell her; but, after all, what a position for her! I think I should like it; and, after all, I am but mortal. Why should I not wear velvet and a gold chain, and strut about as Sir Jeremiah Cobbe, Master of the King’s Ordnance?”
He refilled his glass and pipe and smiled to himself, for the stones were getting very loose, and the walls of the outworks were tottering to their fall.
“My darling, too, my lady—Dame Mace Leslie. Hang the honours for myself! I’d give something, though, to see my little maiden in her gay stomacher and fardingale, with jewel-studded coif, and lace ruff, go rustling into court, all abloom with her youth and beauty, the envy of everybody in the place.”
He sat and smoked as he pictured the scene.
“God bless her!” he cried; “there wouldn’t be one there who was her equal. My word, how they’d all gird as they feasted their eyes on the daughter of Jeremiah Cobbe!
“Pah! What idiots my old people were! Jeremiah! What a name for a stout-hearted Englishman! I think we did better in calling our darling Mace. I don’t know, though,” he muttered; “it don’t seem to go well withDame.
“Humph! I wonder what her poor mother would say, whether she would hold out as I have done.”
He sat on thinking till long past midnight, with the sapping and mining of Sir. Mark insidiously doing its work, though the founder heeded it not.
“Curse the money,” he said; “I care not a jot for that, but am I doing right in standing like this in my darling’s light? Suppose I said yea to Sir Mark’s proposal, and let him become her suitor? What then?”
He sat and smoked out his pipe to the very ash, and then thought on as he sucked at the empty bowl:—
“Ay, what then?”
Jeremiah Cobbe sat there the long night through, and at early dawn only went up to his chamber, where, after a refreshing wash, he sat and thought again before going down, as the workers came from the various cottages to their daily toil.
As he stood by one of the windows gazing out he saw his child in the garden culling flowers, and Sir Mark watching her, but he did not follow her, only went away with bent head, and stood leaning over the breech of a gun.
The founder stayed thinking again for a little while, and then, drawing a long breath, he crossed the intervening space, clapped the young man on the shoulder, and held out his hand.
“Give me your word as a gentleman, Sir Mark, that your suit shall be in all kindliness and love,—that you will use no undue pressure, but wait patiently for my consent,—and—you understand?”
“I promise,” said Sir Mark, earnestly, as he laid his hand in that of the founder, fighting hard the while to keep down a triumphant look.
Hand clasped hand, and, as if moved by the same influence, the two parties to the unholy bargain glanced towards the house, at whose door stood Mace, gazing at them with labouring, unquiet breast, for a greater trouble than that of her father’s warlike weapons now assailed her heart.