MASTER WINDYBANK.
"Then thou dost refuse to listen to my suit, Mistress Dorothy?"
"Refuse! Alack, good Master Windybank, what a word to utter. Look at
yonder sundial and thou wilt see that I have hearkened most patiently
for more than an hour." Mistress Dorothy opened her blue eyes very
widely, and her tone was a trifle indignant.
"Ay, but there is listening and listening, mistress," was the testy
response.
"And surely my listening deserves commendation, seeing that I made no
interruption, scarcely speaking a word."
"But I wanted thee to speak, to interrupt, to contradict, to argue.
Thy silence betokened indifference. I had rather that thou hadst flown
into a temper and bidden me begone than sat mum all the while."
Windybank jumped up from the garden seat and began to pace to and fro,
to the peril of Dorothy's flower-beds.
"But why should I argue or contradict or fly into a passion if thou
dost tell me my eyes are blue? 'Tis the truth." Dorothy opened them
wider, and made them look more innocent and beautiful than ever.
"Was that all I said for the space of an hour?" was the sullen
rejoinder.
"No," said the cool little maiden, "'twas not; but thou didst offer no
ground for argument. I heard a catalogue of virtues recited, and was
bidden to believe that mine own small person gave lodging and
nourishment to them all. Well, in good faith, sir, 'tis my earnest
hope that some are guests in my heart, and I would fain believe that I
give harbourage to all the noble train. Thou didst speak at some
length of thyself, thy hopes and aspirations, they were such as would
become thy youth and station: why should I quarrel with thee concerning
them? Again, I had a list of thy possessions, the tale of gold in thy
coffers. Should I give thee the lie over thy arithmetic? Thy uncle is
rich, and thou art his heir. Shall I lose my temper because of John
Windybank's money?"
The youth turned fiercely upon the maiden and gripped
her by the shoulders so that she winced with the pain.
"I--told--thee--that--I--loved--thee!" he said with deliberate
emphasis. "What hast thou to say to that?"
"That a maid is honoured by the affection of any good man."
"Dost thou love me?"
"No," said Dorothy, rising also and removing his hands.
Windybank's eyes were blue like those he confronted, but they were as
shifty as the maiden's were steady, and whilst the blue of hers
deepened with anger, his assumed a greenish tint that was both uncomely
and cruel. For a moment he stared into the azure deeps before him,
trying to fathom them. He failed.
"Would 'No' have been Jack Morgan's answer?" he asked.
Dorothy's eyes flashed, but her lips remained closed. She showed no
signs of anything save anger. The baffled lover lost his head, and
with it went his common sense and veneer of gentlemanly breeding.
"Silence is answer enough," he snarled. "Morgan's black eyes and
swarthy face have bewitched thee as thou hast bewitched me. Well, take
thy choice between us. He hath the start of me in inches, but a
moon-calf would hardly benefit by bargaining wits with him--a grinning,
guzzling giant whose chief delight is singing songs in a tavern or
wrestling with brawny clowns as empty-headed as himself!"
Windybank paused for breath, and Dorothy faced him as unflinchingly as
before, her lips curling in contempt.
"Hast nothing to say now?" he went on. "Have I not given thee matter
for contradiction, fuel to feed the fires of thine anger?"
"John Morgan needs no woman's help," she said quietly.
"Neither help of man nor woman shall avail him ere long. Hark'ee,
mistress" (he lowered his voice): "there is power awaiting the man bold
enough to make a venture to obtain it. Look for the day when I am thy
master. And tell some others to look to their heads. I'll break thy
spirit yet, and see fear in thy blue eyes instead of scorn. I am no
braggart!"
"But thou art a coward!" said Dorothy, whose face had grown very white.
"Think not that I shall feel anything save scorn for the man who
threatens a girl and slanders the absent. Thou art our neighbour, else
I would call a servant to put thee forth on to the highway. Begone!"
Master Windybank turned to go. It was time, for Johnnie Morgan and Sir
Walter could be seen making their way towards the house door. "Tell
thy long-legged swashbuckler of our meeting," he sneered.
"I do not fear thee enough to call in a champion," cried Dorothy
calmly. "Yonder is the gate."
The rejected suitor strode off. The maiden ran into a little arbour
and had a good cry. "Sweet seventeen" does not like to be bullied and
threatened by a man in whom her quick eyes have discerned the
possibilities of a thorough villain.
The little shower of anger and wounded pride lasted about three
minutes. Then sunny thoughts broke through the clouds, and presently
the sky was clear again. "Johnnie is come!" said Dorothy's heart.
"Sir Walter and Master Morgan are in the house," murmured Dorothy's
lips. "I must see to my duties as hostess, and I do not want to be
quizzed about tear-stains. Plague take that little Windybank!" A
dainty foot was stamped quite viciously. "I hope Johnnie will cudgel
him. A whipping would do him good!" Dorothy sat with folded hands and
pleasantly contemplated the corrective operation. Then a voice was
heard in the garden calling her name. She listened. "Only nurse!" she
murmured in a disappointed tone.
An old crone with a wrinkled but good-natured face came along to the
arbour. "Dolly, sweetheart," she cried, "dost thou not know who is
within?"
"I saw Sir Walter turn in at the gate to speak to father."
"Hoighty-toity!" exclaimed the old dame. "Saw Sir Walter, did we! And
what of the head and pair of shoulders that stood above those of the
knight? We did not see them!"
"Was it Master Morgan with him, Peggy?" asked Dorothy unconcernedly.
"Ask him who ran away just now," snapped Peggy. "I saw the toady
little villain sneak off. I'd ha' given my Sunday kirtle to my worst
enemy if Johnnie had espied him and known that he and thee had been
sitting cheek by jowl for an hour."
"Master Windybank is our neighbour," said Dorothy haughtily, "and he
comes hither with my father's consent."
"Ay, men are as blind as owls to each other's failings," was the tart
response. "But I can see through a quick-set hedge as far as most
folks, and know when a rascal lies in hiding behind one. Get thee
indoors and talk to Master Morgan, an honest fellow whom thy
mother--God rest her soul!--loved before death took her from us."
But Dorothy refused to be hurried. Peggy had loved her and mothered
her since she was a tiny prattler of three, and she often found her, as
she declared to her gossips, "a handful." Peggy, angry with her
nursling, turned to go, but she discharged a telling shot at parting.
"Very well!" she cried, "I'll go and bind up Master Morgan's wounds
myself. One of the bravest knights in England is attacked by a Spanish
giant in the forest. A brave lad jumps in to save him, and receives
the dagger in his own body. He comes to those who should love him, to
have the flow of his precious blood stanched; but no, good lack; we
love not brave lads--we dally away God's good time with cowards and
rascals!"
"Peggy! Peggy!" cried Dorothy, and the blue eyes were running over
again, and the cheeks were pale as a ghost's, "is Master Morgan
wounded?"
"He may be dying; the dagger perhaps was poisoned," said Peggy. "I'll
go and kiss the brave lad whilst he has wit enough left to know me.
Stay thou here, mistress; only loving hands must tend the brave!"
But Dorothy flew after her and clutched her arm. "Kiss me, Peggy!" she
wailed, "kiss me!" But Peggy refused.
"You shall not touch him, Peggy; you are my nurse, but I am his. Do
you hear?"
But the old woman was deaf, and she stalked on with her thin nose in
the air. Dorothy clung to her, and they reached the house together.
It so happened that the story of the attack had been told to Dorothy's
father, and Sir Walter was getting a little fun at the expense of
Johnnie and his wrestlings with the muse of poetry. A lively,
good-humoured sally, at the moment when Dorothy's trembling limbs
carried her over the threshold, evoked a peal of stentorian laughter
from Master Morgan's capacious lungs. The tearful maid stood
bewildered for an instant, then a roar from all three men brought the
colour back swiftly to her cheeks. Johnnie Morgan dying? The wicked
rascal was convulsed with merriment, and his friends, who should be
sorrowing for his untimely fate, were as merry as he! With an
indignant look at the chuckling Peggy, the maiden turned and fled into
the garden again. But Master Morgan, who had been anxiously listening
for her amidst all the chatter and uproar, heard the light patter of
her footsteps upon the flagged courtyard. He sprang to the window,
caught sight of the flying figure, felt his heart beating like a great
drum, murmured an apology to his companions, and darted out of the
room, almost laying Peggy full length on the threshold as he ran off.