Sir Mark Leslie was too intent upon the scene before him, or he would
have seen the face of Mistress Anne undergo a complete change. The soft
simpering look of girlish meekness she had assumed had passed away, and,
as her gaze lit on Culverin Carr, a light seemed to flash from her
eyes--a bright beam of light, which darkened as she glanced at his
companion in the boat to an angry glare. If ever face spoke love to one
and changed on the instant to jealous hate, it was the countenance of
Anne Beckley as she gazed.
It all passed away directly, as she listened eagerly to Sir Mark.
"Why, she's fishing," he cried. "A fair Diana, huntress of the lake.
Mistress Anne, look at her, is she not beautiful?"
"Tastes differ, Sir Mark," said the lady, with a smile that hid her
annoyance. "I have seen Mace Cobbe so often that I scarcely heed her
looks."
"But your eyes, mistress, never lit on a bonnier face than that of Sweet
Mace."
Sir Mark and Mistress Anne started with annoyance, to become aware of
the fact that the grizzly old sailor, Kilby, had followed them, and was
standing with his back against a tree, his pipe still between his lips.
"My good fellow, a little respect would not be out of place when you
address a lady," said Sir Mark sharply, as he drew Mistress Anne's arm
through his, and once more tried to look the old man down; but failing
completely, he turned to gaze at the Pool, forgetting his annoyance in
the chase before him.
For, standing up with one foot resting on the side of a little boat,
which was propelled by the bronzed dark man who held the oars, head
thrown back, lips slightly parted, and her soul seeming to animate her
shapely face, was a young girl about eighteen, plainly clad in homely
stuff; but with snowy lawn kerchief and cuffs, and a cap of the same
confining her rich brown hair, she seemed to need no ornament or gay
attire to make her brighter than she was, flushed with excitement and in
the springtide of her youth. Her face was burned slightly by the sun,
which seemed to heighten the rich red in her cheek, and, as she came
nearer to where he stood, the stranger's eyes flashed as he marked her
white forehead, well-cut nose, and trembling nostrils, which expanded as
their owner's breath came more quickly, while her lips parted more and
more, showing her regular teeth.
"Steady, steady," cried her companion, as the girl raised her arm a
little more, to gain greater power over the long elastic pole which did
duty for a rod, now bending and quivering, as the great fish she had
hooked darted here and there, and at times violently jerked the end.
For there was no running line, the governor of the little skiff sending
it here and there, as the fish tore through the water, even towing it at
times as it made some furious dash.
The skiff came nearer and nearer, for the great pike now darted right
towards the shore, running onward towards where the group were standing,
and then, finding the water shallow, leaping bodily out, to fall back
with a tremendous splash, for it was a monster of its kind. Then with
another rush it made straight for the middle, where there were cool and
shady depths beneath the water-lilies, amidst whose stout stems the
strong line might be tangled and freedom found. But the effort was
vain: with a quick turn of the oars the rower spun the skiff round, and
urged it along, lessening the stress upon the young girl's wrists, and,
evidently well accustomed to the management of a boat, hastening or
slackening its speed by the guidance of the fishing-pole--whether it was
heavily or lightly bent.
The chase led the occupants of the boat far away, but Sir Mark did not
stir. With one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other
twisting the points of his moustache, he stood gazing after the boat
with a red spot burning in either cheek. He seemed to have forgotten
the existence of Mistress Anne, and started when she spoke.
"You seem to admire our rustic beauty, Sir Mark," she said lightly, but
with an uneasy look.
"She is divine," he cried. "I mean, as a picture," he added hastily.
"The surroundings are so good. And what a mighty luce she has hooked."
"There are monsters in this pool," said Sir Thomas, mildly, for his
ordinary pomposity disappeared in the presence of his distinguished
guest. "There have been great luces here any time these two hundred
years, and even before, when this was one of the fish-stews of the monks
of Roehurst. Shall we go on, Sir Mark?"
"Ye-es," said the young man, with a slight hesitancy that did not escape
the keen ears of Mistress Anne, whom, after a farewell glance at the
distant boat, he tried to appease by a show of attention, though all the
time his mind's eye was filled with the form of Mace Cobbe, whose simple
grace and youthful beauty made Anne Beckley seem dowdy and commonplace
in mien.
As they went on along the edge of the great Pool, where the
forget-me-nots and brooklime made blue the shallows, while the roar of a
furnace and the heavy throb of hammers began to make themselves heard,
Anne Beckley stole a glance at the boat, saw that they had been seen by
the rower, and turned at once eagerly to Sir Mark, upon whose arm she
leaned as they talked, till they reached a little swing-bridge which
spanned the narrow stream of water that rushed from the great Pool down
a channel formed between two walls of rough sandstone blocks. Here the
confined waters sparkled and foamed as they swept on towards a great
water-wheel, which they slowly turned, the drops falling glittering like
diamonds from the paddles and slimy spokes. Just across the bridge was
the large garden, lush with flowers, and surrounding the gabled house,
from whose door now appeared a squarely-built, grey-haired man of fifty,
to walk slowly towards the bridge, as if to meet the new-comers.
"Good day to you, Sir Thomas; a fair time, Mistress Anne," he said
bluffly, as he met his visitors. "You are welcome to my poor home."
"Thank you, Cobbe," said Sir Thomas, pompously, "but this is no visit.
This noble gentleman comes to you as an ambassage from his Gracious
Majesty King James, who condescends to remember that there are others in
this part of his realm besides myself."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Cobbe; "his Majesty has good cause to recollect
you, Sir Thomas, for you paid him a thousand pounds for your rank."
"I merely paid the customary fees, good Master Cobbe," exclaimed Sir
Thomas, growing purple with annoyance.
"They couldn't be customary, Sir Thomas, as the title is a new one; but
we will not argue. Come in and take a glass of muscadine, and some
cakes of my daughter's make; Mistress Anne looks faint with heat; and
then we can discuss this courtly gentleman's ambassage. Ha, ha, ha! I
guess what it is. His Majesty is short of cash, and wants another
thousand pounds. What do you say, Sir Thomas, shall I buy a baronetcy
and become your neighbour? Ha, ha, ha! Sir Jeremiah Cobbe! What say
you to that, Mistress Anne?"
"This is no jesting matter, sir," exclaimed Sir Mark, sharply. "Sir
Thomas--Mistress Anne--I must bid you adieu till evening. I will not
ask you to enter here with me now, only thank you for your courtesy."
"Shall I send a serving-man to escort you back, Sir Mark?" said Sir
Thomas, removing his hat, and making the cock's plumes _whish_, to show
the bluff Sussex yeoman how great a man he was about to receive into his
house. For Jeremiah Cobbe seemed in nowise abashed, but rather disposed
to look with amusement upon the airs and costume of his visitor.
"No, Sir Thomas, I shall find my way," replied the other; and,
respectfully saluting Anne, who extended to him her hand as if they were
about to dance a saraband upon the bridge, he escorted her and her
father to the other side, and Sir Thomas walked pompously away.
"Now, Master Jeremiah Cobbe," said Sir Mark, sharply, "if you will shew
me into the house we will talk together."
"As long as you like, sir," was the reply; and leading the way, after
giving his hat a defiant cock on one side, Jeremiah Cobbe ushered his
visitor into a large, low-ceiled room, panelled with oak, and whose
lattice windows were deeply embayed. The place was plainly but well
furnished, with open fireplace and dogs, and large fireback of Sussex
iron, the latter bearing the founder's name; and the visitor raised his
eyebrows a little to find in place of the rough homeliness of a rustic
house a handsome carpet from a Turkish loom spread over the centre of
the well-waxed and polished floor, a large Venetian mirror at one end,
Venice glasses and a quaint timepiece on the great carved oak sideboard;
and even the straight-backed, heavy oak chairs covered with brown Turkey
leather. Over the high mantel-piece was a group of curious old arms,
and in several places well-kept weapons hung against the panels, with
curiosities from foreign lands, one tall cabinet being full of Indian
and China ware.
Masculine all this; but as Sir Mark's eye glanced quickly round he saw
several traces of feminine occupation, for on a stand in one corner was
a great china bowl full of rose-leaves, and in a vase a well-arranged
nosegay of simple, old-fashioned flowers, the table it occupied being
close beside a large tambour-frame with some design in progress. There
was the odour of burnt tobacco in the room, doing battle with the
fragrance from the garden, which floated in at the open window, where
roses nodded and scattered their petals upon the broad oaken sill.
There was a chair there too, and a basket of freshly-gathered currants
shining like smooth rubies in their nest of leaves, and in an instant
the visitor concluded that the deep bay by the casement opening upon the
rich, old-fashioned garden, was the favourite seat of the girl he had
seen engaged in fishing as they came along.
"Sit you down, sir," cried the bluff yeoman heartily, and, opening a
cupboard in the wall, he took out a couple of Venetian flasks, and some
tall glasses of a pale green veined with threads of opal hue, placed
them on the table, and with them a leaden box, and a couple of
thick-stemmed pipes with tiny bowls.
"Now, sir," he continued, "that's old sherry sack, and that's metheglin
of my daughter's make. Here, Janet," he shouted, "bring a big jug of
ale from the second cask;" and in due time a good-looking, well-shaped
girl bore in upon an old silver salver a battered flagon of clear ale,
whose coolness was shown by the pearly dew rapidly deposited on the
bright silver sides.
"Your good health, and welcome, sir," said the yeoman, lifting the great
silver flagon, raising the lid with his thumb, and taking a hearty
draught. "Hah!" he ejaculated, drawing a long breath, as he set down
the vessel. "I don't suppose you would care to drink our common ale, my
own brewing, though, and strong. But you do not drink, sir. Which
shall it be?" and he stretched out his hand to push the flasks towards
his guest.
"Business first, Master Cobbe," said Sir Mark haughtily, as, taking his
sheathed sword from where it hung, he rested it across his knees; "I
have somewhat to say."
"Will you smoke, then?" cried the sturdy yeoman, reaching his hand to
the little pipes, and pushing the leaden box towards his guest.
"I never smoke, sir; I agree with his Majesty that it is an evil,
noxious, and diabolical habit."
"I do smoke, and I don't agree with his Majesty," said Cobbe, gruffly,
as he proceeded to fill his pipe by means of a little silver stopper,
for a child's finger would hardly have passed into the bowl.
"I must request, sir, that you will refrain from smoking until I leave
your house," said the visitor sternly.
Jeremiah Cobbe's face grew red with anger, but he smothered his
annoyance, laid down his pipe, took a fresh draught of ale, let the lid
fall with a clink, and threw himself back in his chair.
"Go on then, sir," he cried. "I shall be glad to hear what business you
have to settle with me. If it is for half-a-dozen culverins for his
Majesty's army, or by the good Peter, I have it, he has got to know
about my new howitzers, and he has sent to see. Now, how the holy
'postle did he get to know about them?"
"My good fellow, have the kindness to listen to me," said Sir Mark.
"Good fellow, eh!" cried Cobbe, flushing again, and smiting the table
with his fist. "But there, go on, sir, go on; you are a messenger to me
from the King."
"His Majesty," said Sir Mark, leaning back in his chair, and
half-closing his eyes, as he gazed imperiously at the other, "has had it
brought to his knowledge that you, Jeremiah Cobbe, of Roehurst, in the
county of Sussex."
"Right," said the other nodding.
"--Have for years past, and in divers manners, carried on here a forge
for cannon castings."
"I have, and of the best and toughest iron ever smelted in the south.
His Majesty never heard of one of my pieces bursting."
"That you also carry on some works wherein, without leave or licence,
you make largely that dangerous and deadly material known as gunpowder."
"Dangerous, and deadly too," chuckled the bluff yeoman, "if it gets into
foolish hands. It's true enough, and my best dogwood charcoal makes the
strongest powder to be had."
"A material which his Majesty holds in utter abhorrence and detestation,
ever since his devilish and malignant enemies, aided and abetted by
Popish treasonable priests, essayed to destroy the Houses of Parliament
and kill and slay his most sacred person."
"No wonder, sir," chuckled Cobbe. "Enough to make any man abhor powder.
But hark ye, _one_ barrel of mine would have been enough to shake the
place about their ears."
"That this cannon and this powder of your manufacture you have for years
past regularly and by your own design sold, furnished, and supplied to
his sacred Majesty's enemies in various parts of the world. These
treasonable practices he now wots of, at least by report, and I am his
messenger to you, sir, to know if they are true. What have you to say?"
"What have I to say, boy!" cried the cannon founder, flushing angrily as
he leaned forward, set his elbows on the table, and gazed full at his
visitor. "What have I to say? Nothing at all. I do make cannons, and
I do make powder, the best I can, and I sell them to those who'll buy.
I offered to supply his Majesty with guns of which he might be proud,
and some Jack-in-office refused my offer, so I sell them where I will."
"To his Majesty's enemies?"
"Hang his enemies; I know not who gets them when they are shipped away
and I am paid."
"You avow then, boldly, that you do supply these munitions of warfare to
other than the King's liege subjects?"
"Avow, man, yes. I sell to who will give me a good price; and look
here, my gaily-feathered young Tom chick, this is not London city, and
my house is not the Court. Don't speak to me as if I were one of your
servants and hangers-on."
"You are insolent, sir," cried Sir Mark angrily. "If I report all this
and your treasonable words, the result may be a body of his Majesty's
soldiers despatched to raze your works to the ground, and march you back
to London to take your trial."
"Let them come," cried the founder, now giving the fury he had pent up
its full vent; "let them come, and I'll give them such a reception as
will make your Powder Plot seem a trifle. Why, do you know, my velvet
and silken popinjay, that we have good men and true down here, enough to
tickle the ears of as many of your fellows as you like to send."
"Silence, sir!" cried Sir Mark; "do you dare to set at naught the
King's."
"Damn the King!" cried the founder furiously, "damn the King for a
porridge-eating, witch-hunting old fool!"
"Insolent dog," cried Sir Mark.
"What!" retorted the founder, "do you pull your blade on me? Then you
shall see that we have steel as well."
Sir Mark had risen and drawn his sword, evidently with some mad idea
that it was his duty to arrest this utterer of treason on the spot; but,
with an activity of which he might not have been believed capable,
Jeremiah Cobbe sprang to the side of the room, snatched a sword from the
wall, drew, and crossed that of the young courtier. There was a harsh
grating, a few quick thrusts and parries, as the open window was
slightly darkened, and Sir Mark uttered a sharp cry, for his adversary's
sword passed like lightning through his arm, and he staggered back, as
an upbraiding voice exclaimed--"Oh, father, father, what have you done?"
Volume 1, Chapter IV.
HOW SIR MARK STAYED AT THE PARK HOUSE, AND JEREMIAH COBBE DELIVERED A
HOMILY ON ANGLING.
It was Mace's voice, as she ran into the room, pale with horror when she
saw the red blood darken the russet velvet of the young man's sleeve.
"Done!" cried Cobbe, "What do I always do, my girl? Acted like the
passionate old fool I am. Poor boy!" he ejaculated, as the sword
dropped from Sir Mark's hand, and white as Mace's self the King's
messenger sank fainting on his adversary's arm, to be lowered gently to
the floor. "God knows, child, I'd give five hundred pounds to undo it
all. He angered me, and drew, and the sight of the naked steel made the
blood come into my eyes. Poor boy--poor boy! A brave youth, though he
fretted and strutted and bullied me so. That's better. Hi, Janet, some
cold water. Stop, child, don't rip his fine jacket or he'll break his
heart. My faith on it, he'll think more of the holes in his velvet than
in his skin. Steady! hold him up a little, and I'll strip off his fine
coat. That's it; now, a little more; never mind the drop of blood, it
won't kill him."
"I know, father," said Mace, "but put away those swords;" and she held
up the wounded man's head as her father cleverly removed the velvet
doublet and turned up the fine white linen shirt, whose sleeve was
stained with blood. The wound could now be seen, or rather wounds--two
narrow clean cuts on either side of the fleshy part of the arm, from
which the blood pretty freely welled.
"Now lay his head down again, my child. No: better not. Here's Janet.
Sake's girl! Don't stand staring. Put the basin here. Some strips of
linen. That's right, child," he continued, as Mace snatched off her
white kerchief and tore it up.
"It weighs full thirty pounds," cried a hearty voice in the entry.
"Hey, hallo, what's wrong? A wounded man?"
"Ay!" cried the founder. "Quick, Gil, you are a good chirurgeon;" and
the new-comer--to wit, Mace's companion on the Pool--strode in, went
down on one knee, and without a word dipped a portion of the linen in
the cold water, removed the blood, and with the skill of an adept made a
couple of pads, and cleverly bound up the wound.
"Give him a little of the strong waters," he cried, and the founder
hurriedly fetched a flask and held a glass to the wounded man's lips
before the new-comer said briefly, "How was it?"
"Oh, he angered and drew on me, and we had a few passes," cried the
founder. "My own fault, too."
"It is a mere nothing," said the other. "Why Mace, my child, don't look
so white. He is a soldier evidently, and he'll bear it like a man."
"Am I white, Gil?" said the girl, looking up and smiling sadly, as she
thought of how her life seemed cast among warlike weapons and their
works. "I am not frightened, only troubled. Father, dear, this is so
sad."
"It is, it is, my child. I'd have given half I have sooner than it
should have happened. Hush, he's coming to."
For just then the injured man sighed, opened his eyes wonderingly, gazed
upwards to see who supported him, and lowered his lids again, saying
softly--
"The face of an angel: is this Heaven?"
"Oh, no," cried the amateur surgeon, frowning slightly as he saw Mace
colour, "and if you were here sometimes, when friend Cobbe is casting
cannon, you'd think it was the other place. Come, sir, let me help you
up. It is a mere flesh wound, and will only smart."
"Thank you, I can rise," said Sir Mark, reddening, as he made an effort
and rose without assistance; but the room seemed to swim round, and he
staggered and would have fallen, had not his surgeon caught him by the
uninjured arm, and helped him to a seat, letting him gently down into a
half-reclining position.
As he did so the eyes of the two young men met, and Gilbert Carr, as he
gazed into those of his patient, felt a strange sense of mistrust pass
over him like a foreboding of coming trouble; while on the other side,
as the smooth young courtier looked into the bright, clear grey eyes,
and scanned the dark, bronzed visage bending over him, he felt that they
two would be enemies for a woman's sake.
"That's it--that's better," said Gilbert Carr, quietly. "You need have
no fear for the consequences, sir. It is a clean cut, and will soon
heal in our pure, fresh air."
"I thank you," said Sir Mark, rather stiffly; "I do not fear. Madam, I
grieve to have caused you this trouble," he continued, addressing Mace,
who stood close by.
"Nay, sir; pray do not say that. It is we who are grieved--my father."
"Ay, she's right," said Cobbe, advancing. "My brave lad, I feel ashamed
to face you after such a stroke."
"Ashamed!" said Sir Mark, with a quiet glance at Mace; and then, seeing
his advantage, he said, smiling as he held out his uninjured hand,
"Never be ashamed, sir, of so gallant a handling of your sword. They
tell me in London I can fence, and that enemies who have fought make the
best of friends."
"You are a brave true gentleman, sir," cried the founder, wringing the
outstretched hand; "and I humbly ask your forgiveness for my choler. I
was hot and angry. There, God bless the King; and I beg his Majesty's
pardon for what I said."
"It is granted," said Sir Mark, smiling faintly, "for he will never
know."
"Now let me say a word," said Gil, who had been uneasily looking on.
"Fever may come on if he is excited. Take my advice, sir, lie back and
go to sleep. Mace--no, here is Janet--fetch a pillow for this
gentleman."
The girl ran out, and returned bearing one of snowy hue, which Gil
adjusted beneath the wounded man's head.
"Now, sir, sleep for awhile, and you will be refreshed. Your arm is all
right. I have dressed many a sword-cut in my time."
"Thanks," said Sir Mark, faintly; "but some one will stay with me in the
room?"
He glanced at Mace.
"Of course," said the founder. "Mace, my child."
"Yes," said Gil, quietly, "go away, Mace; Janet will stay and watch by
this gentleman's side."
Mace glanced at him wonderingly, and Janet coloured with pleasure as,
frowning slightly, Sir Mark closed his eyes, and the girl half drew the
blind, while, headed by the founder, after removing all traces of the
conflict, Gilbert Carr and Mace went softly out, and closed the door.
"Why do you look at me like that?" said Mace, as they stood alone.
"Gil, do you doubt me?"
"Doubt you?" he said softly as he bent down and kissed her white
forehead. "No, I could not, for you are not as other women are. I did
not wish you, though, to be 'tendant to this spark from the Court, for
such he seems to be. Nay, Mace, I've no jealousy in me. But there is
your pike," he added, pointing to the fish, a great fellow four feet
long, which lay on the red bricks at their feet. "Here is your father,
and he'll tell us how the quarrel rose."
"Quarrel! it was not worth calling a quarrel," cried the founder,
shortly. "It seems that some meddlesome fool has been telling them in
London of my works, and this gentleman has been sent down to inspect the
place. He vexed me, and said something about the King, which made me
rap out an oath. He drew: I drew."
"And our visitor went down," said Gil Carr, smiling. "Well, Master
Cobbe, there's not much harm done."
"But I shall have to send over to the Moat, Gil, and tell Sir Thomas; he
was here a piece back."
"Nay," said Gil, "ill news flies apace, there is no need to hasten it.
Leave it to the gentleman himself."
"Perhaps you are right," returned the founder. "Of course he will not
be fit to leave for a day or two. Mace, child, get the south chamber
ready for our guest: let's try and make up for the ill that we have
done."
Gilbert Carr half-closed his eyes and stood silent till Mace left the
open hall, where they were standing, to prepare the chamber for the
wounded man, when he replied to the founder's remark:--
"It depends so upon the man."
"Eh? How?"
"Well, if you had a scratch or pin-thrust like that you would go and see
to the grinding of your last batch of powder. If I had it, I should."
"Well?" said the founder.
"I should tie it up--tightly," replied Gil, drily. "Your guest there
will make a month's illness of it for the sake of being petted by the
women and nursed."
"That's a pretty jealous kind of remark, Captain Gil," said the founder
sharply. "I noticed how you took me up short when I bade Mace stop in
the room with the poor young man. Come down here, I want to talk to
you. We may as well say it now as at any other time. Let's walk down
to the empty furnace. No one will heed us there."
"With all my heart," said Gil, and, with a cloud gathering on his brow,
he walked after the founder, along by the side of the rushing water,
past the mill-wheel, and down to a good-sized stone building, beside
which was a great pile of charcoal.
"Now, Gil Carr," said the founder, seating himself on the ledge of an
open window, "I'm not going to quarrel."
"That you are not," said the other, smiling frankly; "and if you did you
are not going to fight, for I won't draw. One wounded man is enough for
one day."
"Tut--tut--yes," cried the founder. "But now look here, Captain Gil--"
"Suppose we drop the captain, and let it be plain Gil again, as it has
been these many years. Master Cobbe, we are very old friends."
"Yes, yes, of course, Gil, so we are," said the founder, looking annoyed
and puzzled. "But now, look here, tell me why did you interfere when I
was going to tell my child to sit in the room with that injured
gentleman. Come now, be frank."
"I will," said Gil, quietly. "It was because I did not think it seemly
for her to stay and tend a man whose eyes had just openly bespoken
admiration, and I thought that Janet would do as well."
"Like your insolence," cried the choleric old man.
"Gently, Master Cobbe," said the other smiling; "too much powder again."
"Confound it, yes," he cried, calming down, but only to grow wroth the
next moment, as he saw the smile upon his companion's face. "You are
laughing at me, Gil; and now, hark ye here, I think it is quite time we
came to a proper understanding."
"About Mace?" said Gil, quietly.
"Yes, about my child," said the founder.
"I think so, too," said Gil, calmly, but with the bronze hue of his
cheek becoming a little more deeply tinted.
"Oh! you do," said the founder, with a peculiar hesitancy, now it had
come to the point, and an aspect of being slightly in awe of the other
and his calm, firm way--the peculiar quiet assertion of one born to and
accustomed to command.
"I do," said Gil, gazing him full in the eyes; "and I am glad that you
have opened a subject I wanted to discuss."
"Then it is soon done," said the founder; "and look here, Gil, my dear
lad, after the talk is over, we go back to our old positions as good
friends, and it is to be as if we had never spoken."
"Have no fear," said Gil, smiling; "as I told you, we shall not
quarrel."
"Well, then, look here," said the founder, making a plunge at once into
the subject. "Gil Carr, you are growing too intimate with my child."
"Indeed!" said Gil, raising his eyebrows. "Let me see, Master Cobbe: it
is sixteen years since Wat Kilby brought me, a delicate boy of twelve,
low from an attack of a fever caught in the Western Isles, and you and
your good wife nursed me into strength."
"Yes, yes, quite true," said the founder, hastily. "Poor Rachel! poor
Rachel!" he muttered, and his face clouded.
"If ever woman was meet for the kingdom of heaven when she died it was
Mace's mother--my second mother!" said Gil, gravely.
"Amen to that!" said the founder. "Thank you, Gil--thank you--God bless
you for those words," he continued, with his voice trembling; and he
seized and wrung the young man's hand, which warmly pressed his in
return.
"Mace was a child of four then, Master Cobbe," said Gil, "and we have
been like brother and sister ever since."
"Yes, yes, quite true," said the founder.
"Then why do you say that I am growing too intimate with your child?"
"Because," said the founder, laying his hand upon the young man's arm,
"you are growing now less like brother and sister, and it is time it was
stopped."
"Why?" said Gil, gravely.
"Because, Gil Carr, the intimacy of two people like you might lead to
feelings that end in marriage, and that could never be."
"I do not see why not," said Gil, quietly.
"No," said the founder, "but I do! And now listen. I like you, Gil,
and I'm going to give you a bit of advice, both about this matter and
your ship, for we are old friends, and I should not like you and yours
to come to harm."
"Friends in home matters, but in business you always drove the hardest
bargains with me that you could; and now you talk of locking Mace away."
"Friends enough, all the same, my lad; and as to locking up my daughter
from you, as you term it, if I in the future bid her always keep her
room when you are home from sea and come up here, shall I not do right?
Would you have me bring her out to listen to the gallant words of every
buccaneering captain who comes to my place, swaggering and swearing and
drinking, till he wants a man on each side to see him safe away, lest he
get into the mill-race or the dam. Nay, Captain Gil Carr--Culverin
Carr, if you like!--times are altered now, for Mace is a woman grown,
and a girl no longer. So in the future I'll trade with you and be the
best of friends, but there we'll stop."
"Now, Master Cobbe," said Gil, with a quiet, grave smile, "when did you
see me overcome by strong waters, or swaggering, or using oaths? Fie!
you make me worse than I am."
Jeremiah Cobbe chuckled, and laid his finger good-humouredly upon the
young man's breast.
"It will not do, Gil lad, so we need not argue. You are as good as most
men; but see here, I have Mace's future welfare to provide for, and,
above all, her happiness. I've been weak and neglectful, perhaps, so
far, but now I'm going to be hard as the iron in those guns. There's no
harm done as yet, so let us stop in time, for we both wish the poor girl
to be happy."
"No harm?" said Gil.
"No: so we'll stop at once. Think you I'm going to let a man like you
fool the girl with fine words? You journey here, and you journey there,
and you see saucy Frenchwomen, bright-eyed Spaniards, and dark-haired
Portingallo dames, and those of Italy, and no one knows where beside.
Court them, my lad, and marry as many of them as you like. May be you
have now a wife in every port, but you must e'en leave my little white
moth alone. Let her flitter and flutter about and be satisfied with the
soft light of the moon and stars; I don't want her pretty wings singed
in the fierce light of a thoughtless man's love."
"Amen!" said Gil, softly.
"Amen, eh? Why, Gil, you are a fine fellow to give forth such a
churchman's word as that so glibly and so pat. Master Peasegood would
look fierce enough if he heard such an ungodly follower of Belial as you
beginning to preach."
"In the name of all that's strange, Master Cobbe, what does this mean?"
exclaimed Gil. "I have been free of your house all these years, and now
this sudden change has come over you, and you treat me thus scurvily.
In the name of all the saints, speak out. What have I done?"
"Been hooked by Father Bonchurch, seemingly, and gone over to see the
Scarlet Lady on the Seven Hills, to hear you swearing by the saints."
"It is enough to make a man swear by anything, Master Cobbe, to meet
with such treatment. Come, speak out; how have I affronted you?"
"Well, if you will know, Master Gil, I looked out across the Pool some
little time back, and I saw a certain young man out there in my boat
fishing. All at once he thrust his hand into a bucket of water, and
seized a feckless gudgeon, which he deftly hooked, and then threw
overboard for the pike to seize. And, as I looked, I saw a little hand
taken and kissed, and I knew then that one Captain Culverin had hooked a
second gudgeon as well, and that he might play with her for a time, as
he watched her helpless struggles in his hot hands, and then he might
throw her overboard too. Then the scales fell from my eyes, and I saw
that I had been a fool--one who had been so wrapped-up in his
cannon-making that he had forgotten to watch what went on in his own
house. Gilbert Carr, you have ceased to be a brother to my child, and
have made hot love to her. Come, confess."
"Confess!" cried Gil, with his face lighting up; "I have nothing, sir,
to confess. If you wish me to avow that I dearly love our little Mace,
I do with all my soul; and, God giving me strength, I will never do
aught that shall make her shame that I love her. Yes, Master Cobbe,
love has grown stronger year by year; man's love--hot love if you will,
and she has been to me my one hope--the hope that has kept me a better
man than I should have been. Come, be not hard upon me, Master Cobbe.
You cannot mean that you disapprove of our love?"
"I do disapprove of your love!" cried the founder angrily; "and I'll
have no more of such childish babble."
"But Master Cobbe--"
"I'll hear no more, I say."
"Nay, Master Cobbe, this is unreasonable."
"Call it what you will; I say I'll have no more of it. You are not the
man to make my child happy, and now we understand one another. Mind, I
forbid it."
"You may forbid it, Master Cobbe," said Gil quietly; "but I tell you
frankly I cannot listen to your commands. Matters have gone too far."
"But they shall not have gone too far," cried the founder, flushing up,
and stamping his foot with rage, "I'll hear no more. Look ye here,
Captain Gil, you're in a passion now, so let me see no more of you for
seven days. Then, perhaps, we can meet and talk calmly. Meantime, go
and think."
As he said these words Jeremiah Cobbe, the founder of Roehurst, went
into his empty furnace-house, and Gil Carr walked slowly away to think
of his dismissal--now, when a man whom he already looked upon as an
enemy was in the place; and the young man's face darkened as imagination
began to be busy, filling his mind full of strange fancies, strongly
opposed to the words he had spoken but a short time since to Mace as
they parted at the house.
Volume 1, Chapter V.