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 saying _we_ and _one 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 the _qui vive_ for 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
with _Dame_.
"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.
Volume 2, Chapter XIV.