"Am I a weak child?" cried Mace at last, as she sprang up and wiped away
her tears. "I will not sit still, and be sold like this. I cannot be
forced to wed a man I hate, and I will not listen to his words.
"When will Gil come back?" she cried; and sitting down she tried to
reckon up the number of weeks since he sailed, but her head was in a
whirl; and even as she tried to think her hands burned, and she held
them from her as if they had been polluted by the kisses they had
received.
Then, with a feeling of horror, she thought of the possibility of Gil
having witnessed that scene--the clasping on of the necklace, the touch
of the donor's hands, and the tears once more rushed to her eyes as she
writhed at her helpless position.
"I will go away to Cousin Ellice," she said; "I will go at once. Father
cannot know of Sir Mark's behaviour. I cannot, I will not, believe it,"
she cried, passionately. "I would not marry Gil without his consent,
but I cannot listen to this man.
"Why, one would think I was some weak girl such as we read of in the old
ballad stories!" she cried, with a laugh that was more like a hysterical
cry, and, hastily washing away the traces of her tears, she determined
to make a bold effort to show Sir Mark that his case was hopeless, and
descended to the parlour to gather up and restore the pearls.
All thought of the jewels, though, was chased away by the sight of her
father just seating himself for a rest and a smoke; and, smoothing her
face, she went up to him, and stood by his side with her hands resting
upon his shoulder.
"Are you tired, dear?" she said, passing her cool hand across his brow.
"Very, child," he replied, drawing her to him, so that she was seated
upon his knee, with her head leaning against his cheek.
"You work so hard now," she continued. "This great order makes you so
busy."
"Yes," he said, laughing; "but it is for honour and wealth, child. It
is a great thing, and Sir Mark as good as promises that I shall be
Master of Ordnance to the King."
"Are Sir Mark's promises all to be believed?" said Mace, quietly.
"To be sure! Yes, of course, child. He is a noble gentleman, of goodly
birth, and when thou art his wife--"
He stopped short, for the words he had been trying to say had suddenly
slipped from his lips, and he was startled by the manner in which his
child leaped from his side, to stand staring down at him with flashing
eyes.
"What is it?" he cried, in a clumsy, faltering manner.
"What was that you said, father?"
"I said when thou art Sir Mark's wife, and he takes thee to court."
"I can never be Sir Mark Leslie's wife."
"Tut! nonsense," cried the founder, working himself up into a passion;
"why do you talk such rubbish as this? What do you know of wedlock?
Sir Mark has asked for thy hand in honourable marriage. It is a great
honour; and thou wilt be wed and praised at court, and become a great
body. What could I wish better for my child?"
"Oh, father, what do you mean?" she cried, with his own angry spirit
rising up within her.
"Mean?" he cried, rousing himself now, to finish the task that he had
fought in vain for so long to begin. "I mean that Sir Mark is to be thy
husband. He brings thee honour and me wealth. It is a great thing,
child. Living here as thou hast, such a position as that thou wilt
occupy is a thing almost undreamed of. Why, my darling," he said,
trying to smile, "thou wilt ride in thy grand carriage, and have lackeys
to follow thee, and be admired of all the court. Zounds! but I shall be
proud indeed!"
"Father," cried Mace, piteously, "you do not mean all this!"
"But I do!" he cried. "There, go to, silly child; it seems a trouble,
but it will be all a joy. There, there: we need talk of it no more, for
perhaps it will not be for months. I have given Sir Mark my promise,
and thou wilt be his wife."
Mace stood gazing at him piteously. Then throwing her arms round his
neck she burst into a fit of sobbing.
"No, no, dear father!" she cried, "I cannot, I cannot wed him. It would
break my heart."
"Stuff!" he cried, caressing her; "what dost thou know of breaking
hearts and such silly, girlish fancies? He brings thee jewels, and thou
wilt have gay brocades. Why, my sweet pet, thou wilt drive Anne Beckley
mad with envy. Mark me, she meant to wed Sir Mark herself."
"Father, dear," said Mace, kissing him, and speaking in a low, appealing
voice, "it is not like you to speak to your little girl like this. Do I
care to flaunt in gay clothes--to try and best Anne Beckley? Have I any
such ideas as these?"
"No, no, child; may be not," he said, stroking her hair; "but--but--I'd
like to see thee a grand dame."
"Would it make you happier, dear?" she replied, kissing him fondly as
she nestled to his breast.
"Well, well, yes, of course," he said hastily.
"Nay, nay, father, dear, you would never, never be happy again if you
sold me to that man."
"Sold!" he cried furiously, for that truthful word stung him to his
heart. "How dare you say that, ungrateful girl that thou art? How dare
you?"
"Because it is true," cried Mace, drawing back from him to stand, white
and angry, at bay. "Father, you are trying to sell me to this man!"
"It is a lie--a damned lie!" he cried furiously. "Mace, thou hast been
listening to that villain--that scoundrel--that murderer--Gil Carr,
again."
"It is no lie, father," she retorted, "and Gil is no murderer--no
villain--no scoundrel, but an honourable gentleman, as you know."
"I know thou hast been carrying on with him again," cried the founder.
"Curse him!" he roared, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table,
so that the glasses and pipes leaped again.
"I have not," cried Mace, angrily. "You said I should not, and I obeyed
you, as I always have; but," she added proudly, "I told Gil I would
never be the wife of another man, and I never will."
"Have a care, madam, have a care!" cried the founder, who was beside
himself with passion. "I am a true man, but an obstinate one. I said
thou should'st not wed that wild buccaneering adventurer, and I'll keep
my word."
"Father!" cried Mace, as hotly, "I am thy daughter, and I can be
obstinate too. I can keep my word. I will not wed Gil, if you forbid
it; but I will wed no other man."
"Curse the day he ever entered my house, and curse the day he ever
enters it again! I have given Sir Mark Leslie my word that thou shalt
be his wife, and that word I'll keep. Now, I have said it, and thou
knowest what to expect. I've indulged and spoiled thee, till, like an
ingrate, thou fliest in my face, and forgettest all thy duty. Now go
and learn what duty to a husband is."
"No, no, no!" cried Mace, casting off her angry fit, and flinging her
arms round her father's neck. "Forgive me, dear, I said words to you I
repent of now."
"Then thou wilt meet him as thou shouldest, child?"
"No, no, father, I cannot!" she cried, with a shudder; "I detest--I
despise him. I do not wish to marry. Let us go back to our old happy
days, dear--as we were before this man came to trouble us. Why do you
wish to send your little girl away?"
The founder was moved, and his arm involuntarily embraced the slight
form, and drew it to his breast, while his brow grew rugged with
emotion. At that moment he felt as if he would gladly have gone back to
the calm old days of peace, and in his heart of hearts he wished that
there was no such thing as love, or marrying and giving in marriage, on
the earth.
"There, there," he said softly, as he caressed and petted her as he
would have done when she was a child. "There, little one, I want to do
what is best for thee, to make thee happy."
"Let us stay as we are, then, father dear," she said, as she responded
to his caresses.
"No, no, child, it cannot be," he said. "I have given my word to Sir
Mark, and he is to be thy husband, and that right soon."
"No, no, father!" she cried; "you do not--you cannot mean it."
"I do mean it, and it must be," he said firmly, as he rose, and she
stepped back now, and stood gazing at him as, hastily pouring out and
swallowing a glass of strong waters, he walked out of the room, leaving
Mace standing with hands clasped before her, gazing at vacancy, as she
realised her terrible position, and asked herself what she should do.
That night she crept up to her room in a dazed, stunned fashion, and sat
gazing out of her window, watching the stars rise slowly from over the
sea, as she wondered whether Gil would come back and save her from the
fate that threatened, where he was now, and whether she should ever look
again with beating heart at their innocent little signal in the grassy
bank--the four glow-worms' lights.
Where was he now? she asked herself. Was he thinking of her as his ship
sailed over the blue Mediterranean? Perhaps so; but would the time come
when it would be a sin for her to think of him other than as a friend?
With a shudder she told herself that such a time could never be, for she
would sooner take the boat some night and let it drift far out over the
deepest part of the Pool, and there step over into the cold, black
waters in search of the rest that she could not hope for here.
And as she thought all this in a weary, despairing way, the founder sat
in his own room, angry, troubled, and full of pity for his child; but
all the same relieved of a heavy load, as he told himself that she knew
now what was to be, and that she would soon grow happy and content.
Volume 2, Chapter XVI.