"Unless what?"

"He mends his ways. She shall marry no scapegrace who plays fast and loose with women's hearts. He trifles with Mistress Anne Beckley, and the silly girl is mad for him."

"Nay, I think you wrong him, brother. I believe in Gil Carr as a true gentleman at heart. I love the brave, bold youth."

"I hope I do wrong him," said Master Peasegood. "He's a fine, handsome fellow, but I will not have my little white moth played with, and the tender down upon her winglets crushed by unholy hands."

"Why do you call her white moth?" said the father, dreamily.

"It is a fancy of the people here, because she dresses in white; and they meet her, looking soft, and white, and ethereal, in the woody lanes at eventide where moths abound. Ah, Father Brisdone, happy men are we who early marry ourselves to the Church, and know nought of these fleshly troubles. Yes, they call her the white moth; and between ourselves it's a glowworm that often comes wooing to her, and I fear his light will burn."

Father Brisdone sighed. "Ha, ha, ha! that's because another Jonah has gone down," said Master Peasegood, pointing to a flying bladder.

"Nay," said the other sadly; "I sighed at your words about our being happier without these fleshly cares. I don't know--I don't know."

"More do I," said Master Peasegood; "only that I'm very fatherly fond of little Mace, and if I can stand between her and Carr I will. Now, brother, we'll chase that first great fish. Suppose you take the oars."

Father Brisdone obeyed, and Master Peasegood fitted a large hook to the end of a stout walking-staff, directing his friend the while as he urged the boat over the limpid water, making fish dart away here and there amongst the water-lilies and flags.

They approached pretty near the bladder, and then away it went, showing that the great pike was well hooked, and now commenced a chase for some ten minutes, the captive always evading the great hook just as Master Peasegood was on the point of securing the string.

The chase led them right away over the deepest part of the Pool, and amidst various little islands of reeds growing on soft masses of decayed vegetation; the boat, when urged forward, passing easily amongst and over them, so lightly were they rooted in the soft vegetable fibre below.

"Now then, a good pull, brother, and we shall have him," whispered Master Peasegood. "He's a monster, but he is tired now. Four good strokes and then hold up your oars, and let the skiff glide and I'll-- Good God! what's that?--the other oar, man, pull!"

The skiff spun round and was urged towards a clump of reeds, among which, and half covered by the water, were two ghastly faces, which settled down, gliding from their precarious hold, as the wave made by the skiff reached them.

Another moment and they would have been beyond reach, but Master Peasegood thrust his arm to the shoulder into the water, as he leaned over the side, and grasped the doublet of one man, thrusting in his hook and seizing the other, and then drawing both up to the sides of the boat, as it rustled amongst the reeds, but bringing the edge down so low that the water began to pour in over the side.

"Quick, brother, quick!" shouted Master Peasegood. "Hang over the other side, or we are lost!"

With a promptitude that might not have been expected from him, Father Brisdone threw himself to the other side of the skiff, and raised the endangered edge so that the water ceased to pour over the gunwale, while Master Peasegood deftly leaned sideways and dragged the first body he had secured round the stern of the boat.

Father Brisdone saw what he intended, and, changing his position a little, just managed to catch the doublet, and the next minute the boat was well balanced, for one of the bodies was being held up on either side.

"Are--are they dead?" whispered Father Brisdone, in an awe-stricken voice. "Poor lad--poor lad."

"Heaven only knows," cried Master Peasegood, as he changed his position and said, "Give me hold of the poor boy--his collar--that's well. I've got this one the same. There, their heads are well above the water now, and I can hold them thus. Now take the oars and row for life."

"But can you hold them?" cried Father Brisdone, as he obeyed his companion, and gazed at him the while, seated with hands grasping the two men's collars, one on either side.

"I hope so. Oh, yes! They can't drag me out of the boat, but it would be madness to try and drag them in. Row hard: never mind me."

Father Brisdone bent to his task with a will, and in a fashion that showed how he had more than once handled an oar, while Master Peasegood braced himself up, and held on to his burdens as they dragged behind.

"You see who they are?" he said, as the skiff gathered way, and the water rattled under her bows.

"Yes; one is the man of whom we talked."

"And the other is old Wat Kilby. I'll never believe he is drowned,"

cried Master Peasegood. "He's born for quite another fate. Pull steady and hard, man. If my arms are jerked out of the sockets I'll forgive thee. Ohe--ahoy--hoi--oy," he shouted to a couple of men on the shore, and as they stopped to gaze others began to collect, so that by the time the side was reached there was plenty of willing aid, and hands ready to bear the two men into the charcoal-shed, where, by Father Brisdone's orders, blankets were fetched and stimulants, while, under his instructions, strong hands rubbed the icy limbs.

This was continued for a time, and then the founder made a proposal, which was put into effect.

"Four of you, one to the corner of each blanket," he cried; "and run them down to the little furnace. We can lay them on the hot bricks there."

"Yes, quickly," cried Father Brisdone. "The very thing."

It was done, and the genial heat and the friction liberally applied. At first no change took place, and the founder shook his head; while Sir Mark, as he gazed at the stern, handsome countenance of Culverin Carr, felt that a dangerous rival had been removed from his path.

"We were too late, brother, were we not?" said Master Peasegood, sadly.

"I'll tell thee, anon," was the reply, as, with cassock off and sleeves up, Father Brisdone was toiling away, with the perspiration streaming down his forehead.

One hour--two hours passed, and still there was no sign of life. Those who aided would have given up long before but for the father's example, led by which they worked manfully, till, to the great joy of the operator, there was a faint quivering about his patients' eyelids.

Encouraged by this, all worked the harder, to be rewarded by a sigh from Gil, and a low growl from Wat Kilby, who now rapidly recovered consciousness, and startled all present by exclaiming:--

"Who has taken my tobacco?" Gil recovered more slowly, but he was soon able to speak; and the first person upon whom his eyes fell was Sir Mark, who seemed half fascinated by his gaze.

A couple of hours later the two men were sufficiently revived to bear removal; and in a gruff way, as if the show of hospitality were forced upon him, Master Cobbe offered them the use of his house.

Gil's heart gave a leap of joy at the invitation, while Sir Mark's countenance grew black as night. It resumed, its former aspect, though, as he heard Gil refuse, and merely request permission to stay where they were for a time, after which he said they would go their way.

"I'd give something to know how those two came so near being drowned,"

said the founder, as he walked over the little bridge with Sir Mark.

"I'd give something," said Sir Mark to himself, "if that meddling priest had left the scoundrel to die in peace. How I hate him, to be sure."

Meanwhile, Mace, who had been upon her knees in her little chamber, praying with all her soul for her lover's life, had now changed her prayer to thanksgiving, and at last stood by the window, and exchanged a look with him, as she saw him walk slowly away, with Wat Kilby, whose pipe was lit, and who was smoking as if nothing whatever had been amiss.

As to how the accident had occurred, that was the secret of the two sufferers, the guests that evening of Master Peasegood, whose luces were not sought for till the next morning, by which time three-parts had managed to get away, or rid themselves of their steel, leaving the floating bladders alone for the parson's crook.

Volume 2, Chapter V.

HOW SIR MARK VISITED DAME BECKLEY'S GARDEN OF SIMPLES.

In the course of the morning a mounted messenger came on to the Pool-house with a despatch for Sir Mark, whose brow clouded as he read that it was a peremptory recall to town.

He handed the despatch to the founder, who read it quietly, and returned it.

"Hah," he said, "then I am to lose my guest. I hope Sir Mark does not quarrel with my hospitality."

"Nay, but I do," said Sir Mark, petulantly. "You deny me the very one thing I ask."

"And what is that?" said the founder.

"Your daughter's hand, Master Cobbe."