"Confound you, fool," cried Sir Mark, leaping from his restive steed; and as he spoke his eyes rested upon Gil. "Have a care how you fire.

Your blundering nearly cost worshipful Sir Thomas Beckley his life."

Gil met his eye with a cold stare of defiance that made the hot blood dance in the other's veins.

"It was I who fired the shell, Sir Mark," said the founder, curtly; "and it were well when I am trying my pieces if visitors gave notice of their coming."

"I came, sir, on the King's business," said Sir Mark, sharply; "and so ride where and when I will! I trust thou art not hurt, Sir Thomas."

The worthy baronet felt for his hat, which was gone, and with it his Sunday plume, as, evidently congratulating himself that he was safe on earth again and free of his frightened steed, he raised his fat eyelids a little wider, and gaped like a fish, opening his lips and shutting them without a sound.

"See," he continued, "the worthy justice is hurt. I ask your pardon, Mistress Mace, but I was concerned for Sir Thomas. Will you help me to lead him into the house--with your permission, Master Cobbe."

"Permission?" cried the founder. "There, sir, leave your ceremony in town when you come to see me. Sir Thomas, I am sorry our firing startled your good nag: come in and drink a cup of wine, and you'll be all right in a twinkling."

Sir Thomas wanted to be dignified, and refuse, but at the same time he felt ready to give his ears for a glass of wine. He was shaken, bruised, and his nerve had gone; in fact he had given himself over for a dead man, when his horse stopped beside the group of workmen; so, sinking his dignity, he followed the founder across the little bridge and into the house, Sir Mark following, with Mace, who knew that she must be at hand to play the hostess.

Just then a couple of Sir Mark's followers,--half soldiers, half servants,--cantered up, and, seeing at a glance that no harm was done, threw themselves from their horses, and, pitching the reins to the nearest workmen, strutted and stared about in a condescending way, as if the rusticity of the place and people was highly amusing to their London minds.

Gil leaned with his back against the gun, gazing after those who entered the house; and a feeling of bitterness came over him as he recalled the fact that the next day he sailed on a voyage that might take him three, four, or five months, and he would have to go and leave the woman he loved exposed to the persecutions of this man.

He smiled as he glanced down at himself, at his loose shirt smeared and blackened with gunpowder, his bare arms and hands smirched with the same; and he compared himself with the gaily-attired officer who had alighted and entered the house, and not to his own advantage.

"Even his grooms cut a better figure," muttered Gil.

His musings were cut short by a growl from Wat Kilby.

"How now, old bear!" he said, bitterly. "Is thy head sore?"

"It'll be somebody else's head sore directly," growled the old fellow, who had just been a witness of the fact that one of Sir Mark's followers had seen Janet's bright face at the window, as she gazed admiringly at the showily-dressed new arrivals, and had kissed his hand to her--a compliment the pretty handmaiden was not slow to acknowledge.

"Now, Wat, you must not heed such things," said Gil. "What is the girl to thee?"

"This much, skipper, that if he don't mind--there: if he affronts me I'll stuff him head first into the gun, as I be a sinful man."

"Silence, old fool!" cried Gil, angrily. "The girl is nothing, and never will be, to thee. Get me my doublet and cap, for the new babe is baptised and the visitors may all go home."

"Old fool, eh?" growled Wat. "Well, perhaps I be. Never mind; it's pleasant to be an old fool if it be on account of a pretty woman."

As he spoke he fetched his skipper's doublet and cap from the place where they had hung, and was turning with them to Gil, who had stooped down by the edge of the Pool, to wash off some of the tightly-clinging powder, when one of Sir Mark's followers walked up, and, rudely slapping Gil on the shoulder, cried, "Stop there, fellow; you have not done yet."

"No," said the other, swaggering up; "you've fired for your pleasure; now, perhaps, you'll have to fire for ours."

"My lads," said Gil, quietly, "I am not in a quarrelling humour to-day.

Go to thy master, or maybe his livery may get sullied in the Pool."

"Insolent!" cried one.

"What does he mean?" cried the other. "Stop, I say; keep your doublet off till Sir Mark gives you leave to put it on."

He made a snatch at the garment Wat was handing to his leader, wondering the while how Gil could be so calm, but as the fellow snatched at the sleeve Gil's open hand dealt him so tremendous a blow in the chest that he staggered backwards; and, as his companion leaped at Gil to help his comrade, Wat thrust out a foot and sent him sprawling on the ground.

The two men leaped up, whipped out their swords, and made at Gil, who half drew his own weapon, but thrust it back with a contemptuous "Pish!"

and, as the first man made a pass at him, he struck it aside with his open hand, closed with his assailant, disarmed him, and snapped his sword in two.

The other was more cautious, but Gil watched his opportunity, tore his sword from his hand, and served it the same.

Blind with rage, the two men drew their daggers, and made at him again; but by this time Gil's men had closed round, and Sir Mark's followers were seized and disarmed.

"What shall we do with them, captain?" said one of the sailors; but Gil had walked away in disgust at the treatment he received from the founder, and the order came from Wat Kilby--

"Pitch 'em overboard, my lads, into the Pool."

Meanwhile, Sir Mark had entered the old parlour, and gladly, like Sir Thomas, availed himself of the founder's hospitality after a long, hot, and dusty ride. The exciting finish, too, had begotten thirst. He had a dozen gallant sayings to bestow upon Mace, whose mind was full of the insult he had thrown at Gil; and her heart beat with pleasure as she recalled her lover's calm sense of contempt for the gaily-dressed fly who had stung him in the breast.

"This is not a bad glass of wine, Master Cobbe," said Sir Thomas, who was drinking his third.

"I'm glad you like it," said the founder, who kept glancing at Sir Mark and his child in an uneasy way; "it's part of a cask brought me from the south of Spain itself."

"Ah, yes," said the worthy justice; "it is not bad."

"The days have seemed weeks since I have been away, Mistress Cobbe,"

whispered Sir Mark; "and I have tried so earnestly to come."

"Is it on business to my father?" said Mace, who felt that she must say something, "That depends, sweet," he said in a low voice. "I come as a friend or as an enemy, as he will, and as the fair Mistress Mace may will. His Majesty has charged me with a mission to Master Cobbe, that means--shall I speak plainly?"

"If you please, Sir Mark," she replied. "I do not understand you else."

"Then I will speak out, even at the risk of offending--nay, I would say hurting, one who, I hope, is very glad to welcome me back."

"You said you would speak plainly, Sir Mark," replied Mace.

"Ay, and so I will," he said; "but surely I may prolong our discourse.

Think how many weary weeks it is since I heard thy voice."

"You said you came as a friend, or as an enemy to my father, Sir Mark,"

replied Mace, ignoring the compliment. "You must come as a friend when you enter his house and partake of his hospitality."

"Tush! how sharp the little rustic mind can be. Nay, child; how did you know I meant to stay?" he added aloud.

"From thy manner, Sir Mark."

"Then I trust it will be as a friend that I have come," he said, eagerly; "and that my stay here may be long, and bring great riches to your father's purse. It rests with him, or with thee, I hardly can tell which."

"Your words are strange, Sir Mark," said Mace, who kept on talking, but with her thoughts far away, for the sounds of angry voices had fallen upon her ear, and she was trembling lest anything wrong should have arisen on account of Gil.

"Nay, then, how can I speak otherwise?" whispered Sir Mark, as Sir Thomas prosed on with the founder, praising his wine, and condescending to drink deeply, for it was greatly to his taste--"how can I speak otherwise when I am so confused and stricken by thee? Let me speak plainly, then."

"See to thy men, Sir Mark," cried Mace, hurrying to the open window; for just then came an angry buzz of voices, shouts mingled with laughter, and cries for help, in which Sir Mark's name was mingled.