"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.

HOW SIR MARK KNOCKED AWAY TWO PROPS.

A week, a fortnight, a month glided by, as time will gallop on, when some unwished-for season is ahead. Matters at the Moat were as of old.

Sir Thomas dispensed justice, Dame Beckley prepared simples, and Mistress Anne purchased love-philtres, vowing each time that this was the last, but still, in spite of her better judgment, keeping on, for Gil was away, and might never come back, while Sir Mark was present and might be won.

He came sometimes to the Moat, and was very pleasant and courtly. He condescended to flirt with her a little, and filled her with hope that her vanity fed, as it grew dim on his departure. She was gentleness and innocence itself when he was present, but her eyes flashed when he left; and there was that in her looks which seemed to say that she would as readily poison him as give him cunning decoctions to win his love.

These were no pleasant times for the people at the Moat, for no sooner had the visitor departed, after regaling all present with accounts of how the gun-making went on, than Anne's temper blazed forth--Polly said like a blow-up at the Pool--and for hours and hours Sir Thomas would not venture to leave his study, nor Dame Beckley her garden of herbs.

For Anne Beckley had painted and patched, and worn her different brocades; she had tried tenderness, laughing looks, patience, and threatenings of Mother Goodhugh, all to no purpose; and her heart grew hot within her as she vowed vengeance against her rival.

At the Pool the busy works were in full swing, and the founder had good excuse for keeping away from his daughter; while Sir Mark, now that the ice was broken, left no opportunity unseized to hasten on his suit.

Progress he made none, but he did not complain. "The love will come after marriage," he said, laughingly, and as patiently kept on working for the future.

To Mace's horror he assumed a quiet tone of proprietorship over her, and on paying fresh visits to the metropolis he seemed to spare no expense in buying presents and necessaries for the wedding, which he assumed to be a matter of course, laughing at the girl's cold and distant behaviour, while he never failed to treat her with the most tender consideration.

She made appeal after appeal to her father, but with the sole effect of angering him. For he had been long in making up his mind to give his consent, but when it was given the obstinacy of his nature made him deaf to all appeals; while, even had he been yielding, there was one at hand always ready to back up the weak part, as he by degrees gained so great an influence over the founder that, though the latter was ignorant of it, his will had been pretty well mastered by his guest, who dealt with him almost as he pleased.

They were busy times, and the calls made upon his attention prevented the founder from paying much heed to his child's pale looks and restless mien. Guns were finished, and dragged by heavy teams of horses through the sandy lanes to the little port, and there shipped along with casks of black-grained powder to go round to London or some other depot.

There were heavy sums of money, too, paid into the founder's hands by Sir Mark, making the old man's eyes sparkle as, with a few well-turned words, the royal messenger told him of the satisfaction felt by Ministers and King at the way in which the orders were being carried out.

"You will be a great man, _father-in-law_," said Sir Mark, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Work away, for I have placed matters in train for another order when this one is done. I don't see why my relative should not be rich."

"Thanks, my lad," said the founder, whose face softened. "Go on, and remember this, that in turning a stream of gold into my pockets it is providing a great dam like yon Pool to work thine own mill-wheel by-and-by."

"I have thought that many times," said Sir Mark to himself. Then aloud, "This order, you see, was all in good faith, and the money has been paid. I look now for my reward--payment in advance, before I bring in the next. When is our wedding to take place?"

The founder looked grave for a few minutes, and then gazed full in Sir Mark's face.

"There are no half measures with me, my lad," he said, laying his hand in Sir Mark's. "Whenever you like. Shall we say when the last gun is finished and--"

"And payments made," said Sir Mark, smiling. "Good! it shall be so. I start to-morrow for town, and from there I'll bring the moneys, and I hope the new order, along with presents and wedding ornaments for my darling. Is it to be so?"

"Yes," replied the founder; and he turned sharply, for a low sigh had reached his ear, and he was just in time to see Mace disappear from the door, which she was about to enter when she caught his words--words which sounded to her like a death-warrant, and which rang in her ears as she hurried to her chamber and locked herself within.

There was a peculiar look upon Mace Cobbe's countenance as she sat gazing straight before her, thinking of her position. Gil had been gone four months now, and might not return for a couple more; though, if he did, what could she do?

She shuddered at the thought, and for a time was overcome.

The next day, though, she was all feverish energy, and, setting off as if for a walk, she made for Master Peasegood's cottage, where, after a little hesitation, she plunged desperately into the matter in hand.

"I have not been idle, my little one," said the stout clerk, "but have on more than one occasion roundly taken thy father to task about this matter."

"Yes, yes," said Mace, excitedly, "and what did he say?"

"Bade me look after people's souls and let them look after their bodies themselves."

"Ay," said Mace, with a sigh, "it is what he would say."

"Sir Mark has been here to me about--about--"