It was soon known in Roehurst that Captain Culverin had returned from his voyage, and Sir Mark ground his teeth with rage as he heard the news.

"The more need to get the matter over," he said to himself; and he had at once a long interview with the founder, one which set him more at ease, for it was decided then and there that the wedding should he that day week, and Mace was summoned to hear her fate.

She heard it without a word, and from that day forward went about the house like one in a dream, but with a strange feeling of excitement ever growing in her brain.

Wedding clothes lay about her room, and presents, but she hardly glanced at them. At one of her interviews with Sir Mark she had begged that she might be left much alone, and to her great relief this was accorded to her, and she waited for the eventful eve.

She longed to visit Father Brisdone at his hiding-place in the old ironstone pit, but she dared not go, for whenever she set foot beyond the scattered houses she found either Sir Mark or a couple of his men following upon her track. She had this consolation, however, that Gil was evidently in communication with the father, for he had promised to have him on board.

At first she was all excitement to know whether Sir Mark had heard her speaking to him; but she felt sure at last that this had not been so, and so she waited.

Two or three times over her heart was in a flutter, for there were well-known voices about the place, as Gil's men arrived escorting some dozens of the country-carts chartered to bear to the foundry-works load after load of dirty-looking saltpetre bags, and sacks of pure, pale yellow stone.

These were dangerous times, for all were well-armed, and there was risk enough of encounters between the sailors and Sir Mark's men, for the former gazed with jealous eyes at the position taken by the latter amongst their old friends; while the latter, who knew of the treatment of two of their companions, longed for an open quarrel and a fight.

But the orders were strict on both sides, Gil making Wat Kilby scowl as he gave the most stern commands as to the behaviour of the men when in the little village; and so, day after day, loads and loads of the special commodities were landed and carried away, and Gil made no effort to see his love or even speak.

Mace asked her trembling heart whether Gil would know which was the wedding eve, as if he would not be sure; and so great was her desire to hear of the condition of Father Brisdone that she daily made a journey to Tom Croftly's cottage, where the news she heard was always good; and the father sent her messages to be of good cheer, for he was safe.

These visits seemed to puzzle the followers of Sir Mark, who himself had his suspicions that they were made by appointment, and that she here made rendezvous with Gil; but following her one day, the most he saw was a small basket of provisions and a little flask of wine, all of which he set down to charity, and walked back with her quite content.

The unloading of Gil's ship continued rapidly, and the followers of Sir Mark heard one or two mysterious communications about the strange processions that sometimes were seen in out-of-the-way parts at night, but their orders were to keep close to the Pool-house, and no expeditions were made to see what the processions meant.

In short, there was a lull in the little hamlet--the calm that precedes a storm--and women whispered that Mother Goodhugh had been foretelling that the time of evil for the house of Cobbe was close at hand.

Sir Mark seemed to be passing his time in busily superintending the despatch of the last piece that had been finished, after careful proof, and then in idling about the woods, or rowing upon the Pool, while the preparations for the wedding still went on.

Once or twice he occupied himself with shooting the wild fowl with arquebus or cross-bow, but all the same his eyes and ears were attent to every change.

Now that the news must have reached the Moat, he studiously avoided visiting there, for he half-laughingly wondered what Anne Beckley would say.

Jeremiah Cobbe was of opinion that his intended son-in-law was trying to make friends with all the people about the place, so frequent were his visits from cot to cot; but this was not so, for he was busy trying to learn all he could about Gil's whereabouts and habits; an inquisition in which he was aided by Master Tarpling, the temporary resident parson; but the total of their knowledge when added up amounted to _nil_.

Once or twice did the founder hesitate as to the course he was pursuing, but in his business encounters with Gil he found him calm and stern, and it struck him that Mace had of late grown resigned; so he let matters drift, fully aware though he was that Sir Mark would now have forced him to keep to his word should he have shown any disposition to draw back.

"He'll make her a good husband," he said to himself. "She don't fancy it, perhaps, at first; but a father must be the best judge of what is for his child's happiness."

He was down at one of his powder-sheds, busying himself, and thinking that the Pool-house would soon be no longer the same, when he came upon Croftly, who, on the strength of his old service, said what he pleased.

"Oh, look here, Tom," said the founder, "Thursday's to be the wedding-day; you ought to set the men to work getting ready something in honour of the event. It's a busy time, but I shall not take any notice if some of you stop to rig up a sort of arch."

"Rig up!" said Tom Crofty. "Hadn't you better ask some of the Captain's men? It's more in their way."

"No, no," said the founder, hastily. "Make an arch of green boughs and flowers, and that sort of thing. You know better than I do; go up to the village and bid the men get the case of viols, and let there be a dance--the girls will be pleased. Tell the men they shall have their shilling and plenty of ale; and you can get some powder--a keg of coarse black--and the two little old guns, and fire 'em off. You can have what wood you like, too, for a bonfire at night. Do the thing well, my lad, and take a holiday all of you. I'll find the ale."

Tom Croftly took off his cap, and wiped his grimy brow with a blacker hand, as he seated himself on the bottom of an empty keg.

"We had a girt meeting 'bout it in the 'ood last night, master," said Croftly; "and talked it all over."

"Oh, you did?" said the founder, looking pleased. "Well, and what did you settle?"

"First find foremost, master, we sattled that we'd muffle the three bells up in the tower o' the church."

"Why, it's two miles away, man, and the sound wouldn't hardly be heard here."

"And then we'd toll 'em all day long."

"Toll them?" cried the founder.

"Ay, master, for it be like to us as if young mistress had been put in her grave."

"Nonsense, my lad. She'll come back sometimes. And it's a happy day for her."

"Happy, eh, master?" said Croftly roughly. "Look here, you asked for this, so you may as well have it slap i' th' mooth. I talked to the boys, and they talked to me; and at last of all they, swore as they'd be damned, every man Jack of 'em, if they didn't treat the whole thing as a fun'ral, and that, if any of Sir Mark's chaps tried to get up an ale shouting, they'd shove 'em in the Pool."

"But you musn't take it like that, Tom," cried the founder. "It's very good of the lads to take on so about losing their young mistress, but you must rejoice. It's to be a happy day."

"She looks like it, master," cried Tom. "Why her face be terrifying.

Where be her bright sperrits, and her sparkling eyes? Don't you make a mistake about it, master. We don't take on about losing her, none of us, and we'd half bust every old gun on the place and raise such a girt bonfire as would set the country alight, if she was going to wed the man of her choice. But this gay fly-golding ladybird chap fro' London! Ah, master, you be doing wrong, and that be what we all say."

"You, Tom Croftly," roared the founder, angrily, as he writhed beneath the lash of his man's words, "how dare you speak to me like that?"

"Cause it be right," said Croftly, stoutly. "Haven't she and the captain been like two lovers ever since they was little children, and sent my heart in my mouth to see 'em playing so nigh the edge of the race?"

"I will not listen to such insolence," cried the founder. "You, Tom Croftly, come for your wage on Saturday night, and give up the cottage the week after."

"And maybe you'll put William Goodley in my place, eh?" said the foreman.

"Maybe I shall," cried the founder. "You ungrateful rascal!"

"Nay," said the foreman, "you need not trouble yourself, mas' Bill Goodley would not step into my shoes, nor another man in the place.

And, just to show as I beant ungrateful as you say, I'll stop on."

"Stop on!" roared the founder. "Ay, stop on. Haven't you just took another good order? Haven't you got all that 'ood ready for the colliers; and haven't you just got in a shipload of sulphur and Chinese salt? Lookye here, mas', you don't know, I s'pose, that if I left here every man and boy would go as well. No, master, we beant ungrateful, none of us; but we don't like to see our young mistress sold, and him as should have had her thrown over."

"And pray who is that?" cried the founder.

"Captain Culverin, mas'; that be the man she meant to have."

"A wild adventurer--a man who murdered that wretch Churr."

"Nay, master, there beant a man of us here who thinks that he did," said the workman, sturdily; "and if Captain Gil was here you wouldn't say it to he."

"I am here, Tom Croftly," said Gil, stepping into the big powder-shed, "and I thank you and your fellows for your good opinion. But take no notice of this. Master Cobbe here does not believe what he said."

"But I do," cried the founder, furiously.

"Tom Croftly," said Gil, quietly, but with a flush in his cheek, "go, and leave me with Master Cobbe here. I want to talk with him."