"All right, captain!" said the workman. "Bah!" he added to himself, "if he be'd the lad I thought him, he'd make no more ado but upset the whole of this London trade, and carry young mistress off. I would."

"Now, Gil Carr," cried the founder, as soon as they were alone. "We've done our business. You've delivered all your cargo that I want, and you've been paid your money. Wouldn't it have been more decent if you had kept away?"

"Perhaps so, Master Cobbe; but there are times when a man feels that he must speak. But, first of all, why do you rake up that wretched story about Abel Churr?"

"Because I believe it," cried the founder, angrily.

"Nay, you do not. You know I am innocent, or I should not dare to come to you now, and ask you by all you hold dear to give up this wretched business."

"What wretched business?" cried the founder.

"I mean this proposed marriage. Listen to me, Master Cobbe. You have known me from a boy. I have been wayward and rough, perhaps, but fairly honest, for my love for Mace has kept me a better man than I should have been."

"What does all this mean, Gil Carr?"

"It means, sir, that I make my last appeal to you before it is too late.

I love Mace dearly. Give up this wedding and wait a year--two years-- any time you will, till you are satisfied I am innocent of the death of Abel Churr, and then give me your consent. Don't condemn us both to a life of wretchedness and pain."

Gil had made his appeal at the wrong time. No matter when he had come, he would have met with a stern refusal; but now, when the founder was irritated beyond measure to find the echo of his own feelings in the breast of his very workmen, who, with true British sturdiness, refused to a man to take part in what they looked upon as the selling of his child, he was unable to contain himself, and the pent-up anger came pouring forth.

"Go!" he cried, white with rage, as he pointed to the entry. "Go, ere I'm mad enough to strike. Thou hast come now to try and breed fresh dissension--to try and raise my poor, foolish child in rebellion against me. I am not a man of blood, but, look you, your presence near my house from now till when this wedding has taken place will be the signal for my people, or those of Sir Mark, to use force."

"But you will not let the wedding take place, Master Cobbe? For all our sakes, pause in time."

"In time!" cried the founder; "what do you mean? There, no more."

As he spoke he turned and hurried out of the powder-shed, and past two or three more, to enter at last one of the stone buildings, where the casting was carried on; but Gil stuck to his heels, following him closely without noticing Sir Mark, who, on catching sight of him, raised a finger as a signal to one of his men.

"You will not sell poor Mace like this," cried Gil, as the founder turned upon him as if at bay. "Master Cobbe, for both our sakes, pause while there is yet time."

"Out upon thee, Gil Carr; thou maddenest me!" cried the founder. "Yet time? What do you mean by speaking to me like this? Am I not my own master?"

"Yes," replied Gil, humbly; "and this is why I appeal."

"Why you rebel against me, you should say," cried the founder, passionately. "What am I to understand that you mean by 'yet time'?"

"I mean before it is too late," said Gil, speaking humbly and imploringly as he forced himself into making this last appeal, before venturing on an act that was repugnant to him, and which on calmer consideration he would have avoided for Mace's sake.

"Gil Carr!" cried the founder, furiously, "go thy way, and let me go mine. I will not be dictated to by the man who has come like a blight upon my threshold. Like a treacherous adder, thou hast stung the hand that warmed thee back to life. Coward--villain--thou could'st do nothing better than set thy snares to trap my weak child. Now go, or--"

He raised his hand and dropped it again.

"For heaven's sake, listen to me!" cried Gil, excitedly. "Master Cobbe, I would be an honourable gentleman for my father's sake, to thee and thine, but you drive me to despair."

In his eagerness he caught the founder by the arm, but the latter turned upon him furiously, mad as he was with rage against himself as much as with the suppliant, whom he struck heavily across the face, and then strode away.

Gil staggered back as much from surprise as from the weight of the blow, and the blood in a hot flush of passion suffused his face.

"For thy sake, darling," he said, calming down, "for thy sake. There, Master Cobbe, I have done my duty as a man; if blood be shed in what follows, I wash my hands of it; for 'fore God I swear, that if I fail in one way, I'd kill my darling at the altar before she should become that fellow's wife."

"Captain--quick--this way, Captain!" cried a voice in a hasty whisper.

"What is it, Croftly?"

"This way, skipper. Here in at this furnace-mouth; it is open behind.

Follow me."

"What for, man?" cried Gil, sternly, as he saw the grimy face of Croftly at the opening to one of the great brick smelting-furnaces now void and cold.

"Sir Mark, with a dozen men be surrounding the place."

Gil's hand flew to his sword, but he let it fall.

"Nay," he said, "we must have the wisdom of the serpent here. We'll try that first, and if it fails--the sword."

Entering the furnace, then, Croftly helped him into a black passage beyond, which let them pass between two vast stacks of charcoal to the rough track into the forest, which Gil reached unseen, while Sir Mark, with a dozen men, searched the powder-sheds and furnaces in vain.

Volume 2, Chapter XIX.

HOW MOTHER GOODHUGH WENT TO WORK.

"Thou wicked old hag," cried Anne Beckley, angrily, as she stood in Mother Goodhugh's cottage. "Here have I, against my better sense, trusted to thee, and laid bare the secrets of my heart, and for what?"

Mother Goodhugh smiled maliciously. "To make thee rich with gold pieces while thou hast done naught but mock at me and laugh."

"Nay, sweet Mistress," said the old woman, "I smiled not at thee. I thought of what had passed."

"And what had passed?"

"Thou hast not known thine own heart, and one day it has been set on Captain Culverin, and another day on the gay young knight of London."

Anne gave her foot an impatient stamp.

"What is that to thee?"

"Naught, sweet Mistress, with the beautiful eyes and lips. Ah, would I were a man and young," said the wily old flatterer. "But it be much to spells. The spirits will not be mocked at. Thou comest to me and sayest, 'Mix me powerful philtres that shall win Sir Mark's love', and, when thou dost administer it according to the form I gave, thy thoughts be all the while on Culverin Carr. How canst blame me if they do not act!"

Anne stamped on the floor again.

"I don't care," she cried. "What did you promise me? Was it not that I could win the love of either."

"Ay," said Mother Goodhugh; "and I worked hard; but Mistress Mace Cobbe worked hard too, and had better luck."

"Don't mention her wretched name."

"But I must, sweet child. How her beautiful eyes fire up and sparkle!"

she said, as if to herself. "She be a white witch, and weaves powerful spells with her father's wealth. For his money helps her to buy costly things my pittance will not touch."

"I have given thee crowns and pounds," cried Anne.