Gil's plans were well matured, and his followers fell into their respective places without confusion. Arriving pretty close to the foundry, he posted them behind the smallest of the furnace-sheds, where the black shadow of night was blacker than in the open; and then, with Wat at his elbow, he made for another shed, where he knew that a short stout ladder was kept.

This was in its place, and Wat was about to shoulder it, when in a low hoarse whisper the old fellow said:--

"You'll let me take her, too, skipper?"

For answer Gil turned angrily.

"Put that ladder down," he whispered; "and go back. Send Morris."

"No, no, skipper," whispered the old fellow hastily. "Let me go."

"Put down the ladder. Go back, and send me a trustworthy man."

"I'm the trust worthiest man you've got, skipper," growled Wat, "only I was obliged to say a word for I feel as I ought to marry the girl now.

You don't know what it is to be in love, skipper, or you would not treat me thus."

"Do you go, or stay?" said Gil.

"Stay," said Wat. "I shan't leave you, skipper, come what may. I've done. Not another word about it will you hear from me."

Wat shouldered the ladder, and together the two men walked towards the water-run, and along it by the stones to the little bridge, which they softly crossed, and entered the garden.

They paused to listen, but all was very still and dark. A more suitable night could not have been chosen for the adventure, and together they made for Mace's window, where a dim light was burning.

The end of the ladder rustled slightly as it was borne amongst the trees, and they again stopped to listen; but all was still, and so intense was the darkness now before moonrise--the moon that was to light the boat down the river to where the ship lay waiting--that they could see neither to the right nor the left, even the thick bushes under the window were in the gloom.

Would she fail him at this important time? Gil's heart asked; but he crushed down the thought. No: she would come, he was sure of it, for she had promised him, and he felt no fear of her wanting in spirit for the enterprise.

"No," he muttered; "she would go through fire and water to escape his touch alone, and she would dare more to be beside me."

There was a thrill of joy at these thoughts, and he gazed anxiously at the window, waiting to see it opened, that he might raise the ladder and help her away.

It must be the hour, he thought, but the next minute he set it down to impatience.

"She will be to her time," he said.

As if warned by an instinct of coming danger, Gil Carr drew his sword, and, resting the point upon the toe of his boot, stood leaning his hands upon the hilt, while Wat placed the foot of the ladder on a flowerbed, and held the two sides, with his rusty-beard upon one of the spokes, thinking of how he wished they were going to carry off Janet, and whether she would have been willing to come.

"She did call me an old fool last time, and slapped my face," he muttered; "but that was only by way of showing how fond she was. Ha! it be terrifying work having to deal with such an arbitrary skipper as ourn."

Gil still gazed at the window, thinking that if he had changed places with Sir Mark, and a dangerous foe had been in the field, a cordon of sentries would have been placed round the house for his love's protection; whilst Sir Mark was evidently sleeping luxuriously, and dreaming, perhaps, of possessing his fair young bride. "Poor, befooled idiot!" said Gil to himself; "I do not envy him his morrow's waking.

Why, if I--. Pst! Wat, your sword."

His left hand involuntarily flew to the silver whistle that hung at his neck, while his sword was raised readily, and turned aside a pass that grazed his ribs. For in an instant the bushes around them seemed alive with armed men, who rose in obedience to a call, and made for Gil and his old follower.

Wat was as much upon the alert as his leader, but he had not time to draw his sword. Not that it mattered, for the short ladder became a very effective weapon in the emergency. Raising it with both hands above his head, he poised it there for a moment, keeping it well ready, and then, darting it rapidly forward again and again, he drove it into the chests of three or four assailants, sending them crashing down amongst the bushes, as he kept them sufficiently distant to prevent them from reaching him with the points of their swords.

As the first blade gritted against that of Gil's, he placed the whistle to his lips, and its note rang out shrilly on the midnight air, to be answered by the rush of feet over the little wooden bridge as his men came running up; and now there was nothing left but for the defenders of the house to be beaten back, the place itself to be forced, and Mace carried away.

"Swing the bridge!" cried a voice, which Gil recognised as that of Sir Mark. "They're trapped now. Hollo, there! Lights, quick! Surrender, you dogs, in the King's name."

There was a creaking noise as the little bridge was swung round, and Gil felt that, far from being in sleepy indolence and safety, Sir Mark had not only been well on the alert, but had cleverly made his plans according to his own lights to entrap his rival and his followers when they came, attracted, as he felt that they would be, by the bait within the founder's house.

"Poor fool!" muttered Gil, "if he thinks he can take us here."

For his men came running to his side to group round where he and Wat were standing well at bay.

Volume 3, Chapter IV.

HOW THE POWDER HAD ITS SAY.

Sir Mark had not been alone in his suspicions, for the founder had had a half fancy come into his head that Gil might make some effort to prevent the marriage; and after all he could not help feeling that he would not be sorry if this were done. Now it had come so near he thought more than ever that he was doing wrong in giving his consent, for Mace's distress seemed to be ever on the increase, and he dreaded losing his child.

"But it's too late now," he muttered--"too late. Matters must go on as they are, and it will be a grand and good thing for my little girl to become my lady--Dame Leslie, who will take her place at Court with the finest of them there."

"Do you think our friend Culverin will show himself at the wedding to-morrow?" Sir Mark said.

"I cannot help thinking that he will," said the founder.

"Well, for my part," said Sir Mark, "I have a suspicion that we shall see him sooner--that he will make an effort to carry her off to-night."

"Nay!" cried the founder, flushing, "he would not dare."

"I think he would," said Sir Mark, with a cunning smile. "Why look, man, what easier? He has followers and a vessel. Depend upon it, he will try to get our darling away to his ship."

"If he dared to attempt such an outrage," cried the founder, half rising from his seat; and then, as if changing his mind, he sat back thoughtfully in his chair.

"You would spit him, eh, Master Cobbe? A most worthy proceeding. But, look here, I have made my plans."

"Plans?"

"Yes. I have, as you know, six men here, all well-armed, and to do honour to my wedding a gentleman of His Majesty's household, a friend of mine, will be here this evening, as soon as it is dusk, with eighteen fighting-men beside. These will come unseen, when I give the signal, and be placed in ambush in the garden. I shall plant two by the open bridge, and, if our friend comes, he and his men will walk into a trap, for the moment they are over, the bridge will be closed, and thus, you see, my dear father-in-law elect, I shall rid myself of an awkward rival, and his Majesty of a band of buccaneers.

"But there will be bloodshed, and on the eve of my child's wedding."

"Pish!" cried Sir Mark. "Have no fear of that. Once the rats are in the trap, and they will shriek for mercy, as such ruffians and bullies always do. My dear father-in-law, you shall have the pleasure of seeing the whole band tied two and two, and marched off, when the district will be cleared."

"And my business ruined," said the founder.

"Trust me for that, old man," said Sir Mark, smiling. "You shall make culverins and howitzers for his Majesty's troops to your heart's content, so have no fear. Powder shall you manufacture, too, but we will not talk of that. Did his Majesty know that powder was stored upon your place, ay, ever so little, he would never be your friend. But how do you like my plans?"

"Not well," said the founder, gloomily. "I liked Gil. You rob him of the woman he meant to be his wife. Why take his liberty as well?"

"Master Cobbe, this is wretched drivel," cried Sir Mark, laying his hand upon his shoulder. "What am I to think of it?"

"What you will," said the founder, sullenly; "I like not my part at all."

"And you will betray my plans?" said Sir Mark, angrily.