If some unkind friend had told her that her father's money and estates had anything to do with the match, she would have rejected the suggestion with scorn, and then gone to her mirror, to examine the sit of her ruffle, to give a slight touch to her painted cheeks, and perhaps add another ornamental patch to her chin.

Sir Mark was in town now, preparing for the bridal, and Anne's heart was joyful within her, as she thought of the coming ceremony. For years she had been dreaming of and hoping for wedlock, and at last she was to be a wife--a lady of title--Dame Anne Leslie, and her eyes sparkled with the pleasure of the thought.

The spot she had chosen for her reverie, though, brought up thoughts that made her sigh. There, close by where she was seated, Gil Carr had held her in his arms; and she sighed as she recalled how fondly she believed that she had loved him. And where was he now?

A year had rolled by since he set sail, and no news of either him or his followers had reached Roehurst since; and as she thought of this the events of that terrible time came crowding back.

"Poor Mace!" she said, softly; "I am sorry I hated you so much; and poor Gil Carr, he was a proper youth. Alack! What change one lives to see!"

She felt half disposed to continue her walk, and go on as far as the Pool-house; but a slight shudder ran through her nerves at the thought.

Somehow the ruins had a repelling influence upon her, and she shrank from going near, feeling that she had been to blame for what had taken place on that terrible night.

"I don't think I'll go," she said softly; and she was about to rise and return, when she became aware that some one was standing close behind her, and, starting up, she found herself face to face with Mother Goodhugh, who had advanced as quietly as a cat.

"Mother Goodhugh!" she cried in a startled voice.

"Yes, my dearie, it be Mother Goodhugh. What can I do for thee, my beauty bird?"

"Nothing, mother," replied Anne sharply. "Nothing, my dearie?" said the old woman laughing. "Nay, surely you want some help of the poor old woman who works to help you. Is it a new lover, my dear?"

"I have told thee I do not want anything, mother," cried Anne peevishly.

"Nay, then, come on to my cottage, where we can talk. Thou has not been to see me for months and months."

"Nay, mother, I'll come no more. Good day, I must get me home."

"Stay, child," cried Mother Goodhugh, clutching at her dress; "I want to talk to thee of him. Come to my place."

"Loose me this instant, mother," cried Mistress Anne, indignantly. "How darest thou lay thy hands on me?"

"Only because we are sisters, dearie."

"Sisters?"

"Ay, dearie; don't we practise the art together. But hist, hist, come to my cottage and let us talk."

"Not a step will I go," cried Anne, angrily.

"Nay, is it so? Ah, she has gotten what she wanted by my help--a brave, fine husband, and now she throws me by."

"Cease thy talk about those childish follies. I am sick of them."

"Ay, child, yes; thou art sick of them now, but when thou wast hungry for thy love nothing was too good for Mother Goodhugh then."

"Out upon thee! Did I not pay thee well for thy silly mummeries?"

"Pay me well?" cried Mother Goodhugh. "Nay; what were a few paltry gold pieces for such a husband as I gained for thee?"

"You gained for me?" cried Anne, contemptuously.

"Ay, to be sure, I gained for thee, mistress; and now thou hast him safe I be thrown aside. Not once hast thou been to me these many months."

"I tell thee I have done with such follies," cried Anne contemptuously.

"I have paid thee, and there the matter ends."

"Oh, nay, mistress, it does not. Thou hast thy lover, and so had poor Mace Cobbe, and the wedding was to be next day; but I prophesied that she should not have the man of thy choice, and what came to pass?"

"Mother Goodhugh," said Anne, turning pale, "if I thought thou had'st anything to do with that misfortune at the Pool thou should'st be handed over to my father for punishment according to thy deserts."

"And would she who helped me be punished too?"

"If thou had'st accomplices, yes."

"Sweet mistress, then we will go to prison, thou and I, together, for we made our plans to stay the wedding of Mace Cobbe."

"It is false; I had nothing to do with thy plans," cried Anne excitedly.

"Had'st thou not better come to my cottage, mistress?" said Mother Goodhugh.

"Nay, I have done with thee and thy ways. I'll come there no more."

"But thou wilt pay me for winning thee a husband."

"Pay thee?" cried Anne contemptuously. "What should I pay thee?"

"A hundred golden pounds, mistress," cried the old woman, whose eyes sparkled at the very mention of so much money.

"A hundred pence," cried Anne. "Go, get you gone, old crone. I'll never part with a piece again for thy follies."

"Have a care, mistress," cried the old woman excitedly, for her anger was getting the better of her reason. "Thou art not Mark Leslie's wife as yet, and some accident might happen to thee, too."

"Mother Goodhugh," cried Anne, "have a care. Thou art a marked woman."

"I will have a care, my dearie, that if I am to suffer, thou shalt suffer too. I can place thee in prison if I am touched, so beware-- beware."

"Vile old hag," cried Anne angrily; "Speak a word against me, and you shall bitterly repent it."

"Rue it, eh! We'll see; we'll see," cried the old woman, shaking her stick after the girl, as she hurried back, uneasy enough in her mind to suffer acutely, for Mother Goodhugh might throw obstacles in the way.

She shuddered at the bare thought of what had happened on the eve of Mace's wedding, but determined to risk all.

"If she speaks, no one will believe her," cried Anne laughing. "She shall be seized for a witch, and she dare not charge me with helping her, for if she did it would only be accusing herself, and that she dare not do. Neither dare I let her be at liberty till I am dear Mark's wife. After this she may do her worst."

Full of this intent--for now that the old woman had obtruded herself once more upon her path, she really feared her--Anne hurried back towards the Moat, feeling anything but secure while Mother Goodhugh was at liberty. Her mind had been too much occupied of late during Sir Mark's long visits to trouble herself about the old woman, and whatever thought she had had of the terrible night at the Pool-house had been gradually allowed to grow dull. The great thing had been that the wedding had been stayed, but, now that she thought the matter over, she felt sure that Mother Goodhugh had been guilty of some desperate deed; and to bring it home to herself--if the old woman would do such a thing for gain, might she not do it for revenge?

Anne shuddered and her brow grew cloudy as she felt that she could not set Mother Goodhugh aside as one that she need not fear. Sir Mark was not yet her husband, and what if some terrible catastrophe were to happen to prevent the wedding.

"I should go mad," she muttered; and she paused to think whether it would be better to try a bribe.