“Well?” “We should sorely miss her pretty face.” “Better lose her than have her ruined, Grimshaw.” “The words of a prophet, sir.” “We could take her at Rodenham. Old Mrs. Barbara, my butler’s wife, could give her a good home.” Had Richard Jeffray seemed less innocent a youth, Isaac might have winked at him, and grown gay over so disinterested a proposal. Old Grimshaw was a fair connoisseur of rogues, and his instincts told him that Jeffray was not of the intriguing order. Therefore he made Richard a very humble and grateful speech, and declared he would keep such a benefactor’s advice in mind. “Deuce take me,” he thought, “here is an honest simpleton. Why, the lad needs no more bribing to be generous than a drunken Paddy. He’ll grow fat on sentiment, without a morsel of real kissing to put him into a good temper.” Jeffray discovered himself served royally in Ursula Grimshaw’s cottage that night. Isaac had sent a chicken, his best cutlery, and silver forks and a flask of wine, bidding his sister serve up a supper fit for a city alderman. There was red wine, white meat, nutty bread, savory herbs, custard and sugared fruits. Bess tricked out in her best green gown, with a white lawn apron, red stockings and shoes, and a silver chain set with amethysts about her throat, waited on the master of Rodenham as though to serve him were her whole heart’s desire. She drank wine with Richard, showed her white teeth, courtesied and blushed when he thanked her and old Ursula for their courtesies. She smoothed his pillow, talked to him in her quaint, bold way, and altogether reconciled Richard to his lodging for the night. Solomon Grimshaw, Isaac’s brother, had ridden over on his pony to Rodenham to ease the Lady Letitia of any anxiety on her nephew’s account. Bess had brought Jeffray a quill, inkhorn, and paper, and stood by the bed watching the man’s clever hand at work. He was a being full of strangeness and mystery to this forest elf, who had learned to look on men of coarser fibre. There was a frank yet courtly simplicity about Jeffray that charmed all women and made them trust him. The world-wise among them might think him a fool, and such folly women easily forgive. Thus it befell that Bess of the Woods and Richard Jeffray stepped for the first time into that subtle maze of circumstance whose weavings spell out the passionate strangeness of tragedy. Had not Isaac counselled Dame Ursula to bewitch Squire Jeffray into as noble a temper as statecraft would permit? And what more pleasant to the eyes of youth than the unfolding beauty of a buxom girl? About bedtime old Ursula clattered in the kitchen, coughed, and stamped up the wooden stairs. She would sleep with Bess that night, since the young squire had her bed. Bess, unaffected as could be, bent over Richard to smooth his pillow. She looked at him a moment with a queer light in her eyes, and then—stooping, kissed his lips.