Then her own dauntless spirit asserted itself once more, and she laughed with joyous disbelief. "Nonsense, Ruth,--nothing but nonsense! And don't you be fretting, and making yourself unhappy over something that can never happen." "Moll always speaks truth, they say," the old woman insisted, wiping her wet cheeks with the half-knit stocking. "But we'll see what time will bring to ye, my lamb. Moll is a good woman. She gave me some herbs for my ailment, an' was most kind to me. She stopped all night, an' went on this morning, for her father be dead, an' she have gone to Lynn to 'bide." "Well, I hope she'll stop there forever, before she comes to make you fret again over such silly tales. You must use the herbs, Ruth, and get well, so that you can dance at Jack's wedding. You know he and Mary Broughton will be married near Christmas-tide." Ruth looked fondly at the girl. "I'd much sooner dance at your own, my lamb, if ye married the right man." Dorothy laughed. "Can you tell me where to find him, Ruth,--did Moll tell you where he was?" "Aye, that she did," was the quick reply. "An' she told me much I'd best keep to myself. Only the part I told ye worrited me, an' so I had to open my heart to ye. But I'll tell ye this,--keep all the redcoats away from ye, my lamb; shun 'em as ye would snakes, an' trust only to the true hearts nigh home. There be Master Hugh Knollys--he be most fit for ye." Dorothy laughed again. "Hugh Knollys," she repeated. "Why, Ruth, he is almost like my own brother. You must never speak of such a thing to any one; for if it came to his ears I'd surely die of shame. I marry Hugh Knollys! Why, Ruth, you must be crazy." "Ye might do far worse, my lamb." The old woman did not smile, and her lips narrowed primly, as though she did not relish having the girl make a jest of the matter lying so close to her own heart. "Well, worse or better, I am in no hurry to be married off, Ruth; and so don't you have any such thought of me." And Dorothy shook her curly head threateningly. CHAPTER XX Pashar had not yet appeared, but Dorothy set forth upon her return with no thought of danger or delay. It was now high noon, and the sun making itself felt disagreeably, she pushed back the hood of her red cloak as she entered the wood, the cool wind coming refreshingly about her bared head while she walked slowly along with downcast eyes, musing over this last prophecy of Moll Pitcher. "Aha, Little Red Ridinghood, have you been, or are you going, to see your grandmother?" Dorothy's heart throbbed tumultuously for an instant. Then she felt cold and half sick, as she looked up and saw coming from under the trees the gleam of a scarlet coat, topped by a shapely head and olive face, whose dark-blue eyes were bent laughingly upon her.