"Small doubt he has," derisively interjected the squire. "I make certain that every rebel, seeing the game drawing to a close, is seeking to feather his nest." "Nay, Lambert. 'T is obvious he truly loves our--" "He may, but it shall not help him to her or her acres," again interrupted the father. "The impudence of these Whigs passes belief. I hope ye sent him off with a bee in his breeches, Matilda." "That we did not," denied Mrs. Meredith. "Nor wouldst thou, hadst thee been with us to realise all his goodness to us." "Well, well," grumbled the father, resignedly, "I suppose if the times are such that we must accept favours of the rebels, we must not resent their insults. But 't is bitter to think of our good land come to such a pass that rogues like this Brereton and Bagby should dare obtrude their suits upon us." "Oh, dadda," protested Janice, pleadingly, "'t was truly no insult he intended, but the--the highest--he spoke as if--as if--There was a tender respect in his every word and action, as if I might have been a queen. And I could not--Oh, mommy, please, please, tell it for me!" "'T is best thou shouldst know at once, Lambert, that Janice favours his wooing." "What!" roared the squire, looking incredulously from mother to daughter, and then, as the latter nodded her head, he cried, "I'll not believe it of ye, Jan, however ye may wag your pate. Wed a bondman! Have ye forgot your old pledge to me? Where 's your pride, child, that ye should even let the thought occur to ye?" "But he is well born, dadda, far better than we ourselves, for he told me once that his great-grandfather was King of England," cried the girl, desperately. "And ye believed the tale?" "He would not lie to me, dadda, I am sure." "Why think ye that?" "Oh--he never--loving me, he never--can't you understand? He 'd not deceive me, dadda." "Ye 're the very one he would, ye mean, and small wonder he takes advantage of ye if ye talk as foolishly to him as to me. Have done with all thought of the fellow and of his clankers concerning his birth. Whate'er he was, he is to-day a run-away bondservant and--" "But, dadda, he is now a lieutenant-colonel and--" "Of what? Where 's the honour in being in command of the riff-raff of the land? Dost not know that the most of their officers are made out of tapsters and tinkers and the like? Does it make a tavern idler or a bankrupt the less of either, that a pack of dunghills choose to dub him by another title? Once peace and law are come again, this same scalawag Brereton, or Fownes, or whatever he will then be, must return to my service and fulfil his bond, with a penalty of double time to boot. Proud ye'd be to see your spouse ordered to field or stable work every morning by my overseer!" "'T would grieve me, dadda," replied the girl, gently, "because I know how proud he is, and how it would make him suffer; but 't would not lessen my respect or--or affection for him."