"Young master," said Martin, "the bitters that are brewed from your barley will need no adulterating behind the bar, and that's flat." The maltster leaned on his spade to reply. "There are no waters in all the world," said he, "plentiful enough to adulterate the bitterness of my despair." "Then I would preserve these rivers for better sport," said Martin. "And if memory plays me no tricks, your name was once Robin Rue." "And Rue it will be to my last hour," said Robin, "for a man can no more escape from his name than from his nature." "Men," observed Martin, "have been in this respect worse served than women. And when will Gillian Gillman change her name?" "No sooner than I," sighed Robin Rue; "a maid she must die, as I a bachelor. And if she do not outlive me, we shall both be buried before Christmas." "Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Martin. And stepping into the malthouse he offered Robin six keys. "How will these help us?" said Robin Rue. "They are the keys of your lady's Well-House," said Martin Pippin, "and how I have outpaced her I cannot imagine, for she was on the road to you twenty hours ago." "This is no news," said Robin. "There she is." And he turned his face to the dark of the malthouse, and there, sitting on a barrel, with a slice of the sunset falling through a slit on her corn-colored hair, was Gillian. "In love's name," cried Martin Pippin, putting his hands to his head, "what more do you want?" "A husband worthy of her," moaned Robin Rue, "and how can I suppose that I am he? Oh, that I were only good enough for her! oh, that she could be happily mated, as after all her sorrows she deserves to be!" Then Martin looked down at the patch on his shoe saying, "And tell me now, if you knew Gillian happily wed, would you ask nothing more of life?" "Oh, sir," cried Robin Rue, "if I knew any man who could give her all I cannot, I would contrive at least to live long enough to drown my sorrows in the beer brewed from this barley." "It is a solace," said Martin, "that must be denied to no man. It seems that I must help you out to the last. And if you will take one glance out of doors, you will see that the working-day is over." Robin Rue looked out of doors, saw by the sun that it was so, put down his spade, and went home to supper. "Gillian," said Martin Pippin, "the Squire did not come himself to fetch her away because he was a young fool. There was no eighth floret on the grass-blade, so the rime stayed at the seventh. The letter I threw with the Lady-peel was a G. There are apples all round your silver ring because it was once my ring. I do, you dear, I do, I do. And now I have answered your many questions, answer me one. Why did you sit six months in the Well-House weeping for love?"