In a word, Mary Forest was as happy in her circumstances as any woman at her time of life could expect to be whose title of “Mistress” was only brevet rank. She had subjugated many other male folks beside the butler (the ancient coachman, for example, with the back view of whose broad shoulders and no neck the Lisgard family had been familiar for half a century), but such victories had not at all been owing to her charms. By them, hitherto, Man had been an unconquered animal, and this was the knot in the otherwise smooth surface of Mary's destiny which no amount of planing (within _her_ philosophy) could make even. She had been wooed, of course (what woman of twoscore, according to her own account, has not?), but hitherto the suitors had not been eligible, or her own ideas had been too ambitious. The time had now arrived with her when compromise begins to be expedient, and high expectations abate. Matrimonial opportunities at the Abbey were few and far between. She had not received such marked attention from anybody for months as this stranger, living upon his own means at the _Lisgard Arms_, had paid her that very night in the servants-hall. No wonder, then, that while he sang, she should for once be content to be a listener. O'er the hill and o'er the vale Each king bears a present; Wise men go a child to hail, Monarchs seek a peasant; And a star in front proceeds, Over rocks and rivers leads, Shines with beams incessant. Therefore onward, onward still, Ford the stream, and climb the hill-- Love makes all things pleasant. “There, now, I call that very pretty, my Lady,” exclaimed Mistress Forest, as the last cadence died away; “and a very pretty sentiment at the end--'Love makes all things pleasant;' although, for my part, I know nothing about _that_, thank Heaven, and prefer to be my own mistress--that is, with the exception of your Ladyship, to obey whom is a labour of love. I am sure there are few husbands for whom I would give up such a service as yours, my Lady. I wish Mr What's-his-name--dear me, how stupid of me--ah, Derrick! It's rather a pretty name too; don't you think so, my Lady? I wish this Mr Derrick would sing us another song. He has a very beautiful voice, and I am sure his expression--don't you think so, my Lady? Ahem. No; I hear them moving off. Well, he will be in the choir to-morrow morning, that's sure. Had you not better come to the fire, my---- Ah, great Heaven! Mistress, my dear darling mistress, what is the matter? Let me ring for help!” It was impossible to misunderstand my Lady's “No,” although it was not articulate.