Sir Thomas glanced nervously at his daughter, whose cheeks were very red, and whose eyes flashed no longer a soft and timid light. "It is the founder's daughter, Sir Mark. Sweet Mace they call her here," and he wiped his forehead and gave his feather-padded breeches another hitch as he caught his daughter's eyes once more. "Sweet Mace!" said the King's messenger, inquiringly. "Mace--nutmeg-- spice!" "Nay, Sir Mark, it was her father's fancy, so they say. Mace or meadow-sweet, it is the same: the creamy-scented blossom that grows beside the Pool." "A forest fairy!" cried the young man, eagerly; "and the man, Sir Thomas?" "Hush, pray, Sir Mark," whispered the baronet; "the water carries sound." "Who is it, sir, I say?" cried the visitor, with an imperious stamp, as the object of his question turned his head. "It's he, himself, Sir Mark," groaned the wretched man, glancing helplessly at the speaker; "the man of whom we spake." "What! Jeremiah Cobbe?" "No; Captain Carr." Volume 1, Chapter III. HOW JEREMIAH COBBE DAMNED HIS MAJESTY KING JAMES THE FIRST. Sir Mark Leslie was too intent upon the scene before him, or he would have seen the face of Mistress Anne undergo a complete change. The soft simpering look of girlish meekness she had assumed had passed away, and, as her gaze lit on Culverin Carr, a light seemed to flash from her eyes--a bright beam of light, which darkened as she glanced at his companion in the boat to an angry glare. If ever face spoke love to one and changed on the instant to jealous hate, it was the countenance of Anne Beckley as she gazed. It all passed away directly, as she listened eagerly to Sir Mark. "Why, she's fishing," he cried. "A fair Diana, huntress of the lake. Mistress Anne, look at her, is she not beautiful?" "Tastes differ, Sir Mark," said the lady, with a smile that hid her annoyance. "I have seen Mace Cobbe so often that I scarcely heed her looks." "But your eyes, mistress, never lit on a bonnier face than that of Sweet Mace." Sir Mark and Mistress Anne started with annoyance, to become aware of the fact that the grizzly old sailor, Kilby, had followed them, and was standing with his back against a tree, his pipe still between his lips. "My good fellow, a little respect would not be out of place when you address a lady," said Sir Mark sharply, as he drew Mistress Anne's arm through his, and once more tried to look the old man down; but failing completely, he turned to gaze at the Pool, forgetting his annoyance in the chase before him.