The next night he was sitting alone again, indulging in his evening pipe. "Poor little darling, it would bring some tears in her eyes if I did consent, and give her to him as his wife. _Give_; yes, give! I would not sell her; but, after all, what a position for her! I think I should like it; and, after all, I am but mortal. Why should I not wear velvet and a gold chain, and strut about as Sir Jeremiah Cobbe, Master of the King's Ordnance?" He refilled his glass and pipe and smiled to himself, for the stones were getting very loose, and the walls of the outworks were tottering to their fall. "My darling, too, my lady--Dame Mace Leslie. Hang the honours for myself! I'd give something, though, to see my little maiden in her gay stomacher and fardingale, with jewel-studded coif, and lace ruff, go rustling into court, all abloom with her youth and beauty, the envy of everybody in the place." He sat and smoked as he pictured the scene. "God bless her!" he cried; "there wouldn't be one there who was her equal. My word, how they'd all gird as they feasted their eyes on the daughter of Jeremiah Cobbe! "Pah! What idiots my old people were! Jeremiah! What a name for a stout-hearted Englishman! I think we did better in calling our darling Mace. I don't know, though," he muttered; "it don't seem to go well with _Dame_. "Humph! I wonder what her poor mother would say, whether she would hold out as I have done." He sat on thinking till long past midnight, with the sapping and mining of Sir. Mark insidiously doing its work, though the founder heeded it not. "Curse the money," he said; "I care not a jot for that, but am I doing right in standing like this in my darling's light? Suppose I said yea to Sir Mark's proposal, and let him become her suitor? What then?" He sat and smoked out his pipe to the very ash, and then thought on as he sucked at the empty bowl:-- "Ay, what then?" Jeremiah Cobbe sat there the long night through, and at early dawn only went up to his chamber, where, after a refreshing wash, he sat and thought again before going down, as the workers came from the various cottages to their daily toil. As he stood by one of the windows gazing out he saw his child in the garden culling flowers, and Sir Mark watching her, but he did not follow her, only went away with bent head, and stood leaning over the breech of a gun. The founder stayed thinking again for a little while, and then, drawing a long breath, he crossed the intervening space, clapped the young man on the shoulder, and held out his hand. "Give me your word as a gentleman, Sir Mark, that your suit shall be in all kindliness and love,--that you will use no undue pressure, but wait patiently for my consent,--and--you understand?" "I promise," said Sir Mark, earnestly, as he laid his hand in that of the founder, fighting hard the while to keep down a triumphant look.