Hand clasped hand, and, as if moved by the same influence, the two parties to the unholy bargain glanced towards the house, at whose door stood Mace, gazing at them with labouring, unquiet breast, for a greater trouble than that of her father's warlike weapons now assailed her heart. Volume 2, Chapter XIV. HOW SIR MARK PUT ON THE FIRST CHAIN. The founder was full of repentance, and felt that evening that he dared not meet his child's clear, searching gaze. "He's too much for me," he muttered. "He's managed to get over me when I've had more ale than's good for me, and when I've brought out the sherry sack. It's prime stuff, that dry, strong sherry, but it makes a man too easy, and he gives away more than he would when it's not in him. I'll be more careful. I won't take so much; and yet I don't know--it's very pleasant." He had gradually worked himself round to the belief that he was acting for the best, and then came the reaction, and he felt that he had sold his child for the sake of gain. Nothing was said about his promises to Sir Mark, for, though he had gone into the house soon after with the express determination of speaking out frankly and imperatively his intentions, he shrank from the untoward task. "I'll take her down the garden, and have a quiet talk in the morning," he said; and when the morning came he put it off till eve, plunging heart and soul into the busy toil amongst his people, who, like some little colony, looked up to him as their patriarch and the supplier of their daily food. "The lads are pleased enough with this girt job, master," said Tom Croftly, wiping the grime and sweat from his forehead, as they stood by one of the roaring furnaces; and the founder came away smiling, but only for his smile to be chased away as he saw Mother Goodhugh going along the track, to stop and shake her stick in his direction as she seemed to be cursing him. "I never minded her and her curses before," he muttered; "but now they seem to worry me like. I haven't done right--I haven't done right; but I've given my word--I've given my word." He hurriedly made for another work-shed, glancing unquietly at the old woman as she trudged along, turning from time to time to look in his direction. "Curse that old harridan!" he muttered; and then he stood thinking, perhaps for the first time in his life, that now he had, as it were, been unfaithful to his trust, Mother Goodhugh's evil wishes against his house might have some effect. "I don't care," he said; "it's for the best;" but as he said the words the remembrance of Gil Carr rose up before him, as if with reproach. "He should never have had her," he muttered. "It was impossible. The death of that poor fellow, Churr, clings to him, say what one may. He may not have done the deed, but it was by his orders, and he is responsible for the sin."