"Perhaps so, Master Cobbe; but there are times when a man feels that he must speak. But, first of all, why do you rake up that wretched story about Abel Churr?" "Because I believe it," cried the founder, angrily. "Nay, you do not. You know I am innocent, or I should not dare to come to you now, and ask you by all you hold dear to give up this wretched business." "What wretched business?" cried the founder. "I mean this proposed marriage. Listen to me, Master Cobbe. You have known me from a boy. I have been wayward and rough, perhaps, but fairly honest, for my love for Mace has kept me a better man than I should have been." "What does all this mean, Gil Carr?" "It means, sir, that I make my last appeal to you before it is too late. I love Mace dearly. Give up this wedding and wait a year--two years-- any time you will, till you are satisfied I am innocent of the death of Abel Churr, and then give me your consent. Don't condemn us both to a life of wretchedness and pain." Gil had made his appeal at the wrong time. No matter when he had come, he would have met with a stern refusal; but now, when the founder was irritated beyond measure to find the echo of his own feelings in the breast of his very workmen, who, with true British sturdiness, refused to a man to take part in what they looked upon as the selling of his child, he was unable to contain himself, and the pent-up anger came pouring forth. "Go!" he cried, white with rage, as he pointed to the entry. "Go, ere I'm mad enough to strike. Thou hast come now to try and breed fresh dissension--to try and raise my poor, foolish child in rebellion against me. I am not a man of blood, but, look you, your presence near my house from now till when this wedding has taken place will be the signal for my people, or those of Sir Mark, to use force." "But you will not let the wedding take place, Master Cobbe? For all our sakes, pause in time." "In time!" cried the founder; "what do you mean? There, no more." As he spoke he turned and hurried out of the powder-shed, and past two or three more, to enter at last one of the stone buildings, where the casting was carried on; but Gil stuck to his heels, following him closely without noticing Sir Mark, who, on catching sight of him, raised a finger as a signal to one of his men. "You will not sell poor Mace like this," cried Gil, as the founder turned upon him as if at bay. "Master Cobbe, for both our sakes, pause while there is yet time." "Out upon thee, Gil Carr; thou maddenest me!" cried the founder. "Yet time? What do you mean by speaking to me like this? Am I not my own master?" "Yes," replied Gil, humbly; "and this is why I appeal." "Why you rebel against me, you should say," cried the founder, passionately. "What am I to understand that you mean by `yet time'?"