"Cease thy talk about those childish follies. I am sick of them." "Ay, child, yes; thou art sick of them now, but when thou wast hungry for thy love nothing was too good for Mother Goodhugh then." "Out upon thee! Did I not pay thee well for thy silly mummeries?" "Pay me well?" cried Mother Goodhugh. "Nay; what were a few paltry gold pieces for such a husband as I gained for thee?" "You gained for me?" cried Anne, contemptuously. "Ay, to be sure, I gained for thee, mistress; and now thou hast him safe I be thrown aside. Not once hast thou been to me these many months." "I tell thee I have done with such follies," cried Anne contemptuously. "I have paid thee, and there the matter ends." "Oh, nay, mistress, it does not. Thou hast thy lover, and so had poor Mace Cobbe, and the wedding was to be next day; but I prophesied that she should not have the man of thy choice, and what came to pass?" "Mother Goodhugh," said Anne, turning pale, "if I thought thou had'st anything to do with that misfortune at the Pool thou should'st be handed over to my father for punishment according to thy deserts." "And would she who helped me be punished too?" "If thou had'st accomplices, yes." "Sweet mistress, then we will go to prison, thou and I, together, for we made our plans to stay the wedding of Mace Cobbe." "It is false; I had nothing to do with thy plans," cried Anne excitedly. "Had'st thou not better come to my cottage, mistress?" said Mother Goodhugh. "Nay, I have done with thee and thy ways. I'll come there no more." "But thou wilt pay me for winning thee a husband." "Pay thee?" cried Anne contemptuously. "What should I pay thee?" "A hundred golden pounds, mistress," cried the old woman, whose eyes sparkled at the very mention of so much money. "A hundred pence," cried Anne. "Go, get you gone, old crone. I'll never part with a piece again for thy follies." "Have a care, mistress," cried the old woman excitedly, for her anger was getting the better of her reason. "Thou art not Mark Leslie's wife as yet, and some accident might happen to thee, too." "Mother Goodhugh," cried Anne, "have a care. Thou art a marked woman." "I will have a care, my dearie, that if I am to suffer, thou shalt suffer too. I can place thee in prison if I am touched, so beware-- beware." "Vile old hag," cried Anne angrily; "Speak a word against me, and you shall bitterly repent it." "Rue it, eh! We'll see; we'll see," cried the old woman, shaking her stick after the girl, as she hurried back, uneasy enough in her mind to suffer acutely, for Mother Goodhugh might throw obstacles in the way. She shuddered at the bare thought of what had happened on the eve of Mace's wedding, but determined to risk all.