"Read my book, Master Cobbe, read my book," said his Majesty; and Jeremiah Cobbe had to bow himself out with the stout parson, who was perspiring with anger. "I'm a loyal and I hope religious man, Master Cobbe," said the latter excitedly; "I fear God and I honour the King; but all the same, Master Cobbe, I vow and declare that his Majesty is the damnedest fool I ever saw, and may the Lord forgive me for swearing." "Yes," said the founder, sadly. "Well, old friend, we have done all we can, so let us stay away till they have wreaked their silly vengeance on that poor, mad soul." "No, no, thank God!" said Master Peasegood, "they can only wreak it on her body, my friend, and as to staying here--nay, that must not be. I have no love for the weak old creature, who spent her time in mummery and silly cursing, but my place is by her side to ask forgiveness with her and a painless passage to the mercy-seat." "Ay, parson, thou art right, and I'll join thee in thy prayer, for there should be mercy for one who men declare shall have her hellish flames before she dies." "I don't quite like that speech, Master Cobbe, but you mean quite right. Now, good friend, take me to some hostel and give me ale, or I shall faint here by the way. Nay, I'll not. It is choler. I'll be blooded instead, a good nine ounces, or I shall have a fit." They were stout, strong posts that were set up outside the Moat gates to bear the arch of evergreens and flowers, but it was a stronger one in front of the cottage where Mother Goodhugh had spent her days, and, while men piled last year's faggots and heaped up charcoal taken from the founder's dogwood stacks, others cut down branches of yew and holly and gathered bundles of heather and golden gorse, and the preparations for the wedding feast went on. "Ah, parson," cried Sir Mark, from the back of one of Sir Thomas's stout cobs, as he rode along beside fair Mistress Anne, who was mounted on a handsome jennet, "I have not seen thee for days. Art ready to tie our nuptial knot?" "No, Sir Mark," said Master Peasegood, sternly. "I am going to pray beside the dying and the dead." "What does he mean--the insolent fool?" cried Sir Mark, angrily. "Truth, love, I cannot tell," said Mistress Anne; but in her heart of hearts she felt a sickening sensation, and would have given anything that the execution or the coming wedding were to take place elsewhere. "As he will, sweetest," said Sir Mark, tenderly, and they rode on, receiving salutations from all they passed; "there are plenty of priests who will be glad to make us one; and only think, love--only two days now."