Anne Beckley rode on in silence for some time, thinking. Her betrothed laughed and chatted gaily, and truly they were a handsome pair; but the girl's heart was ill at ease, and at last, being bantered by Sir Mark upon her silence, she leaned towards him in a quiet glade of the forest, and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, offered her lips to his long clinging kiss. "I have a favour to ask, love," she said. "Ask favours from now till night, and thou shalt have them all," he cried. "It is but one," faltered Anne; "our wedding." "I would it were over," cried Sir Mark, eagerly; "but what of it, bright eyes?" "I like not the day," said Anne, checking her horse's pace so that she could cling to her companion. "And why not?" he asked. "I like it not for my sake and thine," she said in a low tone. "Let's hear the reason on thy part," said Sir Mark, laughing. "It is the day they burn that wicked woman; and it troubles me that we should go to church at such a time." "The day of a good deed, love," he said. "Now the other, for my sake." "Have you not thought," she said, pressing closer to him, heedless of the fact that they were watched. "I thought? Yes, that it is the most blessed day in the calendar." "Nay; but have you not thought what day it is?" "Not I. Saint Somebody-or-another's--some Christian martyr's, perhaps; and we'll give him a burnt sacrifice of bad witch to satisfy his manes." "Mark, it is the anniversary of the day that was to have seen you a husband; me a broken-hearted girl." Sir Mark started and changed colour. He was troubled, for it seemed a bad augury that such a day should have been chosen, but he lightly put it aside. "Never mind, love; it was an accident, and can make no difference now. Besides, the matter is settled, and if we picked the days over we should find each the anniversary of some troubled time." Anne Beckley was disappointed, but she made no more objection, and they rode soon after through the avenue and over the bridge, beneath which the great carp gaped and stared with their big round eyes in unconscious imitation of their master, the wise dispenser of King James's justice, and keeper of the peace. Volume 3, Chapter XII. HOW MISTRESS ANNE WATCHED AND FEARED. Early morning, as bright and glowing autumn time as ever shone over the weald of Sussex. The harvest was gathered in; the trees were heavy beneath the red and golden crop of apples, and in hedgerow and plantation the brown and cream-husked nuts peered out in clusters from the leafy stubs.