"Down at the furnace-house, seeing to its being new-roofed, sir," replied the girl. "And thy--" Gil stopped with beating heart, for he dared not for the moment ask the question--one that he felt he could himself answer. "One word though," he cried, "Mistress Janet. I have something to say about that pretty face of thine." "Oh, Captain Carr," said the girl, blushing. "You must not talk to me like that. What would my mistress say?" "That I was doing right, child. Harkye, you must not be showing that pretty face and those bright eyes to men who cannot become thy sweethearts." The girl's heart beat fast, and she looked up and looked down, began to plait her apron, dropped Mace's kerchief, snatched it up, hid it behind her; then turning her head, with the pleasant flush of surprise deepening upon her neck. "Why, Janet," said Gil, laughing, "you look as modest as if you were being courted." "Oh, Captain Carr," she simpered, "you must not talk to me like that;" and the weak girl fell a-trembling, telling herself that now her mistress had taken to go a-walking with the handsome young knight staying at the house, Captain Culverin, the bold, handsome fellow, of whom every maiden far and near had spoken as a hero, had fallen in love with her. "Not talk to thee, child," said Gil, laughing. "Look here, Janet, I must be plain with thee." He looked at her in an amused way for a moment, and then, catching one of her hands, he took her chin between his finger and thumb, and raised her face so that he could gaze straight into her humid eyes. The tears stood beneath the lids, and in another moment she would have cast herself upon the captain's breast had not a word or two more dispelled her illusion. "I've known thee, Janet, since thou wert a little toddler, to whom I gave sugar from the Western Isles; and for thy mistress's sake, Janet, would not have harm befall thee. Look you here, child, Master Wat Kilby hangs about here to gratify his old eyes by casting them upon thy pretty shape and face. Now, Janet, have you ever given him encouragement?" "As if it was likely!" cried the girl, snatching herself away, and her whole aspect undergoing a transformation. "A girt, old, ugly man like that; I'd pook him if he dared touch me. Such trade as that!" and she was flinging herself out of the hall when Gil checked her by saying, sternly-- "Stop, girl! I am glad of it, for Wat Kilby is no mate for thee. Where is thy mistress?" "Where should she be?" cried the girl, spitefully, and with flashing eyes she went on: "Out in the forest reading love-songs to Sir Mark, same as she now does every day." She ran off to hide her tears, but not before she had seen how cruel a stab she had given her mistress's lover; and then, seeking her own chamber, she cried for long enough over her disappointment, and as much for sympathy for the brave young fellow whom she had, as she well knew, cut to the quick.