Tom Croftly did not wait for an answer to his prayer, but hurried away in a shamefaced fashion, leaving Mace with her breast heaving and the colour burning in her cheeks. The tears rose to her eyes, and she seemed to awaken once more to the realities of the present, and, as if to complete the disillusioning of her heart, she heard the tramp of a horse, and as she rejoined her father she heard the stout parson say-- "Hey, Master Cobbe, here comes thy gay visitor. I think I'll not stay supper. I'll say good-night. Ah, Mace, my child, you there? Farewell, my darling. Good-night." He rolled off, meeting Sir Mark by the bridge, as the latter caught sight of Mace's dress through the trees, and effectually blocking the knight's way as he tried to be polite, till such time as Mace had reached her room to sit for hours thinking of Sir Mark's return. Then she found herself wondering what Gil was doing, and whether she ought ever to give him a thought now as she recalled the scene which she had witnessed with Mistress Anne. Volume 1, Chapter XVII. HOW GIL AND SIR MARK MEASURED SWORDS. "A courtier," said Sir Mark, smiling, "Well perhaps I am; but see how I have taken to this rustic, delicious life. I have felt like another man since I have been here." "Indeed, Sir Mark," said Mace gravely, as they stood a couple of evenings later in the founder's hayfield, where the stack now stood waiting for its crowning of straw. "Yes, indeed," he cried. "Look here; I have been with your men to-day and yesterday when they piled up this sweet-scented hay, and I am growing quite a farmer. I know that Master Cobbe was rather too hurried in getting it up, and that it reeks too much, and that if it were covered in now it would go bad." "Indeed?" said Mace, and speaking as if her thoughts were far away. "Yes, indeed," he cried; "and I am growing wise in gun-casting and powder-making. I am learning day by day; but above all, sweet Mace, I am learning how vain and hollow is the world to which I have belonged, and how happiness is not to be found there." "You are talking in riddles, Sir Mark," replied Mace, dragging herself back as it were to listen to his words. "Read my riddles, then," he cried, in a low tone, as he laid his hand upon her arm, and arrested her by the meadow-path. "Mace, dearest, listen to me--but for a few moments. No, no; do not hasten--the evening is early yet, and where could be fitter place for what I would say than this sweetly-scented mead, where the soft evening breeze seems to whisper of that which fills my heart? Mace, dearest, I love you with all my heart." "Sir Mark," she said, turning to look half wonderingly, half in anger, in his flushed face, "do you forget that you are my father's guest; that this is no place of gallantry, but that I, his simple, country-born child, am a mere rustic, and unfit for such as you?" "Unfit!" he cried. "Shame, when you are beautiful as the fairest woman of King James's court."