Janet it was, who on the spur of the moment had masqueraded as her mistress, gone down the garden, and with throbbing heart thrown herself as she believed in Gil's way. For he suddenly seized her in his arms, and, though she uttered a faint cry and escaped, she took care not to go beyond his vision, but led him a Will-o'-the-Wisp kind of dance from walk to walk, till, thinking she had been sufficiently coy, she stopped short, quite out of breath, and allowed herself to be caught. He who captured her was sharper of eyesight, and, in spite of the cloak and hood, not for a moment deceived. He had made too much use of his eyes by night for them to play him false; and, as once more he caught the girl in his arms, he held her tightly, exclaiming-- "Why, Janet, you pretty little witch, have I caught thee at last?" The girl no sooner felt the rough face of her captor against hers than she struggled vigorously, though in vain. "Why, it be Mas' Wat Kilby," she panted. "Wat Kilby it is, my darling," he replied in an amorous growl. "Who did you think it was?" "Never mind," cried the girl; "loose me, you wicked old bear, or I'll shriek for help. There--quick--there's some one coming." It was so true that Wat Kilby relaxed his grip, all but that upon one of the girl's wrists, and this he held as together they hurried through the garden on tiptoe, Janet, becoming more amiable, whispering her companion to go cautiously "for heaven's sake!" He obeyed her, and together they glided from path to path of the great bosky, tree-shadowed garden, literally hunted from place to place by the founder, until, finding that he had given up the quest, Janet freed herself from the grasp of Wat Kilby and made for the door, quite satisfied with her escapade, and only thinking now of getting safely back. "A horrible old bear!" she muttered; and then her heart sank, for a figure she knew to be that of her master made at her, and she was caught by the wrist. Meanwhile, Wat Kilby, who had followed at a short distance, muttering to himself, and calling Janet "a coy little craft," "a tricksey little caravel," and half-a-dozen more suitable nautical terms expressive of her distant ways and tempting prettiness, suddenly became aware of the danger to his leader. For the founder at the end of a few minutes came out of the house with Sir Mark, and posted himself where he would be certain to encounter Gil as he came away. "And then there might be mischief," growled the old sailor. "If the skipper went down, it would break little beauty's heart; so it would if he pricked her father. This is the second time I've saved him through being here. Wonder whether he'll be ungrateful enough to turn upon me now for doing a bit o' gentle courting on my own account.