And she thought, for a farmer, he seemed very gentle; he also thought she was very superior, for a servant; and, as he was his own master, he had a right to think as he liked. Truth to tell, I think she was beginning to feel kindly towards the gentle farmer. “So thou art not afraid of me, Martha?” “Oh no,” she said again; still, nevertheless wishing Nancy to return. “I promise thee, Martha, I will be a kind master--a better master thou shalt not wish for.” “And I promise thee, master, I shall be a bad servant--a worse servant thou wilt never wish to be rid of. The honest truth and the plain truth is, I’m only fit for laughing.” “Well, if thou canst only laugh--i’faith, laugh. Thou doest that bravely. I’ll not part with thee, Martha. I’d rather die than part with thee, Martha!” “Sir,” said the new servant, in faint surprise. ’Twas a love-at-first-sight declaration, she knew. “And can you sing, Martha, as well as laugh? Sing now, sing about this rose,” here he took the little blossom from her bosom. “Give me the rose.” “Nay, thou wilt let me keep it.” “Give me the rose, I say.” “But--but.” “Nay, master, if you _will_ keep it, keep it.” And--she sang. The Lady Henrietta was beginning to enjoy the comedy. There was a deal of unlooked-for happiness about it, somehow. It was at the end of this song, the honest chronicler states, that Lionel went down on his knees before the _new_ servant, and in plain straightforward terms told her he loved her. This may appear a highly rapid mode of courtship, but reference to middle age authorities--and the authorities of Elizabeth may surely be called middle aged--will thoroughly set at rest this question in the mind of any sceptical reader, if I have to deplore such a one. I do not know the authorities by name, but that has nothing whatever to do with it. The lady smiling a little as the impromptu lover tore away all question of inferiority of rank on her part; this latter, as see the authorities again, was for suicide and sudden death, but the perky Nancy coming into the room, followed by Plunket, the young farmer Lionel only got up off his knees. The new servant, Nancy, it seemed, had drawn a mug of beer, but forgotten to turn the tap off, hence flight on her part and pursuit on the part of farmer Plunket, who, chasing his prey up into a sharp corner, caught a crashing box on her saucy ears. Then it was that the village clock struck such a late hour as farmers should never hear, except on the nights of fairs. So the candles were lit, and the new servants respectfully lighted their young masters to the door. Then left alone, the two girls looked at each other in the blankest manner possible. Beyond a doubt the whole castle was in an uproar; everybody hunting for her, (Nancy said, “hunting for us,”) and how should she explain her absence to the scandal-mongers? “Well,” said Nancy, “they seem brave lads and honest.” “And respectful.” “Hum--good rough kind of souls, my lady.”