All this made the good woman uneasy. Her husband was away, for the dread of sweating sickness had driven the Court from London, and she could only take counsel with Tibble Steelman. It was Hallowmas Eve, and Giles had been the bearer of an urgent invitation from Dennet to her friend Aldonza to come and join the diversions of the evening. There was a large number of young folk in the hall—Jasper Hope among them—mostly contemporaries of Dennet, and almost children, all keen upon the sports of the evening, namely, a sort of indoor quintain, where the revolving beam was decorated with a lighted candle at one end, and at the other an apple to be caught at by the players with their mouths, their hands being tied behind them. Under all the uproarious merriment that each attempt occasioned, Tibble was about to steal off to his own chamber and his beloved books, when, as he backed out of the group of spectators, he was arrested by Mistress Randall, who had made her way into the rear of the party at the same time. “Can I have a word with you, privily, Master Steelman?” she asked. Unwillingly he muttered, “Yea, so please you;” and they retreated to a window at the dark end of the hall, where Perronel began—“The alderman’s daughter is contracted to young Giles, her kinsman, is she not?” “Not as yet in form, but by the will of the parents,” returned Tibble, impatiently, as he thought of the half-hour’s reading which he was sacrificing to woman’s gossip. “An it be so,” returned Perronel, “I would fain—were I Master Headley—that he spent not so many nights in gazing at mine Alice.” “Forbid him the house, good dame.” “Easier spoken than done,” returned Perronel. “Moreover, ’tis better to let the matter, such as it is, be open in my sight than to teach them to run after one another stealthily, whereby worse might ensue.” “Have they spoken then to one another?” asked Tibble, beginning to take alarm. “I trow not. I deem they know not yet what draweth them together.” “Pish, they are mere babes!” quoth Tib, hoping he might cast it off his mind. “Look!” said Perronel; and as they stood on the somewhat elevated floor of the bay window, they could look over the heads of the other spectators to the seats where the young girls sat. Aldonza’s beautiful and peculiar contour of head and face rose among the round chubby English faces like a jessamine among daisies, and at that moment she was undertaking, with an exquisite smile, the care of the gown that Giles laid at her feet, ere making his venture. “There!” said Perronel. “Mark that look on her face! I never see it save for that same youngster. The children are simple and guileless thus far, it may be. I dare be sworn that she is, but they wot not where they will be led on.” “You are right, dame; you know best, no doubt,” said Tib, in helpless perplexity. “I wot nothing of such gear. What would you do?”