"What is it?" saith her Father. She faltered for a Moment,—"Not to have him," she replied softly. "_Ned_, thou hast thine Answer," quod Master _Hewet_. "_I_, Sir?" quod I, starting. "Hear'st thou not?" returned he imperturbably, "thou hast it from herself. I told thee I but sought to make my only Child happy,—you can't make her so, it seemeth,—she won't have you." "_Father!_ what _are_ you saying?" cried Mistress _Anne_, trembling exceedingly. He looked at her, but made no Answer. "Were you not," said she, leaning over him breathlessly, her Dress vibrating with the quick beating of her Heart,—"were you not making Question of Lord _Talbot_?" —"Lord _Talbot_? Lord _Marlingspike_!"—quod he, "my Thoughts were as far from him as from the City Giants! Said I not 'this Suitor of thine'? Whom should I think of but _Ned Osborne_?" "You never told me before, that _I_ might," quod she, turning scarlet, and then bursting into Tears. I sprang towards her, but she brake away from me, and was gone in a Moment. Master _Hewet_ leaned back in his Chair and smiled. "Methinks, _Ned_," quod he, "the Day is thine, this Time." And, taking the Ring off his Finger, that he had shown Lord _Howard_ of _Effingham_ on the Bridge, "See," quod he, "how long I have destined her for thee!" —Here 'tis, _Hew_—I always wear it now. Thou mark'st the Posy: "_He that did save, The same shall have_." —Many a goodly Hereditament had I with her, too ... the _Barking_ Estate, and those _Yorkshire_ Lands inclusive. The _Settings_ of my Ring, Lad! no more—the Casket that went with my Treasure—the binding of my Book. So now thou seest how thou mayest wait a little longer for fair Mistress _Joyeuse_, without fuming and chafing, lest this Hurt, got in a good Cause, should lose thee thy Place among thy Rivals. Tut, Lad, 'twill only grace thee in her Eyes all the more! See how Things came round in my Case. I had not half thy good Favour, nor the brightness that a Sword carrieth in a Woman's Eyes. "A plain Man, dwelling in Tents...." Nothing more!