"That he did not," she replied, still gazing abstractedly at the fire, "but simply said that if thou camest to England he would give thee service which would keep thee and me near to each other. And," continued she, suddenly turning toward him and taking both his hands in hers, "thou wilt not leave me again for so long a time; I have been sore lonely and oft have felt the need of thy sturdy arm on which to lean." "That I will not, my pretty dear," said Fawkes, drawing her closely to him; "and thou didst really miss me, whom some do illy term a pock-marked ruffian?" "Indeed, thou art no ruffian!" Elinor cried, her eyes ablaze in a moment; "and if any one so dared to call thee, I'd----" "Well, well!" the father exclaimed, evidently surprised and looking into the flushed face, "my sweet rose hath thorns as well as blushing leaves, and would, I dare swear, strike a good blow for her sire's name. By good Sir Cupid, but I do pity the one who doth try to balk thy temper, little woman." "And soon will come a time when thou wilt have a brave gentleman to pity," broke in a mumbling voice which made the two start and turn. The figure of an old woman, bent by age, with face resembling an ill-fitting parchment mask placed upon a skull, advanced toward them. "By the blessed dead, mother!" said Fawkes, arising, "thou didst turn my blood with thy prophetic voice; but hast thou not a blessing for thy son?" "That I have, good Guido, and most glad am I to see thee back! I gave thee a rude greeting from the window, for my eyes and ears have failed of late, but I am not so blind that I cannot see two brave gentlemen tied to my lady's girdle there," she cried, with a wheezy laugh, pointing her trembling hand at the girl who stood with an arm drawn through her father's. "What is this tale?" said Fawkes, with feigned sternness, turning toward his daughter; "hath thy pretty ways been breaking hearts already?" Then, as he observed the blushing face and downcast eyes:--"There, there, my darling; all in good time. When thy heart doth open of its own accord, thy father's ear will ever be a willing listener. By Venus," he continued in a voice full of admiration, as he gazed upon her fair figure, "I could not marvel or condemn if thou hadst fifty gallants at thy little heels, and would but admire the rogues the more for their excellent taste in beauty. But," he added, evidently wishing to turn the conversation on noting her embarrassment, "I have not broken bread for nigh onto fifteen hours; after I have taken food I will listen to thy pretty tale, and tell thee many a one such as thou once wert fond of. Dost remember how thou didst, long ago, climb upon my knee, and tugging with thy baby hands at my shaggy beard, beg for a story ere thy bedtime came?" "That I do," exclaimed the girl, all her embarrassment gone; "but first I will set before thee what our larder affords."