“But I like not the scar, sir,” she said demurely. “Then I swear that thou shalt not wed a scarred face,” Raby answered; and he kissed the embroidered glove that she had left between his fingers, having slipped her hand out of it. “My uncle says a dowerless maid is not soon wedded, sir,” she retorted, with a flash of pride in her brown eyes; “the scarred and battered remnants are for the portionless, I take it.” This sudden outburst took Master Raby by surprise. Unconscious of the wound in the young girl’s heart, he could not understand the bitterness of her tone. But he had a frank and generous nature, and it kindled in quick sympathy for the beautiful orphan. “Mistress Carew,” he said gently, “there are some who need no richer dower than the one which nature gave at birth, and which outshines all others.” Ashamed of her sudden outbreak, she turned away and looked to see her uncle coming toward them. Before he reached them, Raby spoke again. “I know not your uncle’s mind, fair mistress,” he said gravely, “but if this man Henge in aught offend you, I pray you remember that one sword is ever at your service, and one arm ever ready to defend your cause.” The young girl looked up at the fine, frank face and kindling eyes, and her heart throbbed in her breast. “I thank you,” she faltered, and the flush on his face shone in hers like the rising sun; “sir, I thank you with all my heart, and I am your debtor.” “Nay,” he answered softly, “I shall be yours, and you let me serve you.” And Sir William, coming up, found them blushing like two children, and smiled to himself, wondering not a little how this tangled skein would unravel. But he made no sign, only carrying Mistress Betty away to install her in her new post before he went on to his home in Devon, where there was need of his presence at all times.