The lady trembled a little, but she held her place in the doorway. “Gentles,” she said, “I thank ye for the honour ye have done me, but I may not dispose of mine own self. My father is ill at ease, and can see no one; but he bids me tell you that he will meet all who have aught to say to him, under the trysting tree at Bethnal Green, the day after the Midsummer feast.” With these words she retired into her hut, and closed the door. She was seen again no more that day; and on the next the hut stood open, empty, and deserted. CHAPTER XV THE BEGGAR’S DOWRY “‘But first you shall promise and have it well knowne The gold that you drop shall all be your owne;’ With that they replyed, ‘Contented we bee;’ ‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for pretty Bessee.’” _Old Ballad_. THE day after Midsummer had come, and towards the fine elm tree that then adorned the centre of Bethnal Green, three horsemen were wending their way. Each had his steed a good deal loaded: each looked about him anxiously. “By St. Boniface,” said one, “the girl’s father is not there. Saucy little baggage, was she deluding us all?” “Belike he is bringing too long a train of mules with her dowry to make much speed,” quoth the merchant. “He will think it needful to collect all his gear to meet the offers of Master Lambert of Cripple-gate. Ha! Sir Knight, well met! You are going to try your venture!” “I must! So it were not all enchantment,” said the knight, almost breathlessly, gazing round him. “Yet,” he said, almost to himself, “those eyes had a soul and memories that ne’er came out of fairyland!” “Ha!” exclaimed the innkeeper, “there’s old Blind Hal under the tree! I’ll tell him to get out of our way. Hal!” he shouted, “here’s a tester for thee, but thou’st best keep out of the way of the mules.” “What mules, Master Samson?” coolly demanded Hal, who had comfortably established himself under the tree with his back against the trunk. “The mules that the brave burgess is going to bring his daughter’s dowry on. They are cranky brutes, Hal; bad customers for blind men—best let me give thee a hand out of the way.” “But who is this burgess that you talk of?” asked the beggar. “The father of the pilgrim lass that prayed at St. Winifred’s Well,” said Samson. “And was called Queen of the Dew-drops?” “Ay, ay, old fellow! Thou knowest every bird that flies! She is to be my wife, I tell thee, and a right warm corner shall she keep for thee at the Black Bull, for thou canst make sport for the guests right well.” “I hope she will keep a warm corner for me,” said the beggar; “for no man will treat for her marriage save myself.” “Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult us?” cried the merchant. “None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me here if you purposed still to seek my child in marriage.” “Thy child?” cried all three, vehemently.