The coast would be clear then. Richard had met Sue in the park: no doubt he would hold her a few moments in conversation. The schemer cared not what the two young people would or would not say to one another; all that interested him now was the fact that Richard was not at the cottage, and that, therefore, it would be safe to run back and fetch the tinder-box.
All this was a part of Fate's mischievous prank. Sir Marmaduke was not afraid of meeting the old Quakeress, nor yet the surly smith; Richard being out of the way, he had no misgivings in his mind when he retraced his steps towards the cottage.
It was close on eight o'clock then, in fact the tiny bell in Acol church struck the hour even as Sir Marmaduke lifted the latch of the little garden gate.
The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual with her dusting-cloth. Without heeding her, Sir Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushing the crockery, which now littered it, aside, he searched for his tinder-box.
It was not there. With an impatient oath, he turned to Mistress Martha, and roughly demanded if she had seen it.
"Eh? . . . What?" she queried, shuffling a little nearer to him, "I am somewhat hard of hearing . . . as thou knowest. . . ."
"Have you seen my tinder-box?" he repeated with ever-growing irritation.
"Ah, yea, the fog!" she said blandly, "'tis damp too, of a truth, and . . ."
"Hold your confounded tongue!" he shouted wrathfully, "and try and hear me. My tinder-box. . . ."
"Thy what? I am a bit . . ."