As for Sir George, he sat and studied, and wondered at her.
Never in his life had he met such a woman as this, who was as candid with him as if he had been a woman. She seemed to have a window in her bosom, through which he looked, and saw the pure and lovely soul within.
In the afternoon they reached a little town, whence a cart conveyed them to the "Packhorse."
Here Mercy Vint disappeared, and busied herself with Sir George's comforts.
He sat by himself in the parlor, and missed his gentle companion.
In the morning Mercy thought of course he would go.
But instead of that, he stayed, and followed her about, and began to court her downright.
But the warmer he got, the cooler she. And at last she said, mighty drily, "This is a very dull place for the likes of you."
"'Tis the sweetest place in England," said he; "at least to me; for it contains—the woman I love."
Mercy drew back, and colored rosy red. "I hope not," said she.