It was a delightful spring, that of 17—, and a softer sky never before smiled upon the village-green of Redwood, upon the 1st of May; and among the merry damsels dancing round the May-pole, no heart was happier, and no step was lighter, than that of Margaret Ellis, who, for the first time, joined in the sports of the day. She was a child of May, and this was the sixteenth anniversary of her birthday. A gay brunette, her sparkling eyes had all the fire and the mirth of the sunny and passionate south, while no lighter or more delicate foot than hers could have been found upon the merry green. A rich bloom mantled on her cheek, her lips were fresh and red, and her regular teeth, displayed as she panted in the dance, were white as unsullied snow. A tight little bodice, and a milk-white frock, set off the charms of her person in the best manner. Then there was an air of gayety and innocence about her which delighted every good-natured observer; and all the villagers allowed that Margaret Ellis deserved the tiara of flowers that crowned her Queen of the May. She blushed at the tokens of good will and approbation, as she placed her hand in that of a young and rustic stranger, who led her off triumphantly at the head of the dancers. The youth was fair-haired, ruddy, athletic, and active; and those who saw them in the dance could not help acknowledging that they were a lovely pair.
There was one who regarded them with eyes of jealous displeasure. This was a man of forty, of a handsome face and figure, but swarthy, dark-haired, and melancholy. He bent over the seat upon which old Farmer Ellis and his dame were seated, and whispered, "Do you know the young man who is dancing with your daughter?"
"Ah! he be a right good young mon, I warrant me," said the dame. "He do come fra the next county. William Evans, he calls himself."
"He calls himself!—umph!" muttered the person who had first spoken. "But what do others call him? Who knows any thing about him? Who can vouch for his character? I would not suffer a daughter of mine to be gadding about, and dancing with a stranger."
"Whoy, for the matter o' that," said Farmer Ellis, "you were nought but a stranger yourself, when you first did come to see us, Maister Pembroke. We didn't know you were the sexton of St. Hubert's. And yet you turned out a right good friend to me, mon; for when ye first knew me, things were deadly cross wi' me. What wi' the rot among my sheep, and the murrain among my cattle, I were all but ruined. Short crops and a hard landlord are bitter bad things. But you were the salvation of me, and I'll work my fingers to the bone, but what you shall have your own again, John Pembroke."
"There is one way in which you can liquidate your debt."
"Name it, Maister Pembroke," said the farmer, eagerly.
"No matter," muttered the sexton, and a hollow sigh escaped his lips. "I had an idea, but it is gone. Touching the stranger, in whom you both repose such confidence. In what manner does he earn his daily bread?"
"Whoy," said the farmer, "in the way that Adam did, mon. He do say he is a gardener."
"A likely tale!" ejaculated the sexton. "Look at his hands. Why, his fingers are delicate and white. Your gardener has horny fingers, and a palm of iron."