How Sir Mark visited Dame Beckley’s Garden of Simples.
In the course of the morning a mounted messenger came on to the Pool-house with a despatch for Sir Mark, whose brow clouded as he read that it was a peremptory recall to town.
He handed the despatch to the founder, who read it quietly, and returned it.
“Hah,” he said, “then I am to lose my guest. I hope Sir Mark does not quarrel with my hospitality.”
“Nay, but I do,” said Sir Mark, petulantly. “You deny me the very one thing I ask.”
“And what is that?” said the founder.
“Your daughter’s hand, Master Cobbe.”
“Nay, nay, she’s no mate for thee, my lad, so let that rest.”
“But I cannot,—I will not,” cried Sir Mark.
“But thou must, and thou shalt,” said the founder. “Now, what can I do to speed thee on thy journey?”