“You said you came as a friend, or as an enemy to my father, Sir Mark,” replied Mace, ignoring the compliment. “You must come as a friend when you enter his house and partake of his hospitality.”
“Tush! how sharp the little rustic mind can be. Nay, child; how did you know I meant to stay?” he added aloud.
“From thy manner, Sir Mark.”
“Then I trust it will be as a friend that I have come,” he said, eagerly; “and that my stay here may be long, and bring great riches to your father’s purse. It rests with him, or with thee, I hardly can tell which.”
“Your words are strange, Sir Mark,” said Mace, who kept on talking, but with her thoughts far away, for the sounds of angry voices had fallen upon her ear, and she was trembling lest anything wrong should have arisen on account of Gil.
“Nay, then, how can I speak otherwise?” whispered Sir Mark, as Sir Thomas prosed on with the founder, praising his wine, and condescending to drink deeply, for it was greatly to his taste—“how can I speak otherwise when I am so confused and stricken by thee? Let me speak plainly, then.”
“See to thy men, Sir Mark,” cried Mace, hurrying to the open window; for just then came an angry buzz of voices, shouts mingled with laughter, and cries for help, in which Sir Mark’s name was mingled.
In two strides he was at the window. The next moment he had leaped out, just as there were a couple of splashes, and he saw, just where the race commenced, his two followers plunged into the Pool.