Then over his pipe at night he sat and considered, after Sir Mark had left him, their converse for the evening having probably been of the merits of iron or brass pieces, for the guest was cunning enough to see that with patience the besieged would fall. How would it be if he did give way? This Sir Mark was haughty, and over-bearing, and proud, but he was a gentleman, high in favour at court. He was poor certainly, but he could give his wife a great position.
“And he was honest over it,” said the founder, refilling his pipe; “I like him for that. He said he had no money. Humph, perhaps he’d like to get hold of mine! Well, and if he did he’d put me in the way of making more. First ordnance-founder to his Majesty King James!
“No—no—no!” he cried, rising to go to bed, “I’ll not give way. It would be like selling her, and I love her too well for that.”
It was clever, the way in which Sir Mark flattered the founder’s vanity. There might have been no Mace in the world, only that he was courteous and reverent to her in the extreme when they met at meals, for he never mentioned her name, but followed the founder like a shadow, inquiring into the toughness of this iron and that, and delighting his dupe by laying aside his showy doublet to take part in the trial of some piece, to come away as besmirched with powder as Gil himself.
“There’s stuff in the fellow,” said the founder; “and I blame him for what is, after all, only his education.”
The fortress was beginning to give way.
“Courts have their peculiarities, and he, fresh from ordering and commanding, thought he could do as he liked with me. It was fine, too, the way he whipped out his sword when I damned the King.”
The founder laughed heartily, and wiped the tears out of his eyes, for he was again sitting alone before retiring for the night.
“Well, it was brave and true of him. A man who would risk his life like that for the honour of his master must be a noble gentleman at heart, and would make a good husband.”
He shook his head at that, and once more went to bed.