He sat and smoked out his pipe to the very ash, and then thought on as he sucked at the empty bowl:—
“Ay, what then?”
Jeremiah Cobbe sat there the long night through, and at early dawn only went up to his chamber, where, after a refreshing wash, he sat and thought again before going down, as the workers came from the various cottages to their daily toil.
As he stood by one of the windows gazing out he saw his child in the garden culling flowers, and Sir Mark watching her, but he did not follow her, only went away with bent head, and stood leaning over the breech of a gun.
The founder stayed thinking again for a little while, and then, drawing a long breath, he crossed the intervening space, clapped the young man on the shoulder, and held out his hand.
“Give me your word as a gentleman, Sir Mark, that your suit shall be in all kindliness and love,—that you will use no undue pressure, but wait patiently for my consent,—and—you understand?”
“I promise,” said Sir Mark, earnestly, as he laid his hand in that of the founder, fighting hard the while to keep down a triumphant look.
Hand clasped hand, and, as if moved by the same influence, the two parties to the unholy bargain glanced towards the house, at whose door stood Mace, gazing at them with labouring, unquiet breast, for a greater trouble than that of her father’s warlike weapons now assailed her heart.