“Thanks, my lad,” said the founder, whose face softened. “Go on, and remember this, that in turning a stream of gold into my pockets it is providing a great dam like yon Pool to work thine own mill-wheel by-and-by.”
“I have thought that many times,” said Sir Mark to himself. Then aloud, “This order, you see, was all in good faith, and the money has been paid. I look now for my reward—payment in advance, before I bring in the next. When is our wedding to take place?”
The founder looked grave for a few minutes, and then gazed full in Sir Mark’s face.
“There are no half measures with me, my lad,” he said, laying his hand in Sir Mark’s. “Whenever you like. Shall we say when the last gun is finished and—”
“And payments made,” said Sir Mark, smiling. “Good! it shall be so. I start to-morrow for town, and from there I’ll bring the moneys, and I hope the new order, along with presents and wedding ornaments for my darling. Is it to be so?”
“Yes,” replied the founder; and he turned sharply, for a low sigh had reached his ear, and he was just in time to see Mace disappear from the door, which she was about to enter when she caught his words—words which sounded to her like a death-warrant, and which rang in her ears as she hurried to her chamber and locked herself within.
There was a peculiar look upon Mace Cobbe’s countenance as she sat gazing straight before her, thinking of her position. Gil had been gone four months now, and might not return for a couple more; though, if he did, what could she do?
She shuddered at the thought, and for a time was overcome.
The next day, though, she was all feverish energy, and, setting off as if for a walk, she made for Master Peasegood’s cottage, where, after a little hesitation, she plunged desperately into the matter in hand.
“I have not been idle, my little one,” said the stout clerk, “but have on more than one occasion roundly taken thy father to task about this matter.”