“And now I see an old rough, grey man, big, and harsh, and stark, who would wed thee, but I know him not, for he keeps his head away.”
“Mas’ Wat Kilby!” muttered Janet, with a sigh.
“And now I see another, who is at thy feet, child; a handsome man in silk and velvet, who looks prayerfully in thy face, and asks thee to let him love thee.”
“Tell me more of him!” cried Janet, eagerly.
“I can see but little more, child, only that he has white hands with rings upon them, and a sword is hanging to his belt. He looks a handsome and a courtly youth, such as we have not in these parts here.”
“’Tis Sir Mark,” said Janet to herself.
“He looks love to thee, but a woman of thy size and shape steps in between thee, and tears him away.”
“What be she like?” cried Janet.
“I cannot see, child, for her head be turned away, but surely it be thee, from the turn of the head. How be this? Thou tightest against thyself.”
“Nay, ’tis Mistress Mace Cobbe. Let me look.”