“Oh, nay, mistress, it does not. Thou hast thy lover, and so had poor Mace Cobbe, and the wedding was to be next day; but I prophesied that she should not have the man of thy choice, and what came to pass?”
“Mother Goodhugh,” said Anne, turning pale, “if I thought thou had’st anything to do with that misfortune at the Pool thou should’st be handed over to my father for punishment according to thy deserts.”
“And would she who helped me be punished too?”
“If thou had’st accomplices, yes.”
“Sweet mistress, then we will go to prison, thou and I, together, for we made our plans to stay the wedding of Mace Cobbe.”
“It is false; I had nothing to do with thy plans,” cried Anne excitedly.
“Had’st thou not better come to my cottage, mistress?” said Mother Goodhugh.
“Nay, I have done with thee and thy ways. I’ll come there no more.”
“But thou wilt pay me for winning thee a husband.”
“Pay thee?” cried Anne contemptuously. “What should I pay thee?”