“That’s only part of my errand, child; the other is about Culverin Carr, our bold captain. What of him? Aha! does that prick?”
He held the girl’s hand tightly, for she turned half away, with a pained look in her face, and the tears rose to her eyes.
“Well, and ill,” cried Master Peasegood, shaking his head. “What does it mean, child? You care for him, I think?”
“I hardly know,” sighed Mace.
“Then you do,” said Master Peasegood, nodding his big head. “There’s no doubt about such matters, child. But tell me all—you may trust me—does he know you like him?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Mace, “and my father has forbidden him to come to the house.”
“Then he has good reason for it. Jeremiah Cobbe is hot, passionate, and excited enough to carry him to perdition, but he is just. Now, look here, Mace, do you think Captain Gil is the true, good man who should be locked up in your little heart?”
“Have—have you ill news of him?” faltered Mace, who a few hours before would have scornfully rebutted any charge against the choice of her heart.
“I am no tale-bearer, child,” said the parson, sternly. “My mission is to make peace, not war. Tell me, have you doubted friend Gil’s truth?”
For answer Mace sank upon her knees, and covered her face with her hands.