"What's that!" exclaimed Plunkett. "Go? No, indeed," he added with emphasis. "You may repent of your bargain, though I don't see why. But it is binding for a year."
"If only you knew who," began Sir Tristan, and he was about to tell who the young women were. But "Martha" quickly whispered to him not to disclose their identity, as the escapade, if it became known, would make them the sport of the court. Moreover Plunkett and Lionel were growing impatient at the delay and, when the crowd again gathered about Sir Tristan, they hurried off the girls,—who did not seem to protest as much as might have been expected,—lifted them into a farm wagon, and drove off, while the crowd blocked the blustering knight and jeered as he vainly tried to break away in pursuit.
Act II. The adventure of the Lady Harriet and her maid Nancy, so lightly entered upon, was carrying them further than they had expected. To find themselves set down in a humble farmhouse, as they did soon after they left the fair, and to be told to go into the kitchen and prepare supper, was more than they had bargained for.
"Kitchen work!" exclaimed the Lady Harriet contemptuously.
"Kitchen work!" echoed Nancy in the same tone of voice.
Plunkett was for having his orders carried out. But Lionel interceded. A certain innate gallantry that already had appealed to her ladyship, made him feel that although these young women were servants, they were, somehow, to be treated differently. He suggested as a substitute for the kitchen that they be allowed to try their hands at the spinning wheels. But they were so awkward at these that the men sat down to show them how to spin, until Nancy brought the lesson to an abrupt close by saucily overturning Plunkett's wheel and dashing away with the young farmer in pursuit, leaving Lionel and "Martha" alone.
It was an awkward moment for her ladyship, since she could hardly fail to be aware that Lionel was regarding her with undisguised admiration. To relieve the situation she began to hum and, finally, to sing, choosing her favorite air, "The Last Rose of Summer." But it had the very opposite effect of what she had planned. For she sang the charming melody so sweetly and with such tender expression that Lionel, completely carried away, exclaimed: "Ah, Martha, if you were to marry me, you no longer would be a servant, for I would raise you to my own station!"
As Lionel stood there she could not help noting that he was handsome and graceful. Yet that a farmer should suggest to her, the spoiled darling of the court, that he would raise her to his station, struck her as so ridiculous that she burst out laughing. Just then, fortunately, Plunkett dragged in Nancy, whom he had pursued into the kitchen, where she had upset things generally before he had been able to seize her; and a distant tower clock striking midnight, the young farmers allowed their servants, whose accomplishments as such, if they had any, so far remained undiscovered, to retire to their room, while they sought theirs, but not before Lionel had whispered:
"Perchance by the morrow, Martha, you will think differently of what I have said and not treat it so lightly."
Act III. But when morning came the birds had flown the cage. There was neither a Martha nor a Julia in the little farmhouse, while at the court of Queen Anne a certain Lady Harriet and her maid Nancy were congratulating themselves that, after all, an old fop named Sir Tristan of Mikleford had had sense enough to be in waiting with a carriage near the farmhouse at midnight and helped them escape through the window. It even is not unlikely that within a week the Lady Harriet, who was so anxious not to have her escapade become known, might have been relating it at court as a merry adventure and that Nancy might have been doing the same in the servants' hall. But unbeknown to the others, there had been a fifth person in the little farmhouse, none other than Dan Cupid, who had hidden himself, perhaps behind the clock, and from this vantage place of concealment had discharged arrows, not at random, but straight at the hearts of two young women and two young men. And they had not recovered from their wounds. The Lady Harriet no longer was bored; she was sad; and even Nancy had lost her sprightliness. The two men, one of them so courteous despite his peasant garb, the other sturdy and commanding, with whom their adventure had begun at the Richmond fair and ended after midnight at the farmhouse, had brought some zest into their lives; they were so different from the smooth, insincere courtiers by whom the Lady Harriet had been surrounded and from the men servants who aped their masters and with whom Nancy had been thrown when she was not with her ladyship. The simple fact is that the Lady Harriet and Nancy, without being certain of it themselves, were in love, her ladyship with Lionel and Nancy with Plunkett. Of course, there was the difference in station between Lady Harriet and Lionel. But he had the touch of innate breeding that made her at times forget that he was a peasant while she was a lady of title. As for Nancy and Plunkett, that lively young woman felt that she needed just such a strong hand as his to keep her out of mischief. And so it happened that the diversions of the court again palled upon them and that, when a great hunt was organized in which the court ladies were asked to join, the Lady Harriet, although she looked most dapper in her hunting costume, found the sport without zest and soon wandered off into the forest solitudes.