"To the Collector's daughter!" ejaculated the Cripple, in a tone of derision. "Thy carriage is bold in the Port, but no measure of audacity will ever bring thee to that favour. Would'st thou play at thine old game, and sack the town, and take the daintiest in it for ransom? You know no other trick of wooing, Dickon."
"By my hand, Rob, I am specially besought by the Collector to make one at a choice merry-making which his daughter has on foot for next Thursday. Ay, and I am going, on his set command, to dance a gailliard with Mistress Blanche. Oh, she shall be the very bird of the sea—the girl of the billow, Rob! She shall be empress of the green wave that nursed me, and the blue sky, and the wide waste. Her throne shall be on the deck of my gay bark: and my merry men shall spring at her beck as deftly as at the boatswain's pipe!"
"You shall sooner meet your deservings," said Rob, "on the foal of the acorn, with a hempen string, than find grace with the Collector's child. Thy whole life has been adversary to the good will of the father."
"I know it," replied Cocklescraft. "I was born in natural warfare with the customs and all who gather them; the more praise for my exploit! I shall change my ways and forsake evil company. I shall be a man of worship. We shall shut up the Chapel, Rob; expel our devils; pack off our witches to Norway, and establish an honest vocation. Therefore, Rob, go to father Pierre; repent of your misdeeds, and live upon your past gains. You are rich and may afford to entertain henceforth a reputable conscience."
"Do not palter with me, sirrah! but tell me what this imports."
"Then truly, Rob, I am much disturbed in my fancies. I love the wench, and mean to have her—fairly if I can—but after the fashion of the Coast if I must. She doth not consent as yet—mainly because she hath a toy of delight in that silken Secretary of my Lord—a bookish pale-cheeked, sickly strummer of stringed instruments—one Master Verheyden, I think they call him."
"Ha!" exclaimed the Cripple, as a frown gathered on his brow; "what is he? Whence comes he?"
"His Lordship's chamber secretary," replied Cocklescraft; "brought hither I know not when nor whence. A silent-paced, priestly pattern of modesty, who feeds on the favour of his betters, as a lady's dog, that being allowed to lick the hand of his mistress, takes the privilege to snarl on all who approach her. I shall make light work with him by whipping him out of my way. Why are you angry, that you scowl so, Master Rob?"
"I needs must be angry to see thee make a fool of thyself," replied the master of the hut. "Verheyden—his Lordship's secretary!" he muttered to himself. "No, no! it would be a folly to think it."
"Mutter as you will, Rob," said Cocklescraft; "by St. Iago, I will try conclusions with the Secretary—folly or no folly! He hath taught the maiden," he added, with a bitter emphasis, "to affect a scorn for me, and he shall smart for it."