“She never was noted for sense,” replied her mistress. “Servants have no business decked in jewelry. It does not become their station.”
Pursing up her pretty lips, Anne made a grimace at the back of her unconscious mistress.
“Go and attend to the setting of the table for supper, while I look out wool for the carding, to-morrow,” continued Mrs. Forrest.
After the supper dishes had been cleared away and the twilight crept over the settlement, Anne stole out to meet Wingfield. Gliding from tree to tree, she came upon him standing by the stream which emptied its rills into the James.
How handsome he was, she thought, in his rich doublet and sad-colored cloak. And how well the stiff ruff set off his pointed chin and Vandyke beard. Stealing softly up, she touched him upon the arm.
With a muttered oath he turned upon her. “Oh, it is you, Anne,” he said in a relieved voice. “How pretty you look to-night. If you only wore a velvet gown and lace ruff, with a high hat and plume, you could rival any lady at the Court of King James.”
Poor Anne looked down upon her short stuff petticoat and clumsy shoes, and tears of mortification rose to her eyes and brimmed over upon her cheeks.
“Cheer up, my pretty one! Who knows what the future may hold for you? I can see you in a fine house with a maid to wait upon you, and these little hands will be soft and white again,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms.
Adam had followed Anne, like a hunter stalking the deer. After seeing her meeting with Wingfield, he lumbered back for Laydon.
“John, they are at it again, down by the gold stream. That pretty fool will get herself into trouble.”