"Were you reared on this barony, Margaret?" resumed the baron.
"Yes, my lord," answered Margaret, modestly, raising her eyes: "my mother was a freeman's daughter; my father was a bondman on this land: they died when I was but a child; and Edith Holgrave reared me till I grew up a girl and could work for myself—and then——"
"You thought you could not do better than wed her son through gratitude. That was well—and so this good squire of ours could not expect to find much favour in your eyes. But, do you not know, you should not have wedded without my consent?"
"My lord," answered Holgrave; "I beg your pardon; but I thought your lordship wouldn't think much of the marriage, as your lordship was not at the castle, and I did not know when you would return. Here is the merchet, my lord, and I hope you will forgive me for not awaiting your return."
"I suppose I must, for there is no helping it now; and by my faith, it is well you did not let me see that pretty face before you were wedded,—but take back the merchet," he continued, waving back with his hand, the money which Holgrave was presenting. "Keep it. An orphan bride seldom comes rich; and here is a trifle to add to it, as a token that De Boteler prizes beauty—even though it be that of a bondwoman!" As he spoke, he held a broad piece of gold towards Holgrave.
"Not so, my lord," said Holgrave, suffering the coin to remain between De Boteler's fingers.—"Not so my lord. I take back the merchet with many thanks, but I crave your pardon for not taking your gold. I have no need of gold—I did not wed Margaret for dower—and with your lordship's leave I pray you excuse my taking it."
"As you please, unthankful kern," replied the baron, haughtily. "De Boteler forces his gifts upon no one—here," he continued, throwing the piece to an attendant, who stood behind his chair—"you will not refuse it." He then turned round to the table and commenced a game at cards, without further noticing Holgrave. The yeoman stood a few minutes awaiting the baron's pleasure, but perceiving he did not heed him, presently took Margaret's hand, and making a low obeisance, retired.
When the game was finished, De Boteler threw down the cards.
"Calverley," said he, "think you that this Margaret loves her husband?" A slight shade passed over Calverley's cheek as he answered,
"I should hardly think so, my lord. She is—her temper is very gentle—Holgrave is passionate, and rude, and—"