"To this villain?" cried the goldsmith; "this cozener, this notable rascal, this tavern-cheat. 'Tis not possible; there hath not been time; not even for a license."
Millicent looked up at Ravenshaw's face, whereby he knew she desired him to take up the ruse.
"Sir," quoth he, "there hath been more time than you wot of; we have all been in the plot together for three days now."
"A pack of knaves!" shouted the goldsmith. "An there hath been a marriage, 'twill not hold. She was bound by pre-contract."
"'Tis not true," cried Millicent. "Sir Peregrine knows I would not receive his tokens."
"Oh, good lack!" quoth the old knight, faint of voice; "'tis all as well. I am glad your daughter hath released me, Master Etheridge. She is much inclined to jealousy, I see that; belike I should give her cause, too. I thank her for my liberty."
The goldsmith cast on the old knight a look of wrathful disgust, and walked precipitately from the place, breathing out plagues, murrains, and poxes. Sir Peregrine laboriously followed him. But Holyday's father dragged the scholar aside to talk with him privily.
Ravenshaw turned to Millicent. "The device served well. But the truth must out in time. Your father will have his revenge then."
"Alas, I have told a great falsehood," said she, braving her blushes. "I know not how to clear my soul of it—unless you—" She hesitated.