"What!—busy?"
She winced, but rose, and with a little hesitation, held out her hand to him.
"Yes," she said, "I must do something with my hands to keep my thoughts from resting on troubles."
"Troubles! what troubles?"
Bessie gave him a look of reproach. "I must feel anxious about my brother, and also for Urith. How is it that you did not go as well as your father and my Anthony, to draw a sword for the good cause?"
"You ask that? Why, you are my attraction. I cannot leave you to venture my precious life in crack-brain undertakings. Before either of them returns, I suppose we shall be married."
"I am ready to fulfil my promise at any time," said Bessie.
"The sooner the better. Your father has already sent a messenger for a licence. I shall not rest till you are mine."
Bessie knew that what Fox desired was to have his foot in Hall, and be established there in the position of heir, and that his pretence of caring for her was hollow. A colour came into her cheeks like the carnations she was tying up. "Enough of that," she said; "you know the conditions on which I take you?"
"Conditions! On my soul I know of none."