“Ay, each night for a fortnight, or a month, however long my wooing may take.”
“And I’m to spy on Mistress Judith and tell you all her goings and her comings and all?”
“No, not to spy,” retorted Lindley; “merely to let me know her passing moods and caprices, her whimsies, her desires.”
“But if you should be detained, my lord; if you cannot come, must I send word to—to——”
“Ay, to Cecil Lindley, at——”
“Oh, my master, my master!” interrupted the boy, his elfish laughter ringing through the woods. “Had you told me your name at first, we had been spared all this foolish dickering. Why, Lindley’s the man she detests; the man whose very name throws her into a frenzy of temper. There’s naught that you can do to win Mistress Judith. Why, man, she despises you. Nay, she told her father only to-day—I was standing near the tree where they sat, mind you—that if ever again your name was mentioned to her, she would leave her home or—or even kill herself—anything to rid her ears forever of the hateful sound. How can you hope to win Mistress Judith?”
“Win her I will, boy,” answered Lindley. “I’m not afraid of her temper, either. For you, your part is to do as you’re told. Leave the rest to me. But you need go no further now. This road leads to the stables. I’ll deliver Mistress Judith’s horse with mine. A bargain’s a bargain when it’s sealed with gold.” He flung a sovereign onto the road in front of him.
The two horses stood side by side, and the lad sat contemplating the gold where it shone in the moonlight.
“As you will, Master Lindley,” he said. “And I’ll wager it would speed your cause could I tell Mistress Judith that you defy her will and her temper. That, in itself, would go far toward winning her. As for the horses, best let me take the two of them. There are none of the boys awake at this hour. It must be near three. With your good leave, I’ll stable yours when I put Mistress Judith’s nag in its stall.”
Lindley, standing in the moonlight on his cousin’s steps, watched the young play actor as he walked somewhat unsteadily away between the two horses. He wished that he had seen the lad’s face, and, curiously enough, it was this wish, and the young play actor himself, who filled the last thoughts in Cecil Lindley’s brain before he fell asleep, in his cousin’s house—the play actor who was to be the go-between in his wooing of Mistress Judith Ogilvie.