"And how? What answer will you have for Master Walter?"
She spoke slowly now, and with a distinctness that was almost harsh.
"This, so please you, sir—that the player's daughter shall not, and shall never, become the parson's wife, God helping her!"
"Why, how now? what a coil is this!" he exclaimed. "Good lass, 'twas not the parson that said aught of the kind. Lay not that to his charge, in fair honesty."
"I have decided," she said proudly and coldly. "Father, the horses are brought round—I can hear them. You will not forget the knife, and the message on the blade?"
He looked at her, and laughed, but in a kindly way; and he took her by the shoulder.
"Nay, now, wench, thou shalt not throw over the good man for a matter that was none of his bringing forward. And why should you wish to have less than the respect of all your neighbors, all and sundry, whatever be their views? In good sooth I meant to speak for the parson, and not to harm him; and when I have more time I must undo the ill that I have done him. So soften your heart, you proud one, and be thankful for the honor he would do you; and think over it; and be civil and grateful."
"Nay, I will be civil enough to the good minister," said she, with a return to her ordinary placid humor, "if he speak no more of making me his wife."
"He will win you yet, for as stubborn as you are," her father said, with a smile. "He hath a rare gift of reason: do not say nay too soon, wench, lest you have to recall your words. Fare you well, lass, fare you well."
"And forget not the knife, good father. 'With Judith's Love,' or 'For Judith's Sweetheart,' or what you will." And then she added, daringly: "'Tis for the young prince Mamillius, if you must know, good sir."