Captain Culverin?
Hush hush, pray, Sir Mark, whispered the baronet, and then to himself, Thank heaven we are here.
And is this the place? said Sir Mark, standing pointing his moustache, as they emerged from the path upon the edge of a fine spreading sheet of water, embowered in noble woods and half covered with aquatic vegetation. In various parts clusters of water-fowl sat lightly on the glistening surface; mother-ducks sailed in safety with their downy broods in and out of the reedy water-lanes; coots and gallinules jerked themselves along the surface, while high in air a colony of black-headed gulls wheeled over the reeds, their breeding-place and sanctuary, safe from harm. Here and there along the edges, where the water was shallow, gaunt grey herons stood knee-deep, making, from time to time, a dart with their javelin-bills; and so clear, so mirror-like, was the expanse, that the noble forest-trees upon the other side were reflected plainly in the depths.
At the lower end stood a quaint, gable-ended house, and away to the right, where the waters were gathered together and rushed over a weir, were several long wooden buildings, with three or four roughly built of the sandstone of the district, two having massive chimneys, from which wreaths of pale blue
smoke ascended into the soft summer air.
It was a lovely spot, and seemed to be the abode of peace and plenty, more than one where dire engines of warfare were fashioned at the furnace-mouth, and that black thunder sand, whose flash means death and destruction, was mixed by begrimed men from ingredients that left alone were innocent and secure. For the gable-ended house was white with clustering roses; the bright lattice windows sparkled in the sunshine; and the water, as it ran over the weir, made silver sounds that lulled the senses, as they whispered music to the ear.
Stretching far along the edge of the great pool there was an extensive well-kept garden, rich with flowers, pleasant with its green lawn, and made glorious now with its abundant trees; while still further along the Pool, nestling in a sheltered nook, shaded by tall trees and a mighty bank of sandstone rock, a patch of hops were rapidly nearing the tops of their poles as if climbing to get a peep at the field where the barley was springing rank and green, bridegroom and bride who should in the glowing October month be wedded well and breed strong ale.
A very Paradise, continued Sir Mark eagerly; and look, Sir Thomas, over yonder. Who is the maiden? Look! Out there!
Sir Thomas glanced nervously at his daughter, whose cheeks were very red, and whose eyes flashed no longer a soft and timid light.
It is the founders daughter, Sir Mark. Sweet Mace they call her here, and he wiped his forehead and gave his feather-padded breeches another hitch as he caught his daughters eyes once more.
Sweet Mace! said the Kings messenger, inquiringly. Mace nutmeg spice!
Nay, Sir Mark, it was her fathers fancy, so they say. Mace or meadow-sweet, it is the same: the creamy-scented blossom that grows beside the Pool.
A forest fairy! cried the young man, eagerly; and the man, Sir Thomas?
Hush, pray, Sir Mark, whispered the baronet; the water carries sound.
Who is it, sir, I say? cried the visitor, with an imperious stamp, as the object of his question turned his head.
Its he, himself, Sir Mark, groaned the wretched man, glancing helplessly at the speaker; the man of whom we spake.
What! Jeremiah Cobbe?
No; Captain Carr.
How Jeremiah Cobbe damned his Majesty King James the First
It all passed away directly, as she listened eagerly to Sir Mark.
Why, shes fishing, he cried. A fair Diana, huntress of the lake. Mistress Anne, look at her, is she not beautiful?
Tastes differ, Sir Mark, said the lady, with a smile that hid her annoyance. I have seen Mace Cobbe so often that I scarcely heed her looks.
But your eyes, mistress, never lit on a bonnier face than that of Sweet Mace.
Sir Mark and Mistress Anne started with annoyance, to become aware of the fact that the grizzly old sailor, Kilby, had followed them, and was standing with his back against a tree, his pipe still between his lips.
My good fellow, a little respect would not be out of place when you address a lady, said Sir Mark sharply, as he drew Mistress Annes arm through his, and once more tried to look the old man down; but failing completely, he turned to gaze at the Pool, forgetting his annoyance in the chase before him.
For, standing up with one foot resting on the side of a little boat, which was propelled by the bronzed dark man who held the oars, head thrown back, lips slightly parted, and her soul seeming to animate her shapely face, was a young girl about eighteen, plainly clad in homely stuff; but with snowy lawn kerchief and cuffs, and a cap of the same confining her rich brown hair, she seemed to need no ornament or gay attire to make her brighter than she was, flushed with excitement and in the springtide of her youth. Her face was burned slightly by the sun, which seemed to heighten the rich red in her cheek, and, as she came nearer to where he stood, the strangers eyes flashed as he marked her white forehead, well-cut nose, and trembling nostrils, which expanded as their owners breath came more quickly, while her lips parted more and more, showing her regular teeth.