f, and with a most murderous look
on his dark face. Poor Charlie would have fared badly had he been in
this man's power just now!

CHAPTER III.

We will follow Gaultier into the mill, leaving Marguerite and her
brother to pursue their intention of having a walk, and hear what old
Pierre has to say. On Jacques entering the room he found the old man in
a state of great disquietude--in fact, in a very great rage. He had by
no means recovered his daughter's assertion that she would never marry
anyone but Charles Heyward.

"Good evening, Jacques, I sent for thee on a matter of great importance
to thyself. I know thou did'st love my girl Marguerite, and that thou
had'st a desire to marry her. Art thou still of that mind?" Jacques was
somewhat surprised both at the old man's manner and at this opening
address, but replied, "Truly I am, but I fear she will never consent to
take me for her husband; she hates me, and loves that soldier with red
cheeks and bold forward air. I wish he were far from here; but perhaps
she would still think of him and never look on me. Even to-night she had
not a civil word for me, though I stayed at home to make these things
for her and lost my place at market."

"And serve thee right. What business hast thou to encourage the girl in
her vanities? But thou said'st just now thou would'st like to have that
fellow out of this. So would I, and the whole lot of those lawless
soldiers. Can'st thou not think of some means to catch him"?

"Well, Father Pierre, I wouldn't like---

"Wouldn't like _what_!" shouted the old man, "perhaps thou art afraid of
the popinjay in his red coat--eh, thou chicken-hearted fellow? Thou art
not the man I took thee for. I wonder not at Marguerite speaking as she
does."

"Those are hard words and I like them not," replied Jacques sulkily. He
felt the hit contained in Pierre's words all the more as he was not
quite innocent of fear of the red coat. "I was going to say," he
continued, "I wouldn't like Marguerite to know I was watching for her
soldier, as she might warn him and put him on his guard. Ah! the
hateful fellow, I wish I had my hands at his throat now."

"Gently, gently, my good Jacques," replied the elder hypocrite, "such
language becomes not a follower of our Lord Protector Cromwell. But let
us understand one another. Charlie Heyward--(the name hath but an ill
savour to me)--must be put out of the way, and Marguerite, like her sex,
will doubtless forg