r
help? And then you sat by my side on this very bank under the
hawthorn; and when I asked, might I woo you?--you know what you said.
And have I ever failed in my suit? Did I ever court another? When you
were cross, and would not dance with me, did I seek any one else?
Whose colours did I wear when I threw, one after another, all the best
of Penwith? Yet, from that first evening, never could I win a civil
word. And now I am called far away, Mercy will give me no hope. When
I come back, she will be another's."

"No," said the maiden, and stopped short.

"Then why will she not be mine now?" asked Michael. "Why will she not
go with me to London; there to be wed, and live together in happiness?
Shall it not be so, dear Mercy? Alone in the great town, I shall
always be thinking of Mercy--be thinking that she may be listening to
Edward Owen, whom he has often thrown for her sake----"

"And shalt throw him again," interrupted a manly voice. "Shalt throw
him again, or take a fall thyself."

The individual whom Michael had named stood before the astonished
pair. Sinson sprang to his feet. Was it the duskiness of the evening,
or passion, that made his face so dark?

"Owen," he said, in a fierce whisper, "thou wert best stand off now,
or mayst get more than a fall."

"Come on!" cried his antagonist, without attempting to disguise his
anger. "Come on, villain! I'm ready for you."

Fortunately perhaps for Michael, who was not in a mood to fight or
wrestle fairly, Mercy interposed.

"Hoity-toity!" she cried; "pray, Master Edward, where did you learn to
give such names to your betters? And where did you learn to follow
honest people's steps, and watch them? And think you, my--do you
hear?--my Michael is to fight with such as you? Go home, and learn
manners."

"Oh, Mercy!" cried Owen, "you know not what you say. You know not what
he means. But my part is done. Remember, Edward Owen's is not the only
heart you'll break. And so, good-night."

He turned and walked steadily away. Michael endeavoured to resume the
thread of his previous discourse. But his listener's mood was entirely
changed.

"Saucy fellow!" she cried, laughing and looking after Owen; "he's a
rare one to come and rate me. But do you know, Mr. Michael, I believe
he's a better man than you. There, that will do. To London to be
married! No, Mr. Michael, not quite so far, if you please. Oh, yes, of
course. D'ye think I like fighting? There. Good-night, Mr. Micha