“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 forget that he ever existed, and marry thee.  I wonder where they meet?  It must be somewhere near here, but I cannot find out.  Now that he knows he is unwelcome to me, he comes not in here.”

“I will try and find out, Father Pierre, and then we must devise means for putting him out of the way, as thou seem’st to desire it, and, mind, my reward is Marguerite, whether she be willing or not.”

“Yea, my son, and here is my hand on it.”

After shaking hands over this black bargain, Jacques arose and said he must go, and wishing old Pierre “Good night,” he left the mill.  Turning round when he had gone a few steps from the door, he clenched his hand and said, “Thou tempt’st me to commit murder, but I’ll take care that thou doest the deed thyself; bad as I am I could not take Marguerite’s hand in mine after such a foul deed.”