“Not a whit, Eleanor,” answered the squire; “but if she like not Dick Assheton, there is another Dick, Dick Sherburne of Sladeburn; or our cousin, Jack Braddyll; or, if she prefer an older and discreeter man, there is Father Greenacres of Worston, or Master Roger Nowell of Read—­plenty of choice.”

“Nay, if I must choose a partner, it shall be a young one,” said Alizon.

“Right, fair queen, right,” cried Nicholas, laughing.  “Ever choose a young man if you can.  Who shall it be?”

“You have named him yourself, sir,” replied Alizon, in a voice which she endeavoured to keep firm, but which, in spite of all her efforts, sounded tremulously—­“Master Richard Assheton.”

“Next to choosing me, you could not have chosen better,” observed Nicholas, approvingly.  “Dick, lad, I congratulate thee.”

“I congratulate myself,” replied the young man.  “Fair queen,” he added, advancing, “highly flattered am I by your choice, and shall so demean myself, I trust, as to prove myself worthy of it.  Before I go, I would beg a boon from you—­that flower.”

“This pink,” cried Alizon.  “It is yours, fair sir.”

Young Assheton took the flower and took the hand that offered it at the same time, and pressed the latter to his lips; while Lady Assheton, who had been made a little uneasy by Alizon’s apparent emotion, and who with true feminine tact immediately detected its cause, called out:  “Now, forward—­forward to the May-pole!  We have interrupted the revel too long.”

Upon this the May Queen stepped blushingly back with the usher, who, with his white wand in hand, had stood bolt upright behind her, immensely delighted with the scene in which his pupil—­for Alizon had been tutored by him for the occasion—­had taken part.  Sir Ralph then clapped his hands loudly, and at this signal the tabor and pipe struck up; the Fool and the Hobby-horse, who, though idle all the time, had indulged in a little quiet fun with the rustics, recommenced their gambols; the Morris-dancers their lively dance; and the whole train moved towards the May-pole, followed by the rush-cart, with all its bells jingling, and all its garlands waving.

As to Alizon, her brain was in a whirl, and her bosom heaved so quickly, that she thought she should faint.  To think that the choice of a partner in the dance at the Abbey had been offered her, and that she should venture to choose Master Richard Assheton!  She could scarcely credit her own temerity.  And then to think that she should give him a flower, and, more than all, that he should kiss her hand in return for it!  She felt the tingling pressure of his lips upon her finger still, and her little heart palpitated strangely.

As she approached the May-pole, and the troop again halted for a few minutes, she saw her brother James holding little Jennet by the hand, standing in the front line to look at her.

“Oh, how I’m glad to see you here, Jennet!” she cried.