“Sir Humphrey,” I said, “were Mary Cavendish thy sister and I myself, and loving her and she me, and you having that affection which you say you have for me, would you yet give her to me in marriage and think it for her good?”

Then the poor lad coloured and stammered, and could not look me in the face, but it was enough.  “Let there be no more talk betwixt you and me as to that matter, Sir Humphrey,” I said.  “There is never now nor at any other time any question of marriage betwixt Mistress Mary Cavendish and her convict tutor, and if he perchance had been not colour-blind and had learned to appraise her at her rare worth, the more had he been set against such.  And all that he can do for thee, lad, he will do.”

Sir Humphrey was easily pacified, having been accustomed from his babyhood to masterly soothing of his mother into her own ways of thought.  Again, in spite of his great stature, he looked up at me like a very child.  “Harry,” he whispered, “heard you her ever say anything pleasant concerning me?”

“Many a time,” I answered, quite seriously, though I was inwardly laughing, and could not for the life of me remember any especial favour which she had paid him in her speech.  But I have ever held that a bold lover hath the best chance, and knowing that boldness depends upon assurance of favour, I set about giving it to Sir Humphrey, even at some small expense of truth.

“When, when, Harry?”

“Oh, many a time, Sir Humphrey.”

“But what?  I pray thee, tell me what she said, Harry.”

“I have not charged my mind, lad.”

“But think of something.  I pray thee, think of something, Harry.”  He looked at me with such exceeding wistfulness that I was forced to cudgel my brains for something which, having a slight savour of truth, might be seasoned to pungency at fancy.  “Often have I heard her say that she liked a fair man,” I replied, and indeed I had, and believed her to have said it because I was dark, and seemingly inattentive to some new grace of hers as to the tying of her hair or fastening of her kerchief.

“Did she indeed say that, Harry, and do you think she had me in mind?” cried Sir Humphrey.

“Are you not a fair man?”

“Yes, yes, I am a fair man, am I not, Harry?  What else?  Sure you have heard her say more than that.”

“I have heard her say she liked a hearty laugh, and one who counted not costs when his mind were set on aught, but rode straight for it though all the bars were up.”

“That sure is I, Harry, unless my mother stand in the way.  A man cannot bring his mother’s head low, Harry, but sure if she forbid nor know not, as in this case of this tobacco plot, I stop for naught.  Sure she meant me, then, Harry.”

“And I have heard her say that she liked a young man, a man no older than she.”

“Sure, sure she meant me by that, Harry, for I am the youngest of them all—­not yet twenty.  Oh, dear Harry, she had me in mind by that.  Do you not think so?”