No," the girl went on. "You are right. He's able-bodied now, and
might be a match for all the servants. Besides, 'twould come out why I
shielded him, and I should be the laugh o' the town. Oh, _how_ shall I
pay him? How shall I make him _feel_--ah! I know! I'll give him six
for half a dozen! I'll make _him_ love _me_, and then I'll cast him
off and laugh at him!"

She was suddenly as jubilant at having hit on the project as if she
had already accomplished it.

"Make him love you?" repeated her aunt, dubiously. Her aunt had her
own reasons for doubting the possibility of such an achievement.

"Perhaps you think I can't!" cried Elizabeth. "Wait and see! But,
heavens! He's going away,--he won't come back,--perhaps he's gone! No,
there's his hat!" She ran and picked it up from the corner of the
doorway. "He won't go without his hat. He'll have to come here for it.
He went to his room for his sword. He'll be here at any moment."

And she paced the floor, holding the hat in one hand, and lapsing to
the level of ordinary femininity as far as to adjust her hair with the
other.

"You'll have to make quick work of it, Elizabeth, dear," said the
aunt, with gentle irony, "if he's going to-night."

"I know, I know,--but I can't do it looking like this." She laid the
hat on the table, in order to employ both hands in the arrangement of
her hair. "If I only had on my satin gown! By the lord Harry, I have a
mind--I will! When he comes in here, keep him till I return. Keep him
as if your life depended on it." She went quickly towards the door of
the east hall.

"But, Elizabeth!" cried Miss Sally, appalled. "Wait! How--"

"How?" echoed Elizabeth, turning near the door. "By hook or crook! You
must think of a way! I have other things on my mind. Only keep him
till I come back. If you let him go, I'll never speak to you again!
And not a word to him of what I've told you! I sha'n't be long."

"But what are you going to do?" asked the aunt, despairingly.

"Going to arm myself for conquest! To put on my war-paint!" And the
girl hastened through the doorway, crossed the hall, called Molly, and
ran up-stairs to her room.

Miss Sally stood in the parlor, a prey to mingled feelings. She did
not dare refuse the task thrown on her by her imperative niece. Not
only her niece's anger would be incurred by the refusal, but also the
niece's insinuations that the aunt was not sufficiently clever for the
task. However difficult, the thing must