be devoted to
rewarding your trust in me. Oh, would to God I were more worthy of you!"

Within the house Mistress Mary and Mr. Ives were very comfortable: they
played a game of patience together (in which the former was a great
proficient), they chatted, they waxed confidential, and not till Dame
Martha summoned them to sup, did they perceive the lapse of time. Mr.
Ives called from the window, and the betrothed pair came in, their eyes
shining and dazzled by the bright light.

Matters went on happily thus for many days--it seemed that the course of
true love was to run very smooth--when one evening a little incident
occurred that startled all.

The little party of four were dining together, as they generally did.

Mr. Ives was in a merry mood: he poured out a glass of good red wine,
wine that was not often brought forth from the depth of his cellar; he
bade John Johnstone fill up his glass, and as each gentleman raised it
brimming to his lips, pledged "His sacred Majesty, good King George."

With a sharp rattle John Johnstone's glass crashed untasted on the
table, and the red wine splashed like blood on the white napery.

The parson looked at him, and the colour forsook his cheek.

Mistress Mary glanced tremulously from one to another, and half rose in
consternation.

The colour flushed high in Betty Ives' cheek. "Was this then the
mystery?"

The absent king held all her sympathies.

Mr. Ives moved back his chair from the table, and said somewhat
unsteadily:

"Good sir, I am a man of peace. I love order and a strong government.
Can I hazard my daughter by--"

Now, strangely enough, Mary Jones came to the rescue.

"Sirs," she said, "allow me to make a proposition; it is this, that not
one of us breathe a word elsewhere of what has happened tonight. For
heaven's sake say nothing, keep all dark, and on this understanding,"
she stooped forward and daintily raised her own glass, "I also pledge
his Majesty over the sea."

But Mr. Ives did not recover his spirits that night: presentiments of
evil haunted him, misgivings that he had not done wisely by his darling.
When the small hours of the morning struck he still lay awake, tossing
restlessly to and fro.

CHAPTER V.

The days passed on, and now all the world lay under a pall of white
snow. Under their dazzling mantle gleamed the dark prickly leaves of the
holly-trees with abundance of scarlet berries. Here and there a little
robin-redbreast hoppe