of keeping with your 'broideries, your
pleats, tags, lappets, pearl-buttons, galoons and the rest on't."

"'Twould almost seem you do not like me thus," says she frowning down
at her finery but with the dimple showing plainer than ever.

"Why truly," says I, stooping to take up the jewelled comb where it
lay, "I liked your ragged gown better."

"Because your own clothes are so worn and sorry, sir. 'Tis time you
had better, I must see to it--"

"Nay, never trouble!"

"'Twill be joy!" says she sweetly, but setting her chin at me. "And
then--good lack, your hair, Martin!"

"What of it?"

"All elf-lox. And then, your beard!"

"What o' my beard?"

"So wild and shaggy! And 'tis so completely out o' the mode."

"Mode?" says I, frowning.

"Mode, Martin. Your spade beard was, then came your dagger or stiletto
and now--"

"Hum!" says I, "It may be your broadsword or half-pike for aught I
care. But as to yon gown--"

"Alas, poor thing! 'Twill soon look worn and ragged as you can wish,
Martin. I have already lost three pearl studs, and should grieve for
them were there not a coffer full of better that I wot of. O Martin,
when I think of all these wonders, these great diamonds, emeralds,
sapphires, pearls and rubies--I do tingle!"

"And can these toys so please you?" says I.

"Yes!" cries she, "Yes, and so would they any other that was not a
stock or a stone or--Martin Conisby who is above such vanities!"

"Vanities indeed!" says I, "In this wilderness more especially."

"How if we should find the world again?"

"Hum!" says I. "But this powder and shot now--"

"Pho!" cries she, and stamping her foot turns her back on me. "Here am
I yearning to show you all these hidden marvels, Martin, but I never
will until you beg me--no, never! And now 'tis time you took your
medicine."

"What medicine?" I questioned, wondering.

"'Tis a soothing draught I have decocted from some of my simples--it
will make you sleep."

"But I have no mind to sleep!"

"'Tis why you must drink your potion."

"Never in this world!" says I, mighty determined.

"Why yes you will, dear Martin," says she gently, but setting her
dimpled chin at me. "I'll go fetch it." And away she goes forthwith
and is presently back bearing an embossed cup (like unto a little
porringer) and of gold curiously ornamented.

"Here is a noble cup!" says I.

"In these secret caves, Martin, is nothing that is not beautiful. The
walls are all h