“Will you do me a favour, my pretty maiden?” he said courteously.

“That I will, right willingly, fair Sir,” she replied; “provided I may do it honestly.”

“You shall not do it else,” old Greenford observed.

“Come, your gift, grandsire—­you are slow in finding it.”

“Have patience, wench, have patience.  Young folks are always in a hurry.  Here ’tis!”

“Only a silver groat!” she exclaimed, tossing her head.  “Why, this young man behind me gave a mark; and so did this gallant gentleman on horseback.”

“Poh! poh! go along, wench.  They will take better care of their money when they grow older.”

“Stay, my pretty maiden,” Jocelyn cried; “you have promised to do me a favour.”

“What is it?” she inquired.

“Present this nosegay on my part to the young lady in yonder window.”

“What! offer this to Mistress Aveline Calveley?” Gillian exclaimed in surprise.  “Are you sure she will accept it, Sir?”

“Tut! do his bidding, child, without more ado,” old Greenford interposed.  “I shall like to see what will come of it—­ha! ha!”

Gillian could not help smiling too, and proceeded on her mission.  Jocelyn put his horse into motion, and slowly followed her, almost expecting Aveline to withdraw.  But he was agreeably disappointed by finding her maintain her place at the window.  She must have remarked what was going forward, and therefore her tarrying emboldened him, and buoyed up his hopes.

Arrived beneath the window, Gillian committed the tambourine to Dick Taverner, who still hovered behind her like her shadow, and fastening the bouquet to the end of her shepherdess’s crook held it up towards Aveline, crying out, in a playful tone, and with an arch look, “’Tis a love gift to Mistress Aveline Calveley on the part of that young cavalier.”

Whether the offering, thus presented, would have been accepted may be questioned; but it was never destined to reach her for whom it was intended.  Scarcely was the flower-laden crook uplifted, than a man of singularly stern aspect, with gray hair cut close to the head, grizzled beard, and military habiliments of ancient make, suddenly appeared behind Aveline, and seizing the nosegay, cast it angrily and contemptuously forth; so that it fell at Jocelyn’s feet.

CHAPTER XV.

Hugh Calveley.

Jocelyn at once comprehended that the person who had thus dashed the nosegay to the ground could be no other than Hugh Calveley.  But all doubt on the point was removed by Aveline herself who exclaimed in a reproachful tone—­“O father! what have you done?”