“He will bring the devil among us, I trow,” cried Dick Taverner.

“’Tis to be hoped he will not split the May-pole with a thunderbolt,” said the miller.

“Nor spoil our Whitsun-ales,” cried old Greenford.

“Nor lame our Hobby-horse,” said one of the mummers.

“Nor rob me of my wreath and garlands,” said Gillian.

“That he shall not, I promise you, fair May Queen!” Dick Tavernor rejoined, gallantly.

“I will do none of these things.  I would not harm you, even if I had the power,” the Puritan said.  “But I will discharge a bolt against the head of yon idol,” he added, pointing towards the flower-crowned summit of the May-pole; “and if I break its neck and cast it down, ye will own that a higher hand than mine directs the blow, and that the superstitious symbol ought not to be left standing.”

“As to what we may do, or what we may acknowledge, we will give no promise, Master Hugh Calveley,” rejoined old Greenford.  “But e’en let fly thy bolt, if thou wilt.”

Some dissent was offered to this singular proposition, but the majority of voices overruled it; and withdrawing for a moment, Hugh Calveley returned with an arbalist, which he proceeded deliberately to arm in view of the crowd, and then placed a quarrel within it.

“In the name of the Lord, who cast down the golden idol made by Aaron and the Israelites, I launch this bolt,” he cried, as he took aim, and liberated the cord.

The short, iron-headed, square-pointed arrow whizzed through the air, and, by the mischief it did as it hit its mark, seemed to confirm the Puritan’s denunciation.  Striking the May-pole precisely at the summit, it shattered the wood, and brought down the floral crown surmounting it, as well as the topmost streamers.

The spectators stared aghast.

“Be warned by this,” thundered Hugh Calveley, with gloomy triumph.  “Your idol is smitten—­not by my hand, but by His who will chastise your wickedness.”

Whereupon he closed the window, and departed.  Presently afterwards, the door was opened by an old, grave-looking, decently-clad serving-man.  Addressing Jocelyn, who had already dismounted and given his horse in charge to the youth engaged for a similar purpose by Dick Taverner, this personage invited him, in his master’s name, to enter; and, with a heart throbbing with emotion, the young man complied.  Chance seemed to befriend him in a way he could never have anticipated; and he now hoped to obtain an interview with Aveline.

His conductor led him through a passage to a large chamber at the back of the house, with windows looking upon a garden.  The room was panelled with dark shining oak, had a polished floor, an immense chimney-piece, and a moulded ceiling.  Within it were a few high-backed chairs, and some other cumbrous furniture, while on an oak table at the side, was spread the simple morning repast of the Puritan and his daughter.  But all