046 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 ANNA S. GURLEY 
 
 MEMORIAL BOOK FUND 
 
 FOR THE PURCHASE OF BOOKS 
 IN THE FIELD OF THE DRAMA 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 William F. E. Gurley 
 
 CLASS OF 1877 
 1935 
 
BEATEICE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER 
 
 B- J. H. INGRAHAM, Esq., 
 
 Author of "The DAKOise Fjsather," "Olph," "Paul Dbvtikell," fee 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 DICK .& FITZGEEALD, PTIBLISHEES. 
 
Kntered according to Act of Cong^ss, in the year ISCS^ tf 
 
 DICK & FITZGEEALD, 
 
 In the Clerk's OfSce of the ITnited States District Court for the SontheiM 
 District of New York. 
 
BE ATE ICE: 
 
 THE 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER t 
 
 ' Nay, Beatrice, what see'st thou at 
 the lattice ? Thid is the third time in 
 the last five minutes thou hast been 
 to look out thereat. What is it thou 
 Beest V called out, somewhat sharply, 
 David Goulbou-wb, the IveU-kilown' 
 artificer in gold.and silver, to his fair 
 daugfaf**" , , , 
 
 'I tuongut I h^ard horsemen, 
 father,' lesponded the maiden, drop- 
 ping her eyiee and blushing, as she re- 
 turned to he^ seat at the round ta^ble, 
 «rt which father and daughter werp 
 partaking of their evening meal* 
 
 The table was 6et in the small, 
 neatly-furnished room oyer his shop, 
 'Which fronted on one of tlie most noted 
 thoroughfares of London; and as ft 
 was now withiuan.hour of sunset of 
 a sunny, shining day, thc$ street was 
 lively with passersj-by,' some bastcn- 
 img homeward from* tkeir toil, others 
 enjoying the soft beauty pf the hour. 
 
 The golden sunbeams shone asliint 
 into the small, narrow lattijue of the 
 golilh'iiiitli's humblo abode, and were 
 roll;?t)ted from a wax-polished boaafet 
 on oiiu side of the room, Stud froia a 
 
 •sflver can and tea urn that graced it, 
 and which the diligent care of Bea- 
 trice always kept as bright, as a miF> 
 ror. 
 
 It revealed also half a dozen plain 
 oaken chairs placed against the wain- 
 scot, a mahogany stand, in the .corner 
 supporting a large King Jam^sls 
 Bible with brazen ;glasps, burnished 
 with the frequent handling of devout 
 hands; a stern likejiess of the late 
 Protector, and another, of John Knox 
 over the mantel-piece, showing pl%ju- 
 ly the religion as well as the politics 
 of the' worker in gold. 
 
 A door a-jar in the back of this sit^ 
 tingrroom gave a glimpse of an inner 
 ,bed-i'Oom,^ with white curtains and 
 icount^r-pane, fripged by the fair fiiH 
 gcrs of the mp^iden whose apartment 
 it was. , ,'; , ., 
 
 A door on the left led into a cham- 
 ber l«ss-it^teful in itd aspect, where 
 her fbth^r slept. 
 
 Above, thift was a garret occupied 
 as a dormitory. Beatrice had pcevail- 
 ed'uppn; her indulgent fathejr to have 
 one of the windows in the room 
 lengthened to the floor and move on- 
 hinges. 
 
20 
 
 TIIE 'GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Upon this pleasant look'out, which 
 commanded, thelstrd'etvboth up and 
 iown, she kept 'her ^nnmereus ^ases 
 of flowers, for to flowers and birds she 
 was very partial, and two gilt cages 
 one of which contained a robin-red- 
 breast and the other a parroquet, as 
 briUiaiit in i jli^raaTO ap he was 
 ^oj^^ m tc^gul ^ ; ^ I \_ 
 
 'Horsemen I and why should a 
 maiden like thou run to gaze on horse- 
 men ?' said her father after she- had- re- 
 sumed her seat at the table. ' Hon- 
 est men 1^0 a-fodt, and I'OgUes ride 
 now-a-days. If thbu healrest a horse- 
 man thou' mayestbesurie it is a king's 
 
 follower; for hone others than these 
 ride save lacqnies; and for a king's 
 follower thou art too huihble, and for 
 a lord's lacquey too 'high! So thou 
 hast nought to do with gazing On 
 horsemen. Besides, thou art too fair, 
 my daughter, to have thy fac6 seen 
 at the lattice too oft6n';~ for, thp gay 
 gallants that are about the ■ Court 
 may chance to espy thee and trouble 
 thee. A -maiden's eye is soon caught 
 by silks and bravery.' 
 
 ' Not mine, father.' 
 
 ' True: thou art discreet and virtu- 
 ous, and I would not be afraid to 
 trust thee even to carry the jewel I 
 am now setting for the king's ring 
 to him in his own palace. Neverthe- 
 less I will not place the in- the way 
 of danger needlessly. Nor should 
 thou put thyself in the way. These 
 are licentious and free times sincethe 
 king came back, and if lord's daugh- 
 ters are not safe from his art? and 
 power, I may not be without fear for 
 my darling child. But thou art in 
 the keeping of God's mercy, and I'll 
 
 not fear. But thou shouldst not rntt 
 to the lattice, "buft ra^het retire quiet 
 fjlom it; whenktb^u heaicst the voice 
 of horsemen gallivanting past What 
 didst thou expect to see V 
 
 Jerry, the apprentice, sir, when he 
 came in told me that it was noised 
 about that there wqiij,d be a, fray be- 
 (^tweea the people, tit; the t'rench and 
 Spanfsh AniDassaddrs, ' I did not 
 know when they might be passings 
 and -besides, sir, I wished to see the 
 procession!' 
 
 ' What procession? How shouldst 
 ihou hear of processions, Beatrice J 
 I know of none!' - "-'" 
 
 ' Because you keep so close' at 
 home, dear fatherl' 
 
 ■ And do you go abroad to hear 
 them V ■ 
 
 ' No, father, I hear all from Jerry I' 
 ' The idle rogue is full pf his tales 
 I dare say; for I ne'er send him on 
 an errand that he doth not take four 
 times as long to do it in, as need be I 
 What hath he told thee ?" 
 
 'That some new Ambassador from 
 beyond sea is arrived and waits two 
 leagues below town, where the king 
 and his court and all the ambassadors 
 and their servants, a great and brave 
 display, are going to meet him to es- 
 cort hJin td town!'' 
 
 ' i heard^something of it, by a cus- 
 tonler that came in to have me set a 
 loose diamond in his collar clasp. It 
 is the Swedish Ambassador, and the 
 King wishes, to show him all honor 
 since the peace. But I heard not of 
 any fray 1' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, it is said that the French 
 Ambassador Claims precedence in the 
 escort and the Spanish Ambassador 
 
TIIE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 21 
 
 determines to have it for himself, and 
 BO they are to fight, Jerry says for 
 the precedence. ■ And the king has 
 ordered that none of our own people 
 shall meddle with it, let them do 
 what they will?" 
 
 'The King is right! Let the Don 
 and Monsievir fight it out, and no En- 
 glishmen interfere. It were a bless- 
 ing if they would cut each other to 
 pieces. Their presence here in Lon- 
 don with their Roman Catholic priests 
 and monks and their catholic chapels 
 in their palaces is a great evil. The 
 King and Court are beginning al- 
 ready to ape this foreign worship, 
 and show it powerl Let them fight 
 it out! But it can hardly be to-night 
 it is advancing late, and the King 
 has not yet left his palace or he 
 •would pass here!'' 
 
 ' They say he took barges and went 
 by water while his courtiers rode 
 down to Pell-Mell, there to form!' 
 
 ' It may be so, it may be sol But I 
 care little for it! We have of late, 
 got so used to broils here in London 
 under the King's loose government, 
 that one or more excites no curiosity. 
 Yet, it would be a sight worth seeing, 
 a fair bout with the sword between 
 Don and Frenchman! I think I would 
 look at it myself should it take place 
 in the neighborhood! But for thee, it 
 were better thou shouldst keep out 
 of sight. If I mistake not I saw a 
 Court gallant stopping opposite the 
 house this morning and looking up 
 at the balcony.' 
 
 ' Father, your tankard is out! Shall 
 I draw thee more ale?' asked Bea- 
 trice, rising and taking the tankard 
 to a stone pitcher upon a side-table 
 
 over which she Ktooped low to pour 
 out' the malt beverage which on that 
 day supplied the place of tea and 
 coffee, strivifig to conceal by the act 
 the blushes which mantled her cheeks. 
 
 ' No more, child! I have eaten full 
 heartily. I'll just step out, after say- 
 ing grace, and learn the truth of this 
 rumor. I like not to see Englishmen 
 in arms against each other, as they 
 have too long been, but whenlt, comes 
 to Don and Frank, then I can look on 
 and bid them God speed till there be 
 not a man of them left!' 
 
 Thus speaking, David -G'oulbourne 
 clasped- his hands upon the table's, 
 edge, and closing his eyes returned 
 in a few appropriate words, thanks 
 for the mercies he just received. Bea- 
 trice the while stood by the table' 
 with her eyes dropped to the floor and 
 her hands folded with reverent devo-' 
 tion upon her bosom. As soon as he 
 had pronounced' ' Amen' she ran and 
 got for him his broad brim hat cocked 
 in front, and his cane, and opened 
 the door for him. 
 
 'I'will erelong be in again. See 
 that thoti keep thy face away from 
 the lattice P he said as went out, 'and 
 for safety I will lock the doorl' 
 
 He then turned the huge key and 
 dropping it into the capacious pocket 
 of a broad-sikirted coat, he walked to a 
 gossiping neighbor's a few doors up 
 the street, to hear the news. 
 
 ' Ah, neighbor Goulbourne, good 
 even,' said the brazier, before whose 
 stall the goldsmith stopped; for at 
 this period most of the shops were 
 stalls built out from the .front wall 
 upon the sidewalk which they nearly 
 occupied, often compelling foot-piis- 
 
22 
 
 THE GOLDSMJTn'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Bengers to take the middle of the un- 
 paved streets. ' It is a rare thing to 
 Bee thee abroad save with thy ap- 
 rentice following thee with some no- 
 table job thou hast just finished for 
 some lord or lady. I am glad to see 
 theel Sit down. But hast thou 
 heard the news V r 
 
 ' Nay, I seldom get time to listen 
 to it, Master Brazier; you know that 
 I am a man of small talk. But if 
 thou hast anything worth the listen, 
 ing I will hear it, for I have a half 
 hour's leisure after supper, and may 
 as well hear thee as walk further.' 
 
 Thus speaking the goldsmith seated 
 himself upon an oaken bench at the 
 door of the stall. 
 
 'But, methinks; your shop looks 
 something more warlike than usual.' 
 
 'Yes, Master Goldsmith, I havehaC 
 no less than nine swords and spears 
 sent in to me to look over and repair 
 in the last two hours.' 
 
 'They look like^the arms of the 
 train-bands." 
 
 'You have guessed rightly, neigh- 
 bor. Thou knowest that the Lord 
 Mayor hath ordered out the London 
 train-bands.' , 
 
 'NotL' 
 
 ' It is true. We are like to have a 
 stiBring time^ it, if one or the other 
 don't yield before weapons are cross- 
 ed!' 
 
 'What is thy news? What hast 
 thou to tell ?' 
 
 ' Why you must know, Master Goul- 
 bourne, that the French and Spanish 
 ambassadors are at swords' pepk with 
 each other, their nations you know, 
 being at war. Well, here comes to 
 day my lord, the Swedish apibassa- 
 
 dor, with a train of fifty followers 
 and sends up word to the king, and 
 the king gives orders to go down and 
 meet him and escort him to the city 
 at nine to-morrow morning.' 
 
 ' Not to-night then ?' 
 
 ' No, to-morrow. If will be a rare 
 displayl All the Court will go, andfi 
 brave sight it will be. The French 
 lord has sent word to the king that 
 he claims the foremost place before the 
 Spanish lord. The Spaniard takes 
 fire at this, and sends word to the 
 Frenchman that if he wants the first 
 place he must fight fur it I The king 
 hearing of it, says let no man meddle 
 with them, but let them have it ou^ 
 as they will. The Lord Mayor to 
 keep the peace of the city, and pre- 
 vent any of the English joining in on 
 either side has ordered out the train- 
 bands- early to-morriAv -morning. So 
 you see that we have rare news. Noth? 
 ing like it since March came in. If thou 
 keepest at home thou mayst 'see the 
 fight, for the street up which the 
 Spanish ambassador will come is 
 nearly opposite, and the procession 
 will pass here. I hqpe the Don may 
 get the best of it, for we naturally 
 hate the French.' 
 
 • I hate no man for his country, but 
 for his religion. Master Brazier. They 
 are follower, o the Pope both, and 
 therefore, God willing, let them cut 
 one another's throats. It were a 
 blessing to get them out of the land.' 
 
 • That is true. They tell me that 
 they have mass at their chapels same 
 as in Rojne; priests, virgin Marys 
 and all.' 
 
 ' They tell thee true, neighbor Bra- 
 zier,' answered David Goulbourne 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTF.R. 
 
 23 
 
 somewhat steriily.i^ ' They have mass 
 and vespers and coutbssion, and all 
 othei" Babylonish abominations at 
 their houses. And men do say that 
 the Lady Gastlemaine has prevailed on 
 the king to go and bend the knee to 
 these idols of Rome!' * 
 
 ' My Lady Gastlemaine will make 
 the king do anything, if all tales be 
 true. It is a scandal to England that 
 its king should keep so publicly a 
 mistress; and the new yonng queen 
 BO fair and gentle as she is.' 
 
 ' This is the least of Charles' iniqui- 
 ties. But we must submit, and pr^ 
 for better days. You and I did our 
 best under the great and good Oliver 
 to maintain pure faith in the land. 
 We must now be silent, and let the 
 powers that be, have rule.' 
 
 'I ne'er thought the king would 
 ha' gone to mass, after he promised 
 to sustain-the church. But little re- 
 ligion has he or his court, if all tales 
 be truel' 
 
 'They are true. The king and his 
 nobles, and the ladies of his court 
 have given themselves up to sport 
 and licentiousness. The king leaves 
 the government of the kingdom to his 
 oflBcers, and troubles them only when 
 he asks for money to expend on his 
 pleasures. Thank God he hath some 
 wise men and honest to manage his 
 kingdom or we should soon go to 
 pieces 1' 
 
 ' The times are evil indeed.' 
 
 'Does the king employ thee now. 
 Master Goulbourne ?' 
 
 'Yes, at times. I am now cutting 
 a clasp given him by the Queen of 
 Portugal his mother-in-law.' 
 
 ' The king knoweth thy predilection 
 
 for Oliver, yet oniployeth thco kt thy 
 great skill. Ilast Uiou ev<?r ni-cu liie 
 
 king in person ?' 
 
 'Thrice, and talked with Ijim.' 
 
 'Did he allude to tiiy having taken 
 arms in the Parliament war ?' 
 
 'Jokingly, as his manner is. But 
 as it is dangerous joking with a 
 prince, I did not answer him, but 
 turned the talk to my handicraft, in 
 which he seemed to take great inte- 
 rest. He made me one day take his 
 watch to pieces and put it together 
 befoi-e him.' 
 
 ' The king knoweth how to make 
 himself agreeable when he lists. If 
 he could get rid of his mad love for 
 the beautiful lady Gastlemaine, he 
 would make a good king. But she 
 rules him, and he will do any folly she 
 bids him.' 
 
 ' The king would find others to en- 
 slave him were she out of the way. 
 The whoi« court follows his example. 
 Every noble has his mistress, and the 
 maids of honor are every soul of them 
 light jades. Thou didst hear how the 
 pretty marchioness took it into her 
 head last week to dress up as an 
 orange wench, and go through the 
 streets crying oranges ?" 
 
 ' Yes, and was found out by her fine 
 shoes and hose, which she forgot to 
 change; and she escaped the mob 
 only by means of two or three nobles 
 and their servants, who had just come 
 in town from hunting, and rescued 
 her out of their hands.' 
 
 ■ All the court is in this mad, l(X)Re 
 wanton way,' said the goldsmith. 
 'There will be a judgment upon na 
 unless things are refoi-meii at court 1' 
 
 'Do you think it right, neighbor 
 
24 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 6-oldamith, yow a Jev^out man in the 
 conventicle, to do this light work for 
 the court? Is it not aiding them in 
 their extravagant follies V 
 
 ' It is my trade and by which I live, 
 friend Bi-azier; I can't choose mj'^jus- 
 tomers. Besides, if the king com- 
 mand, I must obey; for the apostle 
 Baith: '-'Honor the king, and be in 
 submission to the powers that be." 
 Besides, I have a daughter for whom, 
 in these troublesome times, it becomes 
 me to provide.' 
 
 ' Doth the king pay like other 
 men?' 
 
 'My price and no morel I ask a 
 king no more than I would ask a 
 commoner. I regulate my price ac- 
 cording to my conscience, not accor- 
 ding to the wealth of my customer. 
 Yet the king hath given me presents 
 over and above my work, which for 
 my child's sake I have accepted.' 
 
 ' She will be rich, if rumor hath the 
 truth of it,' said the brazier smithy. 
 'And; tiruly, she deserveth -all thy 
 care for her, for she is both virtuous 
 and fair. Keep her close, neighbor, 
 and let notj the wicked eyes of these 
 gay young court lords light on her, 
 as one hath abeady.' 
 
 ' One ? What mean you ?" 
 
 'Nay, be not alarmed, for it is no- 
 thing. This morning, as I was bur- 
 nishing the hilt of a sword, there 
 rides up to my window a brave young 
 noble, followed as I saw by two ser- 
 vants leading four horses. He says 
 to me, after politely passing the time 
 of day: 
 
 ' " Pray, good brazier, who dwelleth 
 in yonder house with the balcony J'' 
 and he poin'ed to thine.' 
 
 ■ And what sai<^t thou ?' 
 
 ' I told him that there lived David 
 the Goldsmith, jeweller to the crown. 
 
 ' "By the massl" said he, "he hath 
 d fair daughter, more precious than 
 the crown's jewels I Hath he not a 
 daughter ?" 
 
 ' " Old and ugly," said I, for I saw 
 that he was inclined to give his 
 thoughts to her, and I did by thee as 
 I would have thee do by me, neigh- 
 bor. " Old and ugly," said II 
 
 ' " But what maiden did I see at the 
 lattice ?" 
 
 .. ('I'll have that lattice nailed up 
 and closed ere another day I' firmly 
 resolved David in his heart. ' He who 
 hath a fair daughter, I see, needeth a 
 hundred eyes or a hundred locks.') 
 
 ' " If thou eawest any," I replied, 
 " it must have been my daughter, who 
 ran up there an hour ago to see the 
 old and ugly daughter of the gold- 
 smith.'' 
 
 " Hath thy daughter dark eyes and 
 hair ?" said my lord quickly. 
 
 ' " Yes," I answered, 
 
 ' " And teeth like pearls ?" 
 
 ' "Even fairer than pearlsl" 
 
 ' " And lips like rubies T" 
 
 ' "Even fairer than rubies," I an- 
 swered him. 
 
 ' " And a hand and arm and finger 
 that would match that of Diau ?" 
 
 '"Thou hast described her, my 
 lord," said I. "It is my daughter 
 thou hast seenl" 
 
 ' " Then, by thy beard," said he, ".I 
 swear thou hast the fairest daughter 
 in all London 1 When she returneth 
 make my respects to her, and I will 
 come and see her; for so fair a flower 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUCHTKli 
 
 must not be hidden here, but b? 
 brought out at court!" 
 
 ' " My good Lord Bresselcs," said T, 
 "I desire no such honor as you jjro- 
 pose for her; therefore I shall deciine 
 it; and I will also take care that 'iiy 
 daughter leaves London ere you can 
 see her again 1' 
 
 'Thou canst not hide her from nip, 
 but I will find her !' said he as he 
 laughed and rode off followed by his 
 two rogues with their hounds in lead!' 
 
 'Thou hast done me a kindness, 
 neighbor, by ttic friendly deception ; 
 for this lord Bresselos, is the most li- 
 centious young noble at court !' 
 
 ' This I knew well, therefore did I 
 put hira off his scent as I did ; for I 
 knew that he would look for thy 
 daughter here, not where he beheld 
 her. I would have spoken to thee 
 about keeping her within securely be- 
 fore now, but the order for the train- 
 bands to come out and the rush of 
 business that pressed upon me put it 
 out of my mind; But, my good mas- 
 ter Gouldbourne, I advise thee to have 
 a shrewd eye upon thy fair daugliter ; 
 not that there be any wrong in her, 
 even in thought, but the young no- 
 bles go about as a roaring lion seek- 
 ing whom they may devour ; and as 
 this lord Bressbles has got his eye 
 upon her, if he sees her again there 
 may be mischief in the end. ThOu 
 knowest that more than one beauti- 
 ful maiden of her degree has been 
 carried off from their fathers' houses, 
 no man knoweth wliither, by masked 
 parties ; no doubt these lordlings of 
 the King's, who hath set them the ex- 
 ample by his own unblushing vices. 
 Have a care to thy child thei-efore !' 
 
 ' I will do so, master Biu/.ier, and 
 ilo give theo niaiiy thaniis for ihy 
 vrarning uud ihy frieiidly ctfiirls in 
 li;c(Mviiig '.he noble. I have been 
 i^'iiardod, and forbade hi'r to In? loo 
 uMioh obsiirvfiil ; iiiid sin; willingly 
 ■ il]i-y.s ine, Cor she is a putteni of a 
 good d:in,i;'htcr ; still young lii;tiKl.l 
 wish *.o see and hear, and have curi- 
 i>.sit.y, and one can't lock them up 
 like uuus. Still, 1 will kei'p cliiser 
 watch than ever ; for, as ihou sayesi, 
 the times are loose, and an ontiagc 
 upon a craftstuan would be winki;<l at 
 by the King.' Thus speukiiig, David 
 Goulbournc presently returned to his 
 shop. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 After the goldsmith had quitted his 
 house to ascertain the particulars of 
 the news which his apprentice had 
 brought in a garbled shape to his fair 
 daughter, the maiden clasped her 
 hands together between joy and fear 
 and said : 
 
 ' How fortunate my father did not 
 detect my heightened color when he 
 spoke of the young man he had seen 
 on the other side of the way I I know 
 I must have looked very conscious t 
 But why should I have feared to have 
 hira see my face I Why should I have 
 looked embarrassed I Surely I have 
 done nothing wrong I I could not 
 help his looking over here ! Indeed, 
 as soon as I discovered that I was 
 gazed upon by a l-'indsonn' youth so 
 richly dressed, I was so coii!'u.«i-d ihat 
 I dropped niy watering-pot, left my 
 (lowers, hastened in and shut ttio lat- 
 
26 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 tice ! What more could ray father 
 haye asked 1 What more could a dis- 
 creet maiden do 1 I did not even have 
 the time to get a fair glimpse at 
 his face, I was so surprised 1 How 
 very watchful my dear father is of 
 late, especially since the king saw me, 
 as he passed one day, and asked him 
 if I were Kls daughter ; when he said 
 no, but a friend's child, from the coun- 
 try 1 Since then, if I but look out the 
 lattice after breakfast, he bids me 
 come in I Indeed, I wonder he will 
 suffer me to go out before breakfast 
 and water my plants. Yet my father 
 is right,' she added, with a thoughtful 
 and grave air ; "he is wise and good, 
 and knows what is best for me I The 
 times are free, and a modest maiden 
 ■hould not give herself to the view of 
 the dissolute nobles of the court. I 
 will heed my father's wishes ; for the 
 bold glance of a licentious noble 
 would make me tremble ! Yet, yet> 
 — this young and handsome youth, 
 with his fine expressive eyes, for I 
 got a eight of his eyes, I was so flut- 
 tered when Ruth told me a handsome 
 young lord was standing on the other 
 side of the way watching me, — I can- 
 not help thinking of him I But as my 
 father desires', I will try and keep 
 ' within the lattice. How different did 
 tliat fiery-looking young lord on his 
 horse with hia servants and dogs that 
 I ofiught a glimpse of as he rode, how 
 different did he appear from this youth 
 on foot, though I doubt not both were 
 equally noble from their dress I The 
 mounted nobleman stopped his horse 
 full and scaring at me, had the impu- 
 dence to kiss his hand and fling a kiss 
 to me, and called me — the bold insul- 
 
 ter, ' his pretty wench 1' till covered 
 with blushes of shame and anger I 
 shut the lattice which I had only op- 
 ened to feed my canary. But the other 
 was so different, and seemed to gaze 
 so respectfully, and when he saw that 
 I was confused he walked on quickly, 
 and, as Ruth said, seemed to feel sor- 
 ry that he had seemed so rude I Ruth, 
 who watched him, says he mounted at 
 the next corner, before the haberdash- 
 er's shop, a superb horse held f jr him 
 there by a footman in gold and blue 
 lining, with a coronet on his cuif, and 
 then rode off. It was, I fear, the hopes 
 of seeing him as much as beholding 
 the street fray between Spain and 
 France that led me to move to the 
 lattice whenever I heard the gallop of 
 horses' feet ; for something secretly 
 within my soul tells me he will surely 
 come past again I Hist I There are 
 horsemen coming down the street 1 I 
 will peep, but not be seen ! It can 
 be no harm to see if I am not seen I 
 Besides, I may discover what is be. 
 coming of Ruth, who has been gone 
 full two hoars, to see if my new bod. 
 dice is done for Fair-day 1' 
 
 Curiosity was stronger in her young 
 bosom than fear of offending her fa- 
 ther, and the beautiful daugliter of 
 David Gouldbourne, stole across the 
 room to the lattice, and carefully draw- 
 ing aside the curtain, she peeped out. 
 \Ve trust that she will be pardoned 
 by all our fair readers, of the same 
 age, when they are told, that in all 
 things Beatrice Gouldbourne hitherto 
 had been one of the discreetest maid" 
 ens in London, and though beautiful 
 not vain, and always honored her fa- 
 ther in all bis commands. But she 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 27 
 
 had never had a lover I She had 
 therefore, nothing to conceal from him 
 nothing to tempt her to disobedience; 
 for every wish of her heart was grat- 
 fied by hira. But on this day an in- 
 cident in her life had appeared and 
 given a temptation to withhold, for 
 the first time, all the truth from her 
 father, when he questioned her touch- 
 ing her repeated journies to the lat- 
 tice. But how could she tell him 
 when she hardly knew what to tell 
 him ? . All that she could say was, 
 that while she was watering her 
 plants, her maid Ruth suddenly di- 
 rected her attention to a young gen- 
 tleman richly but not gaudily attired, 
 who Was lingering on the opposite 
 Bide of the way ; and at the instant 
 she looked up he,, hurried away, giv- 
 ing her only time to see that he had a 
 pair of ver^ handsome eyes j and that 
 having mounted a horse near by, he 
 galloped off without even casting his' 
 eyes back 1 This was all she had to 
 tell, with, added to wljiich, a secret 
 impression she had that he would ride 
 by again ; and that slie believed every 
 horse that passed was his I 
 
 Now to tell this to her father in re- 
 eponse to his inquiry touching her 
 visits to the lattice, she felt would 
 make him think her very foolish, and 
 she felt that she would feel very fool- 
 ish in telling him , so she blushed and 
 looked confused and asked him, to 
 change the subject, if he would take 
 another can- of ale. 
 
 Neyertheless, Beatrice fejt, after he 
 had gone out, great compunction at 
 heart, for even this slight evasion ; 
 and she half made up her mind that 
 when he returned she would tell him 
 the truth exactly as it was. But, 
 
 "there was something- so interesting 
 in the handsome and diflSJent young 
 stranger that she felt that if she told 
 her father, ghe might never see him 
 again ; arid she was convinced that 
 unless she did so she should be un- 
 happy. 
 
 This, in confidence, she confessed to 
 her lively and faithful mjiid Ruth, 
 who was not backward in expressi'ng 
 her surprise that her young mistress 
 should fall in love, at first sight, with 
 one so far above her, or indeed even 
 with an apprentice of her owngrad6. 
 
 ' I am not in love, Ruth. You are 
 very bold to say so 1' answered the 
 maiden, yet looking more pleased 
 than vexed. *How can I love a per- 
 son whom I certainly should not 
 know if I should ujeet him again.' 
 
 ' I don't know. Miss Beatrice, but 
 I've heard of such things in plays, and 
 now I see it; for you' had no sooner 
 turned and lookfed at him and caught 
 his eyes fastened on you, than you 
 colored and trembled, and looked as if 
 his eyes had been lightning and had 
 struck you, for it came upon you just 
 as quick as a flash of lightning!' 
 
 ' I confess I never felt such sensa- 
 tions before as I then experienced.' 
 
 ' And your pulse beats wildly even 
 now as you think about it,' said Ruth 
 witK perseverance. ' It is clear y'ou 
 are in love, Miss Beatrice.' 
 
 ' No, no! I shall not see him again 
 and how can I love one who I have 
 seen, and scarcely that, but once!' 
 
 ' f'don't know how it is. Why did 
 you not feel so when that Lord Brea- 
 sels, as they, said it was, for I asked, 
 stopped his horse full before the bal- 
 cony and stared at you so bold and so 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 long", dnd e-ven kissed his fiuger tips 
 to you.' 
 
 'Do not speak of himl I (vas very 
 displeased I He was very presum- 
 ing!' 
 
 'And why did you not' think the 
 other bold and presuming ? Only be- 
 cause you were pleased ? Only be- 
 cause you looked and met his eyes 
 land loved him! That is the short 
 and long of it, Miss Beatrice!" 
 
 Euth had in truth got ' the short 
 and long" of it. The admiration of 
 lord Bressels had inspired her with 
 disdain and proud contempt for him 
 while that of the other stranger had 
 produced in her bosom opposite emo- 
 tions. These facts she could not dis- 
 guise from her own. heart, and more 
 than once after Ruth had left her to 
 go to her dreas-womau's for her, she 
 had put to herself the inquiryj 
 
 'Is it so in truth? Does Euth say 
 rightly ? Is this indeed the emotion 
 of love I feel for this youthful strang- 
 er? Alas! I hope not; for if it is I 
 am of all maidens the most misera- 
 ble. I am but a poor goldsmith's 
 daughter and he is, doubtless, noble. 
 He would scorn the love and trample 
 on the heart and deep aflfections of 
 one like me. I pray God that I love 
 him not. I will put the thoughts of 
 him out of my heart; for it is very 
 foolish and weak for me to suffer one, 
 scarcely seen for a moment, to take 
 such place in my heart and head as 
 he has done this day. Lest it should 
 bo love, as Ruth, who always is so 
 far-sighted, says, I will not think of 
 htm again; for it will be only to be 
 miseralile and to love without hope!' 
 
 Nevertheless, the maidens heart 
 
 had been too fatally peuetrated by the 
 ardent glance of the young mau, for 
 the impression to be effaced at her 
 will. The more she tried to banish 
 him from her mind the more she 
 thought about him; till at length her 
 nervous anxiety £^nd curiosity led 
 her to imagine that every horseman 
 who passed might possibly be him, as 
 every sound heard by one who looks 
 for a friend's arrival is believed to be 
 the signal of his approach. 
 
 Thus had she gone to the balcony 
 impulsively from time to time, till she 
 incurred her father's reproof. Yet 
 even this did not abate her d(fsire to 
 know whether he might not -again 
 pass by; and, therefore, as we haye 
 seen, the goldsmith had not been 
 many minutes gojoe before the sound 
 of horsemen drew her again to the 
 lattice. * 
 
 • Upon putting aside the curtain, 
 that she might see without being 
 seen, she beheld not the young strang- 
 er in the blue silken coat trimmed 
 with gold buttons, and cloak lined 
 with scarlet velvet, which was the 
 costume of the nobleman, who had 
 made such an impression upon hei^ 
 heart, but she beheld lord Bresseles 
 himself. He had drawn rein and was 
 gazing up at the balcony, as she put 
 aside the inner curtain. But she had 
 no sooner caught sight of him than 
 she retreated, but not before he had 
 got a glimpse of her. 
 
 'Aha! Do not fly, my angell' he. 
 cried in the tone of gallantry, affect- 
 ed by the dissolute young nobles of 
 Charles' Court. ' If thou withdraw- 
 eth ihine eyes, the sun sets! Mark-, 
 haml' he said, turning to his attend- 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 2t- 
 
 ant, over whose saddle was slung 
 pheasants, rabbits atid other game, 
 while behind vr«;re his servants with 
 the tired dngs. 
 
 ' Well, my lord.' 
 
 ' As thy name is Markham, mark 
 well this house. Dost heed me ?' 
 
 'I will note it, my lord! But I 
 know it already by the golden ring 
 above the do"i, to be the shop of 
 David the goldb.nitli.' 
 
 ' So good. Let us ride on.' And 
 the young nobleman who had carried 
 on this brief conversation in an under 
 tone, spurred forward, thon.^'h not 
 without a keen survey of the windows 
 and doors as if he expected to get an- 
 other glimpse of the maiden wliom he 
 had the. vanity to believe was capti- 
 vated by his personal appearance. 
 
 He did not proceed far, before he 
 turned aside, and by means of a nar- 
 row street, gained his residence in' 
 one of the most lordly quarters Of the 
 town. 
 
 ' Markham,' he said as he alighted 
 at his gale, ' I want you to have your 
 wits about you for me to-night.'' 
 
 ' Yes, my lord, I will sharpen them,' 
 he answered. 
 
 'This David, the smith, whoso 
 house we rode past ' 
 
 ' Where your lordship saw the fair 
 pnritan maidea;' 
 
 ' Yes. I would have you go "back 
 and learn who she is;, for I saw her 
 this morning as we roie out of town, 
 and then a sword-maker near by, did 
 tell me she was his daughter, and 
 was tiien out on an hour's visit. Yet 
 I find her there, when we returned. 
 Go and learn who she is; for there 
 was sonielliiiig in that villainous low- 
 browed CJ'ivenanter's eye when he 
 talked with me, that leads me to sus- 
 
 pect he was playing me f nil; I ho' by 
 the cross I know not in what way. — 
 But I lit-yd not his words. Go and 
 bring rao presently all thou canst 
 learn abou*; her; for I have not soeu 
 this side of Espauia, so fair a pair of 
 eyes.' 
 
 ' I will not be three hours gone, my 
 lordr 
 
 ' The greater speed, the more gold 
 in thy cap.' 
 
 The Confids-ntial lacquey of the 
 young U(jble, bowing to his Ibrd, spur- 
 red away to execute his oidr.'.s. 
 
 Beatrice had no sooner belield the 
 bold and ardent gaze of tfie loi-l IJres- 
 seles than coloring with mortitioalion 
 and anger that slie should have per- 
 mitted him to see her, she dropped 
 the screen of the lattice and drew 
 quickly baQk from it. 
 
 ' My father was right, when he 
 bade me not to appear oftener than 
 need be at the balcony! I have, 
 doubtless given this vain nobleman 
 if we nlay judge from his confident 
 demeanor, reason to think I was look- 
 ing forth to court his gaze. I atn 
 overwhelmed with shame! Hither 
 comes Ruth! Ah, thou art back 
 again. Where hast thou loitered ? 
 No doubt gossipptng with all thy ao 
 quaintances in town by the time thou 
 hast gone. I'll warrant me thou hast 
 seen Spankie.' — This was all spoken 
 partly with reproof, partly with a 
 good-natured smile. 
 
 " I have, mistress Beatrice,' answer- 
 ed Ruth; ' and when you get a lover, 
 and such a one as Spaiikie you'll 
 
 ' Well, I dare say Spankie is the 
 best fellow in town.' 
 
 ' And he thinks me the handsomest 
 maid.' 
 
sc> 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' He hath taste, for thou art hand- 
 some, Ruth, with thy ready smile and 
 pleasant eye, and fair skin; to say 
 nothing of thy rosy cheeks and pretty 
 figure. Thou has beauty enough to 
 set by the ears, half the spruce foot- 
 men in London, to say nothing of 
 Spankie. So I will not reprove thee 
 for stopping to chat with him. Hast 
 thou brought my boddice, and did she 
 line it with crimson silk and edge it 
 with silver twist as the mode is V 
 
 'It is a perfect beauty, Mistress 
 Beatrice,' responded Ruth taking the 
 article from a clean kerchief, in which 
 it was nicely pinned up, and display- 
 ing it before her young mistress's 
 gratified e3'e8 with much pride and 
 admiration. ' There isn't it a picture ? 
 There isn't its second in London, not 
 even among the queen's maids of 
 honor, I'll wager a silver groat?' said 
 Ruth with emphasis. 
 
 ' It is very pretty.' 
 
 ' It will so become you. And when 
 you put it on with the skirt which we 
 made at home, and get on the lace 
 sleeves your father bought you, and 
 dress your hair a la negligent as they 
 call it at court, you'd look out o' 
 countenance the handsomest lady at 
 court. My Lady Castlemaine would 
 die of envy.' 
 
 'Don't compare me with Lady 
 Castlemaine, Ruth.' 
 
 'Well, I won't! I didn't mean 
 toothing. Some great ladies think no 
 lees of her because she is the king's 
 mistress and left her own Iprd and 
 husband^ but -' 
 
 ' Never mind. Let nie try on tlie 
 boddice. ll is most dark. 1 was 
 
 afraid you wouldn't be here so that I 
 could try it on before night.' 
 
 ' There is plenty of time I I'll draw 
 the curtain and let in the light.' ' 
 
 'No, no. Don't, for mercy's sake 
 draw it. I can see.' 
 
 ' Why, what is the matter, Miss 
 Beatrice ?' 
 
 ' My father says he would rather I 
 should not have the lattice open.' 
 
 ' For fear that some brave young 
 lord will fall in love with thy pretty 
 face and steal thee away. I would 
 like to see one of 'em, lord or low 
 steal me away.' 
 
 Beatrice smiled at Ruth's earnest- 
 ness, and taking the boddice she bade 
 her follow her into the inner ^oom, to 
 try it on her. 
 
 ' Where has your father gone, Miss 
 Beatrice ?' asked Ruth. ' I found the 
 street door locked, and came in by 
 the area-door; so I know he is away I' 
 
 ' He went out to hear the news V 
 
 'News! There is enough of it. 
 They say the Lord Rochester ran 
 away with the handsome Mrs. Mel- 
 voro, and wa* pursued and overtaken 
 and the king was so angry, for hi 
 loved the lady him&elf, they say, that 
 he shuts up my lord in the Tower. 
 Then they say that at the birth-day 
 ball, the king flirted with the beauti- 
 ful Mrs. Stewart, in a scandalous 
 manner before all the people, even 
 kissing her in the corner, and the 
 Lady Castlemaine was so angry that 
 she left the room; — but the king went 
 after her and a'sked her pardon. Thea 
 they say, that last night she, that is 
 my Lady Castlemaine, invited the king 
 to supper, witii several lords, and thfe 
 freshet, j'ou know tliat was, flooded 
 
THK (JOLDSMITH'S DAU6HTER. 
 
 31 
 
 the kitchen, so that the cook couldn't 
 roast the goosie, at which ray lady 
 swore that the goose should be roast- 
 ed for the king, if the house had to be 
 set on fire to do it by. Then it is a 
 
 common report how ' 
 
 'There— that will do, Ruth! I don't 
 want to hear any more court newsP 
 
 ' It is the rarest news agoing; 
 Lord! The genteels don't let a day 
 % pass that they don't give us something 
 worth talking about.' 
 
 ' Don't bring it to my ears, Ruth. I 
 • do not wish to hear of their absurd 
 follies.' 
 
 ' But I know what you would like 
 to hear, Miss Beatrioel' said Ruth, as 
 she fastened the last loop to its gold 
 button in the front of the boddice^ 
 ' What is that V 
 
 ' The name of the young man in the 
 blue silk coat, trimmed with gold.' 
 
 Beatrice looked' both pleased and 
 displeased, and said sharply: 
 ' No more of this.' 
 ' Nay, but I know/ thou wouldst,' 
 persisted Rath. 
 
 ' Well, what dost thou know V 
 ' Nothing.* 
 
 'Then what |rt thou prattling 
 atout. How sits the boddiee V 
 
 ' Sweetly — like a queen's. Nothing 
 could be fairer or more becoming. 
 Bless me. If his Majesty should see 
 you in it, he would n^ think a second 
 time of my Lady Ca»tlemaine, or even 
 the splendid Stewart.' 
 
 Beatrice answered this speech by a 
 smart slap, given in, truthful indigna- 
 tioB, upon the dieek of her maid. 
 
 ' Wouldst thou insult me, Ruth ? 
 Know that a virtuous maiden is more 
 noble, though she ibe but a eerPs 
 daughter, than a kiny^'s mistress.' 
 
 ' " ' Forgive me. Mistress Beatrice. I 
 deserved the slap you gave me, but I 
 didn't mean harm.' 
 
 ' I trust not. Let thy thoughter run 
 upon other matters than court gos^iip, 
 and thou wilt be wiser of speech and 
 happier thyself. Give me the skirt 
 
 East thou looped it up on the left 
 side?' 
 
 ' Yes, as you bade me.' 
 
 ' I have no page to bear my train^ 
 nor would I have one. I wish to drew 
 as becometh my degree.' 
 
 ' Thou canst dress as richly if thou 
 wilt, as any of them, for thy father 
 hath the name of being the richest 
 goldsmith in London.' 
 
 ' I know nothing of his wealth. He 
 gives me what is proper for me, and I 
 ain grateful and content. Thou know- 
 est it was more his vanity than mine 
 that got this dress.' 
 
 ' He knew how nobly you would 
 look in it. I wish he would come in 
 and see you as you are. I wish you 
 had one of those full length Venice 
 mirrors I have seen in ttie palace. 
 Thou couldst see thyself from head 
 to foot, as others can see thee.' 
 
 'I- will let my father's eyes and 
 yours be my mirror, Ruth. He must 
 soon be in. Where is Jerry ? Hast 
 thou seen him ? He hath not had \m 
 supper I' 
 
 ' He is an idler at his list, the lad{ 
 I dare say he is in some ale-house 
 drinking in trifling stories, or else at 
 the Ship and Anchor, hearing the a?iil- 
 or's talk. If master keep him not 
 closer, he will run off to sea; for he 
 hath more liking to salt-water, by his 
 talk, than to working in gold and sil^ 
 ver.' 
 
 ' I will tell my father to keep him 
 more strickly iu.' 
 
32 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 'There he comes. I hear the key 
 turning in the door,' cried Ruth. 
 Stand as you are, and yoUr face turn- 
 ed just as it now is when he comes 
 up, so that we may see if he k,nowa 
 you.' 
 
 'Doff your hat, Master David. A 
 ladyy said Ruth, in a lively tone, 
 which she tried to subdue. 
 
 The goldsmith obeyed her as he 
 eamc up stairs, and entered the room 
 He did, indeed, start back and betray 
 surprise and respect, for he bowed 
 low and gazed earnestly upon the no- 
 ble figure of his daughter, which was 
 most happily set off by her new bod- 
 (liue and flaming skirt. 
 
 A. laugh from Ruth, echoed by Bea- 
 trice betrayed her. 
 
 ' It is Beatrice V exclaimed the de- 
 lighted goldsmith, as he advanced 
 and proudly surveyed her, walking 
 around her. 
 
 ' No wonder, no wonder,* he added, 
 mentally, ' that the nobles fall in love 
 with her. I ne'er before thought her 
 half 80 beautiful. She will out-lady 
 them all, and in heart stand high 
 above them all. God' bless thee, my 
 daughter,' he added aloud, ' thou art 
 very fair to look upon, but thou art 
 good also; and that gives glory to 
 thy beauty.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When the goldsmith had enough 
 admired his daughter in the new bod- 
 dice which he had, in his paternal 
 pride insisted upon her having made, 
 he suddenly became grave, and shak- 
 ing his head, sighed and said, half 
 aloud : 
 
 ' It seems like dressing up the lamb 
 for the sacrifice, if these lords or even 
 the king should behold the glory of 
 her beauty ; for no bird is too low for 
 the royal aim I It were better I 
 dressed my child in the coarse cloth 
 of the hind's daughter, than in times 
 like these array her thus I But she 
 is not vain, and loves my praises only 
 because it is her father who praises 
 her. Beatrice I'' 
 
 'My father?' 
 
 ' Go not forth to conventicle in this 
 dress 1 It makes thee prouder in air 
 that beseenieth one of thy degree.' 
 
 ' I will wear what pleaseth thee, 
 sir !' 
 
 ' I know it. Thou art all obedience ; 
 therefore do I dislike to command I 
 Thou shalt wear it then I I will not 
 fear for this ; for He who hath bestow- 
 ed upon thee this beauty will protect 
 thee and not make it a snare to ihee I 
 Go, now take it off, and come in and 
 let us have our evening prayer and 
 then to bed 1 Where is Jerry ? 
 the young truant ! He always is 
 sure to be away till dark 1' 
 
 ' I saw him, sir, talking with a per- 
 son up the thoroughfare,' answered 
 Beatrice,'and without doubt he walk- 
 ed away with him. It seemed to be 
 a countryman.' 
 
 ' No doubt, for he is always pick- 
 ing up strangers. I must tighten my 
 rein upon him. I give him a finger's 
 length and he takes an ell. 
 
 ' You should keep him more at home 
 I think, sir,' answered Beatrice, as 
 she seated herself near the table, after 
 resuming her plain but neat house- 
 hold costume. 'He sometimes comes 
 in late, and disturbs us ; and this 
 staying abroad may get him pressed 
 into the sea-service.' 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 33 
 
 ' I should be sol'ry, for he is a smart 
 apprentice, and tids me greatly, when 
 he will,' answered the goldsmith, as 
 he opened the large family bible, 
 and prepared to read a chapter, as 
 his custom was, morning and even- 
 ing. But he had hardly named the 
 chapter, when a loud knocking at his 
 door caused him to lay down the vol- 
 ume, while- Ruth went to open it. 
 
 'It is the brazier, master I' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 Bid him come in 1' 
 But his neighbor had already pass- 
 ed Ruth and was in the room. 
 
 'At j'our evening prayers, master 
 Goulbourne, I see. I am sorry to im 
 terrupt ; but I come to tell thee that 
 not iive minutes agone a party of the 
 Duke's men entered the Ship and An- 
 chor and pressed twelve men and lads 
 for the Dutch war that hath lately 
 been declared ; and one of them was 
 the apprentice Jerry I This I learned 
 from my own villain Lusking, who 
 escaped them himself by leaping from 
 the window. If thou sayest, Lusking 
 will have up the apprentices — some 
 score or more in a winking, and to 
 the rescue 1' 
 
 ' Nay, as the lad hath sown let him 
 reap. I thank thee, neighbor, for thy 
 zeal in my behalf 
 
 ' Not a bit. I knew the young man 
 was valuable to thee, having great 
 natural skill in thy craftj though lie 
 is scarcely twenty yet. But he can 
 be rescued. There we^'e but a dozen 
 and a lialf of tlie Duke's men.' 
 
 ' I sluill take no stops. It woiiM 
 be resisting the law of the laud, wliicli 
 ordaiiis that, in extremities the king 
 sliall liave power to take his subjects 
 wherever auil wlienever he may, and 
 
 press them into his service. Let the 
 boy go. He hath bepn of great trou- 
 ble to me and my house of late. I 
 will try to-morrow and get me an- 
 other to supply his place. He ever 
 loved too much the corapaniDuship of ' 
 the m(3u of the sea ; and now he will 
 have his £[11 of their company. WilJ. 
 thou join with us, Master Brazier?' 
 
 ' I ne'r refused to receive a bless- 
 ing, which always falleth where pray- 
 er riseth,' responded the brazier, as 
 he doifed his cap and reverently seat- 
 ed himself in a rush chair placed for 
 him by Beatrice. 
 
 When David Goulbourne had ended 
 his evening sacrifice of prayer and 
 thanksgiving, the Brazier resumed 
 his cap and said : 
 
 ' Now I will back to my stall ; for 
 Lushing waits to koow if I will give 
 him leave to call out the 'prentices 
 with their clubs.' 
 
 'Bid him keep quiet; and haunt 
 henceforth no more ale-houses lest he 
 fall into the same net.' 
 
 ' It were as easy to keep a cat out 
 of'the cream-pot as a 'prentice from a 
 tavern, good Master G-oldsmith,' re- 
 sponded the Brazier, laughing. 'lam 
 Sorry for thy loss, Good Mistress Be- 
 atrice, take an 6ld man's advice, and 
 keep thou within, and show not thy- 
 self on the balcony when young lords 
 go prowling by; for the balcony may 
 prove as dangerous to thee as the 
 tavern hath to thy father's 'prentice ; 
 and tliere an; other press-men besides 
 llie Diiktt fi)!- thi; navy.' 
 
 TliiKs pipeakiug the frank Brazier 
 took his feave, and was lf:t out by 
 Ruth, who was almost clising tiie 
 door after him when a king's livery 
 
34 
 
 rilE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGllTEPi. 
 
 man caino riding up and said, as he 
 arresicd tlio door witli liis hand, bend. 
 105 fiDin tiic saddle. 
 
 '|s ihy iiiiister witiiin, pretty one V 
 
 •What liust thou to say to him var- 
 let ?' 
 
 ' Would I be fit to serve the king 
 if I would trust a woman with a se- 
 cret?' answered the man laughing. 
 ' bid him come and speak with me.' 
 
 ' Thou art but a servant, and jthou 
 cominandest like a lord.' 
 
 'A king's servant is a commoner's 
 ctiual, judo I go bid thy master hith- 
 er 1' 
 
 ' A saucy king's varlet is at the 
 door, and would speak with thee, sir!"' 
 ijbe said going up stairs. 
 
 'AlMiutthe setting in the clasp,' 
 paid l),ivid as he rose up. ' I have 
 not hurried it, and it is not yet done. 
 [ hopi' lie hath not sent for it.' 
 
 'Art thou the gold-worker, old 
 fellow ?' demanded the king's lacquey, 
 with tlic haughty impudence that he 
 had full licence for from the manners 
 of the court. 
 
 ' AVIiat wouldst thou 1 for I see by 
 thy livery that thou comest from the 
 palace 1' 
 
 'The king hath sent word that 
 thou must have the work he ordered 
 thee to be done by eight of the clock 
 in the morning. He would wear it in 
 going to meet the Swedish aibbassa- 
 dor. See that thou fail not on the 
 peril of thy head 1' 
 
 ' It shall be done, tell his majesty.' 
 
 ' Of course it shall be done. I shall 
 be a fool to tell iiim that a London 
 goldsmith condescended to obey his 
 orders.' 
 
 TImis spi.'aking the lacquey turned 
 
 his horse round so rudely as to press 
 him against tiie d(ji)i7 and n|^ou the 
 goldsmith, who had to sjirii.g back 
 upon ihf stairs to save bi.'iiig crushed; 
 for there was no side-walk, and the 
 doorg of the shop opened upon the 
 dirty, rutted street. 
 
 "Like master, like man!' said a 
 stout, short person that was passing, 
 and saw this. 
 
 'Ah, friend Brewer, good event 
 Thou sayest truly! These fellows 
 think there is no humanity in any 
 veins but a noble's. Wilt thou walk 
 in 1' 
 
 'Nay, I was only passing on my 
 way to the meeting.' 
 
 ' I see thou hast thy sword and 
 matchlock, which, in the dusk, I did 
 not at first take notice of. Does the 
 train-band meet to-night.' 
 
 'Yes; the major hath called 11s out 
 to keep the peace against the minion, 
 when it is thought the Don and Mon- 
 sier '11 have a bout.' 
 
 ' I heard of it. I could wish the 
 king had chosen another than the 
 Lord's day for his pageant.' 
 
 .' So many wish. But when his ma- 
 jesty shall regard the Sabbath, he 
 shall worship in conventicle. If he 
 will have plays performed at the 
 Duke of York's and go to them of a 
 Sunday afternoon, he will not think 
 much evil in turning out his Court 
 in gala dresses to bring an ambassa- 
 dor into town. Good even, neighbor,' 
 "David Goulbourne was about clos- 
 ing his door, when a man who had 
 been standing in the shadow as an 
 eaves-dropper on the opposite side of 
 the way, crossed the narrow street, 
 and said, 
 
 ' Art thou David the silversmith ?' 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ^j 
 
 'Yes,' answered he/ seeing that 
 the man wore the livery of a footman, 
 but whose he could not distinguish io 
 the deepening twilight. 
 
 ' I have a jewel tiiat I wish to 
 match for my master. Wilt thou 
 show me what thou hast ?' 
 
 ' Oorae in, and thou shalt look at 
 them. Ruth, bring a candle and 
 light my shoplamp. Walk in and 
 round the stairway. Go; here is the 
 doorway. Hasten, Ruth with the 
 light.' 
 
 The waiting worn an brought a rush 
 candle to him as he was standing in a 
 little passage at the foot of the steep 
 Btairs, near the inner door to the shop. 
 The door was made of oak, very 
 thick, and studded with iron nails, 
 and strengthened with two cross bars 
 of iron. 
 
 ' By the rood, gold-man, thou hast a 
 strong place to keep thy jewels in.' 
 
 ' It is not best to tempt rogues by 
 weak defences,' responded David, as 
 he entered with the candle, and fol- 
 lowed by the man. 
 
 The apartment or shop was the?^' 
 same size of the sitting room above it 
 that is, about twelve feet square. Its 
 walls on all sides were brick, very 
 thick, and giving the place an air of 
 strength. It had no other door than 
 that which admitted thera, and but 
 one window, low and square, that ad- 
 mitted the light between its massive 
 iron bars. Upon one side was a 
 bench covered with tools for engrav- 
 ing, polishing and setting jewels, and 
 opposite to it was a small chemist's 
 furnace for assaying gold. A dark 
 colored oaken case of drawers stood 
 in one corner, each locked, and label- 
 led with the class of its contents, as 
 
 'pearls,' 'rubies,' 'chalcydon^' 'agates,' 
 ' emeralds,' ' diamond,' &c. &c., pre- 
 senting to the coveteous eye of the 
 footman the idea of the most tempt- 
 ing treasures. 
 
 Benoath this chest of drawers 
 was a small iron box about two feet 
 square, and strengthened with hoops 
 of iron, as if the material of which it 
 was composed possessed not sufHoient 
 strength. It was secured by a huge 
 padlock. All these things were noted 
 by the speculative gaze of the lac- 
 quey, and he thought to himself that 
 if he ever intended'to be a thief he 
 had good cause for beginning here. 
 But the strength and care by which 
 all seemed protected, gave him, he 
 thought, but little encouragement of 
 ever being successful. 
 
 'This would be a. paradise for a 
 skillful burglar, maste;: goldsmith ?' 
 he said, as he saw David select a 
 huge key from a bunch which he took 
 from a drawer, the key of which he 
 carried with him. 
 
 ' It has been a prison, too, for me,' 
 dryly answered the smith, as he 
 stooped and fitted the ponderous key 
 to the brazen padlock of the iron 
 chest. 
 
 ' A prison V 
 
 ' A burglar once found his way in 
 here, but I discovered him ere he got 
 oif with his buoty, and for a month I 
 kept him chained to this padlock, ^nd 
 gave him jewels to live upon with a 
 crust of bread a day by way of des- 
 sert. He soon got tired of such fare, 
 albeit 1 did not stint him, but placed 
 a plateful before him daily. Some- 
 times I would vary his diet and fill 
 the dish with gold and silver; -but he 
 grew thin upon this fare alsuj and im- 
 
36 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 plored me for more crust; and so I 
 kept liim till he had given me back all 
 my jewels, my diam(jnds, my gold and 
 silver for cni.sts of black bread. At 
 last I placed all that he'd stolen, in all 
 nearly twenty thousand pounds worth 
 I placed before him on a large plaiter 
 I gave him no bread: I waited two 
 days and he ate none of them, Bind 
 with cries and importunities, begged 
 that I would take all and give him 
 but a piece of bread the size of my 
 thumb, that he might not die, 1 .yield- 
 ed to his entreaties, and gave him the 
 bread for the jewels. I then unbound 
 him and bidding him to remember the 
 lesson I had taught him, led him forth 
 into the street and set him free.' 
 
 ' Mercy 1 what a dreadful lesson he 
 had,-" ej.iculated the lacquey, who had 
 listed aghast with^ surprise, and ef- 
 fecttially cured of the covetous emo- 
 tions that the sight of the strong 
 boxds of jewels had' began to awaken 
 ia his mind. 
 
 ' It did him great good. He is now 
 become an honest man, and a good 
 citizen. It effectually cured him.' 
 
 ' I should think so. But that ia a 
 beauty. It must be very valuable,' 
 he added as he saw the jeweller draw 
 from the safe a black velvet cushion, 
 edged with cord of gold, upon which 
 lay a superb clasp of diamonds, that, 
 catching the rays of the lamp and re- 
 flecting them,, sgemed to eclipse it 
 with their splendor. 
 
 'Its value is fortythousand crowns,' 
 quietly answered David, as he placed 
 it upon his work-bench. Upon the 
 cushion by the side of the clasp, was 
 a single diamond of great size unset, 
 its place*in the aigrette being indica- 
 ted by a \ acaut cup. 
 
 ' It must be the king's V exclaimed 
 the inquisitive arid curious footman. 
 
 ' It is his majesty's. l4ow let me 
 look at the pearl thou wouldst have 
 me match for thy master ? Who is 
 he?' ■ 
 
 ' Sir John Millicent,' answered the . 
 man, with a slight faltering and a 
 quick coming color as if he were ly- 
 ing. 
 
 ' I have done work for Sir John. 
 Let me, see the pearl. Itis a fair one 
 but not of much value,' he added, as he 
 tocfk it. ' I can match it. Is the mas- 
 ter to go to France ?' 
 
 'Yes, I think so.' 
 
 ' I hope he will better his fortune. 
 Methinka he gives his knaves rich 
 liveiies, for a poor knight as he is,' 
 said David, as he glanced a second 
 time at the handsome and showy at- 
 tire of Markhamj for it was none oth- 
 er than the confidential valet of Lord 
 Bresseles come as a spy to the G.jld- 
 smith'a house, and inventing an ex- 
 cuse for entering by means of an odd 
 pearl, which his master had at one 
 time given him for success in some 
 enterprise similar tcj the present.' 
 
 ' We dress as suits our fancy, rather 
 than our master's purse,' answered ' 
 Markham. 
 
 ' This pearl hath once been an ear 
 drop.' 
 
 'Thou hast hit it. If thou wilt find 
 a fellow to it, my master would make 
 both a present to thy fair daughter.' 
 
 ' Tell Sir John my daughter hath 
 no need to adofn herself with jewels, 
 being full comely as he well knoweth. 
 Nevertheless, from an old knight like 
 him such a gift were pleasing; yet 
 doubtless he is not able to give so 
 much. This and ita fellow would be 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 37 
 
 worth fifty pounds, if he pay me for 
 , "the, match.' 
 
 'Nay, he gives thee this only for 
 'her, if thuu cuuldst find a match for 
 it.' 
 
 'Here is one that is twin with it. 
 But 1 cannot take the present. 1 will 
 give the mate to thy master, tell him, 
 fur twenty pounds. And if he dt^sites 
 both set as ear adornments, I will set 
 tliem plain for five pounds more. As 
 a gilt I cannot take it, and say to 
 •him, with my tlianks for his courtesy 
 to my daughter.' • 
 
 'But he bade me see the maiden, 
 and tell her from him what I have 
 'told t|hee. Hath not the knight hired 
 money of thee ?' 
 ' He hath often I' 
 
 'So he hath of every goldsmith in 
 London in his time, if leport saith 
 true!' 
 
 'Dost thou speak so freely of thy 
 master ?' 
 
 ' We are accustomed to,' answered 
 Markham, who for a moment had for- 
 gotten his assumed character as a 
 servant of Sir John Melllcent, whose 
 name he had used, rightly guessing 
 from the knight's character that he 
 had had dealings with the goldsmith. 
 With ready wit he had conceived, as 
 he had ridden hither, after leaving 
 his master, Bresseles, the ruse of the 
 pearl and the idea of passing for Sir 
 John's valet. 
 
 His object was to get access to the 
 house, and asc<4rtain if the maiden, as 
 he felt pretty well , convinced, wei;e 
 not ill fact the goldsmith's daughter, 
 ratiier tlian the brazier's. Neverthe- 
 less, though David had acknowledg- 
 ed that he had a.danghter, he was 
 resolved not to have iiim tell he had 
 
 seen her; and also taken a cftiso sur- 
 vey of the house and notinj; its weak 
 P'liiits, for in his own tuiud iiewas- 
 sarisliud that if his "lord resolved to 
 have the maiden he would come and 
 carry her nS. 
 
 'If'thou vvilt let me at least give 
 Sir John's words to herj' added M irk- 
 ham, adroitly, ' so long as thou wilt 
 not let her accept his gilt, by which 
 he would show thee his gratitude for 
 the service thou hast rendered him, I 
 shall be content to return to him. 
 Otherwise, he will break my head.' 
 
 'Ruthl' 
 
 'Master Goulbourne,' answered the 
 maid, appearingat the door. 
 
 ' Show this footman up .stairs, and 
 let him speak with Beatrice. He, is 
 Sir John Mellicent's man, and hath a 
 message for herl' 
 
 ' Come this way, young man,' said 
 Ruth, with that air of disdain with 
 which she seemed to comport herself 
 towards all foOtmen save her own 
 Spahkiel ■• 
 
 , ' When thou hast told her the words 
 Sir John gave thee, come down again 
 and I will send the other pearl to Sir 
 John to see if he liketh my terms.' 
 
 ' He will regret thy daughter hath 
 not accepted his gift,' answered Mark- 
 ham, inwardly pleased that the , pearl 
 was declined; for althoug'iii he knew 
 his lavish lord would make up to him 
 its loss in such a service, he still pre- 
 ferred keeping it in his own possession. 
 Markham was one* of those in^jompar- 
 able valets that run all, bold risks to 
 serve a generous and gold-free mas- 
 ter. 
 
 When Markham reached the sitting- 
 room and beheld Beatrice, who was 
 sitting beneath a lamp with her rich 
 
38 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 boddic»in her lap, fastening upon it a 
 loop that was not well secured, he 
 started with surprise "at her beauty, 
 and involuntarily bowed with as much 
 civility as if she had been a lady of 
 the court. 
 
 Art thou the fair daughter of the 
 goldsmith, or an angel?' 
 
 'Nay, do not mock, sir What is 
 thy message ?' she said with a dignity 
 that abashed him. 
 
 ' Sir John Mellicent, in considera- 
 tion of certain favors extended to him 
 by thy father, hath sent thee a pres- 
 ent of a fair pearl; but thy father 
 hath declined it for thee. Neverthe- 
 less, I feel it duty to make known to 
 yon Sir John's intentions.' 
 
 ' I have heard of the knight, but do 
 not know him, and my father is right 
 in declining his gift. Say to your 
 master I thank him for his great 
 courtesy ?' With these words she re- 
 sumed her needle, while with his eyes 
 he stood and admired her, till Ruth 
 said sharply: 
 
 'Thou hast delivered thy errand, 
 Sir Pert, and I will show thee down 
 again.' 
 
 ' Sir John will regret this refusal,' 
 said Markham, lingering while he sur- 
 veyed the room, doors and windows, 
 
 ' I h;ive no mtbre to say,' answered 
 Beatrice, without raising her eyes 
 from the loop. 
 
 'She is as cool and cavalierly as a 
 lady bom,' imittered Markham, as he 
 turned ami ivscended the stairs. 
 
 'Thou hatit a fair daughter. Master 
 Goldsmith 1' he said as he re-entered 
 the shop. ' I wonder her fame hath 
 not got abroad.' 
 
 ' Spuak of thy business only. What 
 
 wilt thou d6 about this mateh pearl P 
 
 ' I will take back to Sir John his . 
 own, for I have no further orders.' 
 
 ' Tell him I apprec^te his kindness; 
 but that he oweth me nothing nor I 
 he I Our business has been matter of 
 loan and interest, and no favor on 
 either side. Indeed, I am not a little 
 surprised at Sir John's sending such 
 a message and present. If he were 
 thirty years iyounger, I should suspect 
 he had some underhand purpose in iti 
 As it is give him my respectful duties 
 and say that he can have the match 
 pearl, if be wishes it, for twenty 
 pounds !' I 
 
 Thus David Goulbourne had an eye 
 to trade, though he rejected the 
 knight's gift. 
 
 Markham now took his leave, well 
 content with his success thus far; 
 and having .got outside, he turned 
 back the sleeves, and drew out the 
 laced lappels, at once resuming the 
 livery of his master. Lord Bresseles, 
 which he had artfully disguised by 
 displaying a fanciful one to the eyes 
 of the goldsmith. 
 
 He found his horse at the next cor- 
 ner, and mounting him galloped 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The goldsmith having dismissed 
 the spy who had passed himself upon 
 him so successful, as Sir John MlUe- 
 cent's man, bolted his door and re- 
 turning into his shop, ''sat down be- 
 fore the diamond clasp, to finish it in 
 time for the king's messenger in the 
 morning. He had arranged his light 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 39 
 
 to suit hitn, and taken his tools to be- 
 gin his delicate work, when Beatrice 
 entered, followed by Buth. 
 
 'I have come, dear father, to say 
 good-night before I retire I' 
 - ' God bless tiiee, my child,' said her 
 father, kissing her with affection. 
 
 ' You will not work late, sir V 
 
 'Not above two hourpi' 
 
 'How beautiful those diamonds 
 are!' 
 
 'Yes; they are the best water I 
 have ever seenl The center one is 
 worth at the very least five thousand 
 pounds, if set alone very, richly. But 
 why do you linger ? What have you 
 to say ?' 
 
 ' Father,' said Beatrice with some 
 hesitation, ' I fear that you have been 
 deceived to-night. Ruth insists that 
 she saw this very man following the 
 Lord Bresseles to-day, and also ou 
 other da3's !' - 
 
 ' Yes, master, I know that he is one 
 of his menl' said Ruth, positively 
 ' I was trying to recollect where I had 
 seen his face when he was here. But 
 I now recollect. He is none of Sir 
 John's men, not he! Sir John is too 
 poor to pay such a gallant at his 
 heels. Besides, as I said, I saw him 
 in the retinue of Lord Bresseles to- 
 day!' 
 
 'Are you sure of that?' .demanded 
 the goldsmith in surprise. 
 
 'Yes; I will take my oath of it!' 
 
 The goldsmith now recollected what 
 his friend the Brazier had told him, 
 t>ow that Lord Bresseles had inquired 
 who Beatrice was, and it at once oc- 
 curred to him that he might have let 
 'one of his lordship's men in, iusteail 
 of a man from Sir John. 
 
 'I would I had Jerry here! I 
 would send him at once to Sir John, 
 and know the truth of this. If he 
 sent him not, then it accounts for this 
 gift of the pearl, and excuses Sir 
 John of a folly, and at the same time 
 puts me on „my guard against the 
 arts of a very dangerous and power- 
 ful nobleman. Beatrice, this Lord 
 Bresseles hath seen thee at the lattice, 
 and, I doubt not, hath free thoughts 
 with regard to thee! and this man 
 liath been ' his spy. But I will see 
 Sir John at once. I shall have tio^e 
 to find the clasp when I return.' 
 
 'Do not go, sir.' I have no fears,' 
 answered Ruth boldly, ' I will put . 
 in my cloak and hood and see him, 
 and'bring thee back an answer speed- 
 ily.' 
 
 ' That is a good girl. Stay. I will 
 write a line to Sir ' John, and ask him 
 to reply in writing.' 
 
 The note was brief and ran thus: 
 
 'Sir John Milliceat will oblige 
 David Goulbourne, by informing him 
 whether he hath sent a footman to 
 lis shop to-night with a pearl, or 
 whether' he hath in his service a tall 
 Footman with a red mustache, and 
 long light hair. David Goulbouri^ 
 herewith sends his«8ervice to Sir 
 John Millicent. 
 
 ' This by the maid Ruth, by whom 
 send a reply in writing.' 
 
 In two minutes Ruth was ready, 
 ind taking a lantern in her hand, she 
 <allied forth to the abode of Sir 
 John. 
 
 She was naturally conrag'eous, or 
 she-would not have dared to traverse 
 
40 
 
 THH GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the streets of London, by night; but 
 her cufoeity, and her ;zeal for her 
 master and young mistress, gave her 
 ,new resolution in their cause. She 
 wanted also to confirm her own posi- 
 tive assertions to them. 
 
 But the door had ,not more than 
 closed upon her, ere she felt a slight 
 tremor of fear at having volunteered 
 on this enterprise; hut plucking up 
 courage, she prepared to h"*dsten for- 
 ward, when a young man close by 
 her side said diffidently: 
 
 'Mistress, is not this the house of 
 David Goulbciurne, the jeweller V 
 
 Ruth would have hastened on 
 without replying, lest he might prove 
 q,n evil designer; but thei'e was some- 
 thing in his voice so courteous and 
 respectful, that she turned the lan- 
 tern !full upon his face to see if it cor- 
 responded to the p eppssiug tones of 
 his voice; for, provided he were -a 
 civil pe.son, she saw no reason v<hy 
 she should not reply fo his inquiry, 
 striinger though he was, and. night 
 jlhoug-ii it were. She saw at a glance 
 (tliai liis face was pleasing, and kind- 
 ly ia its expression, and 'that there 
 was notliin.^- to fear from him. He 
 was attired, too, in a coarse grey 
 h- ck c at, bound with black cord, 
 and wore plaii^blue c oth doublets 
 without shisi.es^ and upon his head 
 the ordinary apprentices low crowned 
 cip. Tnis diesH which bespoke him 
 of the ower class of citizens and an 
 apprentice, re-assured her; and al- 
 thougli she would have flod from a 
 strange lacquey or a riutirig lord, 
 who iniglit have thus accosted h^^r, 
 she felt no fear of this young man. 
 
 '1 will answer hmi coolly, for he 
 
 86' ms so modest and diffident,' said 
 she to herself; ' For he can mean no 
 harm; though "were a nobleman to 
 put such a question, I should begin 
 to think of Miss Beatrice, and bid 
 himigo about his business. Dearme,' 
 what ; a pity it is in a tradesman's 
 daugl'^ter to be handsome. I hope 
 it'll never bring her to harm, althuugh 
 'it is likely to cause her trouble. 
 Spankie says I am handsome enough 
 for him, and that is as handsome .as a 
 queen for ihe.' 
 
 'You do not apswer me, good mis- 
 tress,' said the apprentice, observing 
 her silent, and still gazing upon him. 
 ' I asked if this was not the gold- 
 sijiith's abode V 
 
 ' Yes, truly. Dost thou not sce-the 
 gilt ring, and silver chain above 
 there ?' 
 
 'There are other smith's in this 
 row, and it being dark, I might mis- 
 take it. Indeed I was about to knock 
 at the door when you came forth.' 
 
 'You seem fair spoken 1 May I 
 ask you, Sir Prentice, who you wish 
 to see ? I am the maid of the house, 
 and can tell you maybe what you 
 wish to know. Be quick, lor I am 
 bound on an errand in a great hurry ?' 
 
 ' I hear that your master is in;want 
 of an apprentice in his craft.' 
 
 ' Marry, well done. News flies 
 apace. It is not two hours since he 
 knew that he would have to get one. 
 Comest thou for the place ?' 
 
 ' Ii I could be found wo thy of it.' 
 
 'Modestly answeredl Verily, it is 
 true enough. My master will need 
 an apprentice, for his rogue Jerry 
 hath been impressed for tlie Duic's 
 fleet. Is it thy trade ?' 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 41 
 
 ' It is my only trade, mistress.' 
 , 'Well, beshrew me. I like well thy 
 appearance and speech, and if my 
 master is to have a new apprentice, I. 
 see no* why he may not take thee in, 
 as well as another. Most of them are 
 such drinking, swearing, ale-house 
 haunting braggarts, that a decent 
 house is too guod for them. I would 
 as lief see a bear in my kitchen, as 
 one half of the London apprentices. 
 Dost thou drink, or swear, or break 
 the Lord's day ?'. 
 
 •Neither,' answered the youth, 
 smiling. 
 
 'Then thou dost stand afair chance 
 of pleasing Master Gouldburue. Dust 
 thou go to a conventicle V 
 
 'Verily, yes.' 
 
 ' Well, "I caunot stand talking with 
 thee. I have to go on an errand 
 to Sir John Millicent's. It is of great 
 importance, or I would not have come 
 out to-night, be assured.' 
 
 'Give toe thy lantern, good mis- 
 tress, and tell me the errand thou art 
 upon, and I will bear it to Sir Jcfhn 
 for thee, for there is a bonfire. on the 
 next street, and thou wilt meet rough 
 fellows that will trouble thee to pass.' 
 
 'Shall I, or shall 1 not?' reflected 
 Ruth. ' But it aoes not become me to 
 be abroad to-night. He seems fair 
 and honest, and speaks to me so civil- 
 ly withal. I will not give him the 
 note, but I will ask him to go with 
 me as Jerry used to go with me. 
 Master , 'prentice, I cannot well trust 
 theiB, being a stranger; but if thou 
 wilt accompany me to Sir John's and 
 back again, I will speak a good word 
 for thee to my master, when I return.' 
 
 'I thank thee. 1 will go and come 
 back with thee, and on the way, per- 
 
 haps, thou wilt tell me something of 
 thy master's iiumor.' 
 
 'That I will do. But, first, how 
 hast thou heard that he wanted an 
 apprentice? It hath never come to 
 any man's knowledge, save, indeed, 
 the brazier, whose «nop we are now ' 
 passing here. Dost thou know Mas- 
 ter Roger, the brazier ?' 
 
 ' I heard it' not from him,' answered 
 the apprentice, as he walked on by 
 her side as she hurried along, so di- 
 recting her lantern that he had better 
 light of it than herself j for Ruth had^. 
 a kindly feeling in her bosom for the 
 youth, and felt friendly and well dis- 
 posed towards him, for his manners 
 were modest and prepossessing, and 
 h'ewas mqre civil and polite than any 
 apprentice she had before met with, 
 they being noted mainly for their 
 rough manners and discourteous bear- 
 ing, especially towards females in the 
 streets. . 
 
 'Nay, then, come upl Who could 
 have told thee but a witph V 
 
 'I was at the ale-house when thy 
 master's apprentice, Jerry— — ' 
 
 ' Jerry ?' 
 
 ' Jerry it was. I was tljere when; 
 lie was pressed, and he bade me come 
 and get the place, for that Ms master 
 would need one.' * * ' ' 
 
 'So thou dost freja^nertt the, ale- 
 house, and art fcnowi) to Jerry ?' said 
 Ruth, gravely. ' Neither of these re- 
 commeiid thee to me, nor will they be 
 likely to my master;' 
 
 'It was by accident only,' answered 
 the apprentice, with some confusion. 
 ' I might be known to Jerry without 
 •lieing his comrade at all, and seeing 
 a crowd about the tavern, curiosity 
 
42 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH S DAUGHTER. 
 
 might lead me, you know, to go and 
 see what was pasaing.' 
 
 ' That is true. Did they chain Jerry 
 when they took him off?" 
 
 ' He seemed to go willingly enough.' 
 
 'I dare to say itl He loved the 
 sea and always was wishing, himself 
 a sailor. Now, if thou canst show a 
 good character, and comest to my 
 master in Jerry's place, I hope thou 
 hast no hankering for the sea in thee.' 
 
 'Not a bit. I love the land too 
 well." 
 
 ' Then it may be jOa may get Jer- 
 ry's place. But thou wilt have to 
 bring a good character from thy last 
 master. How is it thou art away 
 from him ?' 
 
 ' 1 believe he did not want me any 
 more.' 
 
 ' That is very odd. Dear me, what 
 a press of people, and such a noise 
 and bright light!' 
 
 ' It is a bonfire, burning in rejoicing 
 for the taking of Tangier. You will 
 find them a-light all over the city.' 
 
 ' It is well you came with me.' 
 
 ' I will see that no one insults you. 
 We turn this way to Sir John Milli- 
 cent's. He lives down there, close 
 by, I believe.' 
 
 ' Yes. How welj. you know about 
 London I Come, le\ us hasten on. 
 There are thr^e apprentices coming 
 after us.'- 
 
 ' They will hot harm thee.' 
 
 * But they may thee. Gome, let us 
 walk faster.' 
 
 Euth now fairly ran, for the persons 
 she had alluded to now called out for 
 them to stop. TiiC .''oung man could 
 scarcely keep up wi'.h her, and the 
 next moment she was at Sir John 
 MiUiceut's dour at thu bottom of the 
 
 court. It was a shabby abode and 
 dark. The three men stopped as if to 
 watbh and lay in wait. Ttie appren- 
 tice rapped on the door, which was 
 opened by a little old man with a rush 
 light in his hand,. that served to show 
 his poor apparel. 
 
 ' Please give this to Sir John and 
 bring me an answer at once,' said 
 Euth, thrusting the paper into his 
 hand 
 
 'Sir John is a-bed.' 
 
 ' Give it to him there.' 
 
 ' It .seems of importance by thy 
 earnestness,' said the apprentice, as 
 the old porter retired. 
 
 'It is; and if thou art our appren- 
 tice, I will tell thee some day about it. 
 What is thy name ? I forgot to ask 
 it.' 
 
 ' George Faithful.' 
 
 'It is a good one and pleases me, 
 and will please jny mu.stei' if thou 
 dost thyself. There wait those three 
 men.' 
 
 ' Fear them not.' 
 
 ' We must pass them.' 
 
 ' Aadvdll pass theml' responded the 
 young man resolutely. 
 
 • Art thou good at single-stick ?' 
 
 ' I have played it ere now a little.' 
 
 'I will wait till they go away. 
 They are three to one.' 
 
 ' There is no danger. We will go 
 as we came, and not heed them.' 
 
 ' Sir John says he has no such fel- 
 low as the paper asks for,' answered 
 the porter. 
 
 ' Tell him tp write it — to write it 
 down.' 
 
 ' He hath done so.' 
 
 ' Let me see.' 
 
 'What, dost thou read, mistress P 
 asked the apprentice. 
 
43 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S -DAUGHTER. 
 
 'I was taught by my young mis- 
 tress. Yes, it is right, tell Sir John, 
 and thank himl I knew it was all as 
 I told master.' 
 
 ' What was as you told him,?' asked 
 thS apprentice. 
 
 'Not uow. Let us go. But I ff>r 
 got the men. They still stand there.' 
 
 'Perhaps they wait for others. Let 
 us go. I can defend both thee and 
 myself, if it come to blows.' 
 
 'You speak like a brave appren- 
 tice. Jerry would never fight more 
 than, one, and run from two always, 
 yet he ne'er came home but with a 
 broken head. I would there were 
 some other way of getting out of this 
 court than this.' 
 
 ' Put thy arm in mine. We will put 
 a brave front and pass on.' 
 
 Euth, finding he was resolute and 
 feeling confidence in his courage, not- 
 withstanding the odds, did as ho bade 
 her, and they passed up the close. 
 She was so well aware of the lawless 
 state of the streets, and had seen and 
 heard so much of recontres in them, 
 that she took it for granted that U»e 
 new apprentice would be assailed. 
 He seemed to believe so, too, for as 
 they came up to the three fellows, he 
 loosened a hanger that he wore be- 
 neath his frock and which she did not 
 before discover, and said : 
 
 ' If they press me release my arm 
 and retreat a pace or two, and give 
 me sct)pe at the varletsl" 
 
 ' Ho, villain, stand back and giv- 
 up the wench hanging ou thy arm and 
 let us see if she be young or old,' 
 cried one of the three, while the trio 
 advanced with locked arms upon him 
 
 'Clear' the path, fellows, or you 
 must ti'ke the cuusequeuccs,' answer- 
 
 ed the appientice, in a firm and even 
 voice. 
 
 ' Down with him. He dares to 
 threaten us,' cried another, and they 
 all three pressed upon him with their 
 quarter staves. 
 
 ' Now back a step, and throw the 
 light of the lantern in their faces and 
 blind them,' ho said to Kuth in a low 
 tone. ' Fear not, but that I will pro- 
 tect thee from the rogues.' 
 
 Euth obeyed, and at the same mo- 
 ment the apprentice drawing his 
 hanger set upon them with such good 
 will and so took them by surprise that 
 they gave back crying, ' The fellow 
 hath a sword.' 
 
 ' And you shall feel its edge, my 
 masters,' he retorted as he cut at them 
 with skill and vigor, and drove them 
 up the close fairly at a run; for the 
 Loudon apprentices' being armed 
 only with quarter staves and forbid- 
 den the use of steel under heavy pen- 
 allies, seldom contended long in ^their 
 frays where steel was drawn against 
 him. 
 
 ' We will have him arrested for us- 
 ing steel on an apprentice,' said one 
 ©f them they gained the broader 
 street and encouraged by the crowd 
 around the boij^rre, stopt his flight. 
 
 'Who use(f steel?' asked two or 
 three hutches near. ■■ 
 
 'The fellow there with the girl I' 
 We three set upon him and he drew 
 steel and drovt^is.' 
 
 ' Then you shall not press htm fur- 
 iher,' answered a stout brewer. ' If 
 i>ue can drive three he had earned the 
 street and shall walk unmolestedl' 
 
 'But it is against the King's laws 
 lor an apprentice to carry steel 
 
44 
 
 THH GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 weapons 1' rejoined one of the discom- 
 fited party. 
 
 ' That is the king's and his brave 
 apprentice's look-out, not thine,' said 
 a butcher. 
 
 The bullies seeing that, like all that 
 fly the field, they were without favor, 
 ■ slunk away; and the bold 'prentice 
 and Ruth, who had heard all that 
 was said passed on their way without 
 molestation. 
 
 'Now,' said Ruth, first speaking 
 when they had got well towards 
 home, if thou has not shown thyself 
 as brave an apprentice this night as 
 ever defended a woman, may I never 
 Bee thee David Goiilbourne's appren- 
 tice. But for thee I should have been 
 in great peril 1 It shall not be my 
 fault if my master doth not engage 
 theel' ' 
 
 ' ' If I have made you my friend I 
 have not fought these rogues in 
 vain I' 
 
 'You have made me your friend. 
 Oh, I do love a brave manl Not 
 that I am going to love you; because 
 I am engaged to a nice young man, 
 Mister Spankiel Did you ever hap- 
 pen to hear of him ?' 
 
 'I dure sayl So you are to be 
 married 1' 
 
 .'Why, not just now! . We haven't 
 got quite enough laid up yet to go to 
 house-keeping, but we hope to in an- 
 other yearl' W 
 
 ' How much lacks V 
 
 ' Well, I have fo?ty crowns, three 
 shillings and sixpeiie'e, and Spankie 
 has fifty-two pounds sterling 1 I wish 
 you could know Spankie, he is so^ 
 clever; and when I tell him how 
 brave you are, he will think so much 
 
 of you; for he thinks a great deal of 
 courage. Dear me! how you did 
 fight and they did run. When I tell 
 master and Miss Beatrice—^ — ' 
 
 ' ' Is that the name of your young 
 mistress who taught you how to 
 read V 
 
 'Yes. She is so handsome, and 
 good'and virtuous! You don't know 
 how many youug lords ride by to 
 look at herl' 
 
 ' Indeed I Then she • loves to be 
 looked at by young lords ?' 
 
 'Dear me, no. She is very diffi- 
 dent; but a girl can't alway keep in 
 and have the lattice closed. Slie has 
 flowers, too, on tiie balcony, uiid has 
 to water them. But of late she keeps 
 very close, she dislikes so. to have 
 them notice her.' 
 
 'Think you she has, any lover eith- 
 er of high or low degree V 
 
 ' Dear no; as for lovers of high de- 
 gree, her father would not let one of 
 them speak to her, for he knows they 
 would stoop, like the eagle, only to 
 strike its victim, and she fears thesO 
 young Iqrds, as it is right and pioper 
 she should do. Her father is very 
 wise and watcljes over- her, fur he 
 loves her dear as life. He say she 
 shall never marry any one who can- 
 not take a watch to pieces and put it 
 together again.' 
 
 ' Has he said so V demanded the 
 youth with sudden surprise and earn- 
 estness of manner. 
 
 'Yes, a score or more of times. He 
 means by it that she shall wed only 
 in her degree, and a youth of his own 
 craft. See, now wliat n)ay liippen! 
 -i-who knows ? Certainly if you liad 
 fi)Us;ht for Miss Beatrice to-'p'-lit as 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 45 
 
 courageously as you did for mp, you 
 would have had her heart. Whi 
 knows what may be yet? I do hop! 
 you will^take Jerry's place, and that 
 master and Beatrice wilj lilie you a,-- 
 ■well as I do. 1 know I ought not to 
 talk so free with a stranger, but 
 somehow I feel as if I had known you 
 for years.' 
 
 ' I am very glad that I met you. 
 No doubt I should have had dilHoult}' 
 in getting ii^to favor with the gold- 
 smith if 1 had not happdy seen you 
 coming out of hia door.' 
 
 ' How fortunate it was. But-^ — ' 
 
 'But what?' 
 
 ' I said Miss Beatrice was heart free 1 
 but ' 
 
 ' Is she not ?' 
 
 'How eageily you as!?. There is a 
 young man whom slje has seen but 
 once that I know she feels a great in- 
 terest in.' 
 
 • Who is he V 
 
 'I don't knowlhor does she',. Dear, 
 me how inquisitive you are! But we 
 are at the door already. You must 
 come in withjae,' 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The young lord Bresseles yras seat- 
 ed in his sumptuously furnished apart- 
 ment wrapped in a gorgeous Persian 
 gown, and his feet thrust into elegtmt- 
 ly worked Indian slippers. He had a 
 Turkish pipe in his hand, while from 
 time to time he would place it in his 
 lips and inhale the fragrant tobacco, 
 the next moment to exhale it in blue 
 elouds, that fli)ated as lazily as his 
 own thoughts about his head. 
 
 'Mung-.o 1' he.-callod in a. low tone, 
 iS if it were.aneCjrt to spe^ik as lywl: 
 is he did,; for he l^iUed upua his, otto-- 
 man, the very persoaificatiotj uf luxu--. 
 I'ious effeminiicy, and of voluptuous i 
 iuditilenco, He was rather haudsome 
 but. free iudalgence in pleasure, had ■ 
 greatly , marred liis.gyod,. looks, and 
 stamped upon his . flushed face, an air-, 
 of aljandon, H.e was very rioli, auii.i 
 the costly appearance of things abputu 
 iiim, showed the, lavishness of his 
 purse. — He was in gno.d favor with 
 the king, whom he resembled' too 
 much in his licentiousness not to be, 
 liked by him. — Nature had gifted 
 him with; taJeJjts of a high order, but 
 he had made them administer tohiau 
 sensual indulgences. Lord Bresseles 
 tho.ugh scarcely six-andrtweuty, kept^. 
 table, the best huutoia and hounds in 
 the kingdom, and even rivalled the 
 monarch in his pleasures. 
 
 ' Mungo 1' 
 
 ' Massa 1' responded a negro boy 
 about sixteen years of age, springing 
 to his feet' from an Angola rug at the 
 side of the ottoiuau, where he hud 
 been dreaming of the palm-groves 
 that shadSd his father's cot in sandy 
 Afric*.-T-IiQrd Bresseles had purchas- 
 ed him at a great price, for he was a 
 prince's son in his own laud ; and as 
 it was just now getting to be gristly 
 in fashion for noblemen to have at 
 least. one Ethiopian attendant, it was 
 proper that the' most voluptui>us hnd 
 in the kingdom shi/tild obtain one with 
 royal blood in -his veins, as Mmigo's 
 certainly had ; for his father had a 
 guard, of a thousand warriors and 
 governed a tnbe of eighty thouijand 
 people. 
 
46 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But a prince stronger than he had 
 invaded his territories, and made his 
 wives and children captive; and Man- 
 go, after various adventures, became 
 the body servant of Lord Bresseles. 
 He was a faithful and good-tempered 
 youth, as his pleasant countenance 
 showed ; still he was sad, for he sigh- 
 ed for his native groves, and remem- 
 bered with tears his mother and fa- 
 ther. 
 
 * What, massa I'\ he responded bow- 
 ing before the noble, with his hands 
 crossed upon his bosom, and in an at- 
 titude at once of submission and at- 
 tention. 
 
 ' Drop more incense into the bowl 
 of my pipe.' 
 
 Muiigo took a small silver box from 
 a marble stand near the ottoman, and 
 taking a pinch of a rich-looking pow- 
 der from it, he held his fingers above 
 the golden bowl of the chebouque, 
 and dropped it upon the fiery con- 
 tents. A cloud of fragrant odor as- 
 cended and soon filled the atmosphere 
 of the roum with the most exquisite 
 perfume, 
 
 ' Now take the pipe and bring me 
 coffee.' 
 
 Mungo received the chebouque upon 
 his bended knee, and laying it upon a 
 table, placed before him in a gilt cup 
 the oriental beverage, which at that 
 age few but the rich could indulge in. 
 
 ' Has not Markham come, yet 1' ask- 
 ed Lord Bresseles, as he slowly sip- 
 ped his coffee with a golispoon, with 
 which he had added a spoonful of 
 brandy to his cup. "^v 
 
 ' Me hear 'em hnssy now I'.respond- 
 ed Mungo quickly, his large black eyes 
 bi'ighte/iing up as he bent his head for- 
 
 ward to listen. Lord Bresseles let 
 his glance linger for a moment with a 
 look of prideful vanity upon the fine 
 leopard-like shape, ebony skin and 
 brilliant eyes of his slave, and smiled 
 within himself as he thought how de* 
 sirous the king had been more than 
 once to get possession of him ; and in 
 truth Mungo was the handsomest Af' 
 rican ever seen in England. Lord 
 Bresseles moreover dressed hira in the 
 richest apparel of blue silk, lined with 
 scarlet and trimmed with gold braid, 
 which, with an orange-colored Greek 
 cap and tassal, set him off to the best 
 advantage, and caused him to be the 
 admiration of all the common people 
 of London, whenever he accompanied 
 his master forth. 
 
 ' Go to the window, Mungo, and see 
 if he has passed by or gone into the 
 stables.' 
 
 'Him ride into de stable, massa.' 
 
 ' It must be Markiiam then. I won- 
 der what news he brings of the pretty 
 little citizen ? I am well assured that 
 that villainous brazier was throwing 
 me off the scent, by his -readiness to 
 acknowledge her to be his daughter, 
 1 read a lie in his eye while h^ was 
 talking ! Still it may be so ; — but 
 wiij should I see her at the gold- 
 smith's in the evening when 1 I'eturn- 
 ed, as well as in the morning. But 
 Markham's wit will unravel it. There 
 is his step 1 Go and admit him with- 
 out waiting for him to rap,' said Lord 
 Bresseles aloud to his slave. 
 
 The next- moment the confidential 
 valet of the young ubblemau entered 
 Ills apartment. 
 
 ' Well, Markham, what news V ask- 
 ed his lordship, rising half up, and re- 
 garding him eagerly 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 i7 
 
 ' The brazier, for some reason or i 
 other, deceived you, my lord. The 
 maiden is the daughter of David the 
 jeweller 1' 
 
 ' This you had ascertained without 
 doubt V 
 
 " I have, my lord : I have seen her 
 and spoken with her.' 
 
 "You have bueu more successful 
 than I hoped. How did you man- 
 
 'You recollect, my lord, the odd 
 pearl you gave me about the affair of 
 my lady St. ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes — what of it 7' 
 
 ' It occurred to uie I could make an 
 errand with it in my hand to the gold- 
 smith. So I made up a story in my 
 head, and by ineaus of it, not to enter 
 into particulars, I got to see the jew- 
 eller and his daughter.' 
 
 ' I wish to hear the particulars.' 
 
 The valet then related the occur- 
 rences as the reader is already inform- 
 ed of them ; and wiieii Lord Bresseles 
 heard him say how he liad passed off 
 for a footman of Sir John Millicent he 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 And the maiden close to is as 
 wondrously fair as she seemed to bt 
 from the street ?" 
 
 ' More so, my lord ;, she is hand- 
 somer than any maid-ot-honor at 
 "V court.' 
 
 • So she refused even a gift, had old 
 Sir John Millicent sent her one even. 
 I see I stiall have to try other ways, 
 then. How did she bespeak you ii 
 the interview V 
 
 'With grace and accomplishment, 
 my lord.' 
 
 ' I hope the king hath not seen her; 
 and lest he sliuuld light upon her, i 
 
 must be prompt. Can your wits help 
 me, Markham V 
 
 ' There is one way, my lord.' 
 'Name it.' 
 
 ' Watchiug for her When she goes 
 to conventicle to-moirow, and catch- 
 ing her up and carrying her olf.' 
 
 ' To-morrow tlie triUn-bauJs will all 
 be out and under ariu8, on account of 
 this unexpected ali'air between the 
 ambassadors. It would be a dange- 
 rous undertaking at such a time — we 
 should be set upon by the rcii^ues and 
 get the worst of it.' 
 
 ' Wait till next conventicle, my 
 lord.' 
 
 'A whole week? No, no! I must 
 secure her at once, or the king will 
 supplant me. -Besides, she may not 
 go to conventicle on the next Suit- 
 day,' 
 
 ' These Puritans never miss a niieet- 
 
 ing, my lord, no more than you would 
 
 i play.' 
 
 ' A week is too long. Think again.' 
 
 ' There is the old way of attacking 
 
 .he house bj' ni^ht, with half a dozen 
 
 rue men, well-armed/ and taking her 
 
 I way by force.' 
 
 ' This will hardly do. Do you know 
 hat the Parliament yesterday took 
 his matter seriously up, on account 
 jf a petition, or some such thing, sent 
 la to it from the citizens, which rc- 
 [jresented to his rnajesty that his sub- 
 jects, especially in the town of Lon- 
 ion, had teen repeatedly and griev- 
 nisly outraged by the lawless attacks 
 if certain nobles and retainers about 
 lis court, to t-lje- injury of their goods 
 tnd the dishonor of their families. 
 vVhereupon Parliament decided that 
 it became ueccsbury that his majesty 
 
48: 
 
 THH GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTii R. 
 
 restrain such by his authority, or the 
 perpetrators, whether noble or princej 
 should be tried at the bar of their 
 country for these offences equally with 
 the lowest comftioner who might be 
 guilty of them!' 
 
 ' It hits you, my lord ' 
 ' Yes, a little,' ansvered Lord Bree- 
 Bftles, with a laugh of contempt at the 
 idea of any restraint upon his plea- 
 sures and vices. 
 
 ' What said the king V 
 ' He gave the petition to my Lady 
 Castlemaine, and, laughing, told her 
 to make papelletes of it to curl her 
 hairl' 
 
 ' I thought as much. So, my lord, 
 you won't attack the house ?' 
 
 'Not just now; for, though the 
 king treated the impertinent petition 
 with proper derision, he afterwards 
 privately said to me, that in order not 
 to increase the hostility between the 
 town and court, he would esteem it as 
 a favor if I and other lords would take 
 less open courses in carrying out our 
 amusements? 
 
 ' Then we must think of some other 
 way. Ah, I have it, my lord.' 
 
 ' What do you devise, for your in- 
 vention hath never failed V 
 
 ' I will give you my plan, my lord. 
 
 But ' and here he glanced at 
 
 Mungo. 
 
 ' Can't he hear it even ?" asked 
 Lord Bresseles, laughiug at his valet's 
 cautious mannef. , ,. 
 ' No, my lord.'" 
 
 'Go, Mungo. Wait in the ante- 
 room.' 
 
 The slave left the room, and Mark- 
 ham, giiini:;- to the door to see that it 
 WHS closed tight, returned and laid 
 before his master the projects he had 
 
 conceived, but which we will not here 
 unfold, leaving it to be revealed in 
 tlie progress of the story. 
 
 We now return to Euth andi the 
 young apprentice whom we 'left just 
 about to enter the abode of David 
 Gouldbourne. At the loud and well- 
 known rap of Euth upon the panel, 
 the goldsmith, who was at work upon 
 the diamond clasp, rose and hastened 
 to let her in; for, as he sat at his 
 bench and thought over the circum- 
 stances of the visit of the footman and 
 recalled all the events of the da^, h& • 
 could not remove from his mind an 
 impression of uneasiness touching his 
 daughter's safety and peace. He, 
 therefore, upon hearing Euth's knock, 
 hastened to open the door to ascertain 
 the result of her visit to Sir John Mfl- 
 licent's. 
 
 Upon seeing her accompanied by a 
 tall, well-shaped young man, the gold- 
 smith looked surprised, but his ap- 
 pearance was at once explained by 
 Euth, who said quickly: 
 
 ' This, master, is a brave young 
 man, who fought three stout appren- 
 tices and drove them away, when they 
 would have insVilted me. He has ac- 
 companied me home.' 
 
 ' He is welcomeJ' said David, look- 
 ing at him closely by the light which 
 Euth's lantern cast upon his face. ' I 
 see by your badge that you are a 
 goldsmith's apprentice.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' answered the young man, 
 respectfully. 
 
 ' May 1 ask him in, sir ? He seems 
 a- very modest and proper young man, 
 though he is an appreutice, sir,' 
 whispered Euth. 'Perhaps he may 
 do to take Jerry's place, if be suits, 
 j^ou; for he say N Lus master has given 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 49 
 
 up business and gone to Flanders, or 
 some foreign place over sea, knd hat 
 given him up his 'dentures.' 
 
 'Walk in, young man; I will tall> 
 with thee,' said David. 
 
 Euth looked at him and smiled, at 
 if she felt greatly pleased at her sue 
 cess thus far; and, tripping in, sh. 
 was hurrying upstairs to inform Bea 
 trice of her adventures, when Davii, 
 called to her somewhat sternly: 
 
 'Euth, hadst thou no errand from 
 me? What bringest thou from Su 
 John ? Step in, young man, and let 
 me close tlie door — that is, if thou 
 hast a desire to take service with jne 
 after 1 converse with thee.' 
 
 ' I am out of service now, sir.' 
 
 'Very well; stand there in the en- 
 try till I am at leisure,' answered th( 
 gKjldsniith, who felt quite prepossessed 
 in the young man's favor, not only 
 from his agreeable countenance ana 
 neat appearance, but also on accouii. 
 of his courage in defending Euth. 
 'What said Sir John?' 
 
 'He has written his answer there, 
 sir,' she responded, placing the note 
 in his hand. j 
 
 It ran thus: 
 
 ' Good Mastsr Gouldbourne : 
 ' I have read what you have writ, 
 and I answer that I am not so luck^ 
 a knight as to have footmen tall or 
 ehort, with or without beard; and for 
 pearls, gad zoundsl I have forgot the 
 look o' them, it hath been so long 
 riince I last saw one. If anyone hath 
 been to thee, calling himself ray man, 
 he is a rogue and hath imposed upon 
 thee. I give thee my friendly saluta- 
 tion. 
 
 'John Milucbnt, Bart.' 
 
 When the goldsmith had finislied 
 reading this reply of the Ijnighr, he 
 stood silently gazing upon the paper, 
 .md knitting his brows with anxiety. 
 
 ' He says truly, I have been de- 
 ceived. There is treachery under all 
 this, which I must watch against. 
 Verily, a man who hath a fair daugh- 
 ter in these times l/ath more robbers 
 to guard against than he who hoarda 
 up gold. 
 
 ' Thou hast well done tfiine errand, 
 liuth; and I thank, for thee, thiB 
 young mail for his service to you, and 
 in seeing you off safely. Cro now to 
 Beatrice, and give her this note from 
 Sir John, so that she may see we 
 nave an enemy somewhere, seeking 
 to do us a" mischief. The footman 
 that Came here was a spy — doubJesa 
 the minion of some proflig;ite lord^ 
 Gome, young man, follow me into my 
 shop.' 
 
 The apprentice, who had stood 
 aside in tlie little entry at the foot of_ 
 the stairs, while David Gbiilbourne 
 read the note, attentively listening 
 and noting with deep interest what- 
 ever passed, now went after him into 
 iiis work-room. The first object that 
 struck his eyes was the glittering 
 clasp of diamonds, which lay upon 
 tlie velvet -cushion just under the 
 ihade lamp, by the light Of wtjich the 
 foldsmitii had been_ at work upon it 
 — He looked at tt with surprise, and 
 i,heu around the room with curiosity, 
 apparently surveying with care each, 
 object in the shop. 
 
 The goldsmith seated Mmself, and 
 then turning to the apprentice,, who 
 now respectfully dufifed bis cap ana 
 stood before him with it in his hand, 
 tie regarded his face a moment with, a 
 steady gaze. 
 
50 
 
 THE GOLDSMITHS DAUGHTER. 
 
 THe young man colorcjd and drop- 
 ped his eynsjf aud with his dark, rich 
 brown lucks upon his temples, looked 
 eo handsijuie, that David ahoolc his 
 bead aii4 munnured 
 
 ' He is too good-looking. He will 
 be unsteady and roving. Neverthe- 
 less, he haih a good laie, and 1 will 
 ■at least question himl So what is 
 thy name V 
 
 • Geijrge Faithful.' 
 'A very good and upright name, 
 
 my young man. If thou art as good 
 as thy name, thou wilt serVe mj 
 well.' 
 
 ' i trust I shall be diligent in my 
 duty. I will do ^the best I can.' 
 
 ' Well epoken. What is thy age; 
 for, methiuks, thou art pretty well ad- 
 vanced in thy apprenticeship.' 
 
 'I am twenty, sir.' 
 
 ' I should think thee a year or two 
 more. But twenty will give thee but 
 one year to serve me. I shall then 
 "have to pay thee journeyman's wages. 
 1 had an idle varlet who has been im- 
 pressed to-day, but I am well rid of 
 him. He was eighteen and had three 
 years to serve. But if thou art dilli- 
 gent and steady, thy one year might 
 be wortli his three. How is it tliou 
 art without a master? Tiiis does 
 jiot speak well for thee I' *" . 
 
 ' My master, sir,' answered the 
 youiiy man, deeply coloring, and hes 
 itating as he spoke, was included in 
 the prosciibed covenanters, ajid he is. 
 fled into France.' 
 
 • Who Was he ?' 
 ' Pertiaps thou hast heard, sir, of 
 
 Illoinas AUoynl' 
 
 'Verily, have I. So thou art one 
 of his apprentices. He has, however, 
 
 been gome ever since the King came 
 in, and that ia a year nearly. • What 
 hast thou been doing since V 
 
 ' I have been getting what jewel- 
 lery to do as I could work at, sir, as- 
 sisting one and another.' 
 
 'A bad way of getting along. It 
 tempts to idle 'habits, and leads to 
 taverns and cock-piis. I dare say to- 
 night that when thou sawest my 
 maid insulted, thou were loitering 
 about in the streets, and so chanced 
 to.be at hand to do her this good ser- 
 vice ?' 
 
 '.No, sir. I knew your apprentice 
 had been pressed, aud was coming to 
 your door to ofl'er myself to you, to 
 serve out my time in his place when 
 i met her.' 
 
 ' So you were, coming hither. How 
 heard you of my loss V 
 
 ' I saw your young man taken by 
 the Duke's seamen.' 
 
 ' Well I will try tliee, for I iieed an 
 assistant, for I have much work on 
 iiaud. I will give ttiee a trial; and 
 as I know thee not, and thou bring- 
 est me no written character, I must 
 watch thee very closely, and guard 
 my goods.- If you will, therefore, 
 take service with me on these condi- 
 tions, that I am to keep you in the 
 shop by day under lock and key when 
 you are at work, and also lock you in 
 your sleeping reom by night, you 
 shall have a place with me. If I find 
 at the year's end you are faithful aud 
 skillfull, and will be of use to me, I 
 will give you journeyman's wages,and 
 retain thee in my employ.' 
 
 ' I accept the conditions, sir,' repli- 
 ed the young man clieirt'uUy. 
 
 ' But first let me test thy skill in 
 my craft. All apprentices are not 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 61 
 
 workmen. Some go through the 
 years of their services little better 
 than they bega,n, while I have seen 
 otliers who in two yej,rs made them- 
 selves masters of their trade. I have 
 a peculiar mode of testing appren- 
 tices.' 
 
 • ' What is it, sir V asked the young 
 man, with a ialtering eye and a con- 
 fused manner. 
 
 ' To take a Geneva watch, that I 
 keep my time by, to pieces and put 
 it together again. The man that can 
 do this is a skilful artizan; for in the 
 parts of a watch is comprised and em- 
 braced every variety of our craft, 
 even to setting of jewels. If thou 
 cau'st do this I can trust thee in all 
 manner of work ; as it will prove to 
 me thlit you perfectly know your busi- 
 Bess. .Here is the watch.' 
 
 The goldismith took from a little 
 cabinet a very large and costly watch 
 Bet with jewels, aad, presenting it to 
 him, said, 
 
 ' You' will take oat and reset one of 
 the jewels on the face, besides the 
 other Work of taking apart and put- 
 ting together. Here is a lamp that 
 will last thee till midnight, three 
 hours from nowl There is a settee on 
 which, when thy work is done, thou 
 canst sleep the residue of the night. 
 In the murning I will come down and 
 unlock tlie door and see if thou hast 
 performed thy task. If Well, thou 
 shalt serve me. 'If ill, I will let thee 
 go as th<ni oamest.' 
 
 With these words the goldsmith 
 took up tlie diamond clasp, which he 
 had completed, and examining each 
 of his drawers to see if all were se- 
 cure, he bade good night to the youiig 
 candidate for apprenticeship, and car- 
 
 rying the ela^p out with him in its 
 case, that he might have it ready to 
 send by the king's messenger, how- 
 ever early he might come for it, he 
 locked his door and barred it as usu- 
 al when he retired from"" his shop at 
 night. 
 
 The young man, thus locked in 
 with the jewels as securely as they 
 were, listened to the retiring steps of 
 the goldsmith as he ascended the 
 stairs till they were heard in the room 
 above him. He then wallied to the 
 door to see if indeed he were fairly 
 locked up to his task; then going to 
 the work-bench he took the watch in 
 tiis hand and gazing on it with a iook 
 of mute despair, said, 
 
 'On this glittering bauble hangs 
 my fate and all my hopes! Yet the 
 veriest hind that knows his mysteri- 
 ous craft would succeed where I am 
 impotent. What an ordeal I have 
 submitted to. I might as easily take 
 Westminster Abbey to pieces and put 
 it together again as this watch. But 
 I will look at it.' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' Miss Beatrice,' said Ruth, on ente»» 
 ing the'sleeping room of the gold- 
 smith's fair daughter,after having left 
 the young apprentice down stairs at 
 the door with her master, ' who do 
 you think has come home with me ?' 
 
 Beatrice had just proposed to pat 
 up her hair previous to retiring, and. 
 being in an inner room did not over- 
 hear what passed at the street door, 
 and supposing that Ruth had come in 
 alone she looked with surprise at her 
 
52 
 
 THH GOLDSMITR'S- DAUGHTER. 
 
 question, when seeing how elated and 
 happy slieiooked, she smiled and said, 
 quietlj. 
 "Spankie 1' 
 
 ' Spankie 1 Dear, no I You could 
 never guess 1' 
 
 ' Then I will not try, Kuth I What 
 paper is that in your hand 1' 
 ' It is tlie note Sir John wrote 1' 
 ' And what did he say 1' she asked 
 quickly. 
 
 'That ie'has no such knave as the 
 rogue that came here. I knew it was 
 one of Lord Biesseles impudent fel- 
 lows. There is 'Sir John's liaiid.' 
 
 Beatrice read it with a heiglitened 
 colour, and then said, lialf aloud, 
 
 'This is singular! What could 
 have been iiis olyuct in coming here !' 
 ' Wliy you sec, as I told you, Lord 
 Bresseles saw you and the way lie re- 
 garded you and kissed his hand to 
 you, shuwed nie that he would not 
 forget you 1' 
 
 'But what interest can Lord Bres- 
 seles haye in me, Ruth V 
 
 ' Dear me, how simple, begging 
 your pardon. Miss Beatrice. Ho sent 
 this man of his here to spy and see 
 what could be done I' 
 'What does he wish ?' 
 ' Why, to tell you plainly, to run 
 away with you 1' 
 
 ' 1 do not fear him, Ruth^l' she said, 
 colouring and .smiling, i 
 
 ' 1 would not 'trust to him. These 
 young nobles, now-a-days, are worse 
 than robbers! I advise you to keep 
 on ycy giiuid, Miss Btjatrice, or you 
 may find yourself spirited away down 
 to Some grt ;it castle in the country be- 
 fore you know it. You recollect the 
 pretty iMary Neville, the haberdash- 
 er's niece, who was caught up from 
 
 her own door where she was standing, 
 by two horsemen, and they galloped 
 
 off with her ; — and ' 
 
 ' 1 do not fear her fate, Ruth : for I 
 shall • be careful, if I must, not to 
 stand'in the door when horsemen go 
 by especially one of Lord BresselesI' 
 ' You laugh ; but you this morning 
 said yon disliked his looks and bold 
 conduct so.' 
 
 'And so I do. But he will not 
 and dare not contemplate any such 
 outrage as you speak of. I can at 
 least stay at home. But it does not 
 become a virtuous and humble maiden 
 to shut herself up for fear of young 
 lords. Iler innocence and modesty 
 will be a sufficient protection. Who 
 is this that has come home with you T 
 'I am glad you have cufiosity 
 enough to think to ask again,' answer- 
 ed Ruth, a little touched because her 
 young mistress did not see fit to be as 
 mucli ashamed at the admiration of 
 Lord Bresselep for her, as she waa 
 herself. ' It was a young man.' 
 
 'A young man 1 What will Span- 
 kie say V 
 
 ■'Spankie will like him and thank 
 liim too, when he hears what I have 
 to tell him.' 
 
 • Why, indeed. What has happen- 
 ed-^who is he ?' 
 
 ' His name he says is George Faith- 
 ful, a Very good sort of a name, cer- 
 tanily.' 
 
 ' But that does nof Infer that the 
 buarer of it is a good sort of a per- 
 son.' 
 
 ' Ue is, and you will say so when 
 you see himl But I ^^111 tell you all 
 about it!' 
 
 ' Do ; for I see you have some great 
 news or other at your tongue's end.' 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUUiU'ER. 
 
 53 
 
 'You know I would go and take 
 master's nute to Sir Jolin Millioent, 
 thoiigii you both said how perilous it 
 was, (,uid so it was too,) for a female 
 to be abroad after dark.' 
 
 ' Yes, and I have been very anxious 
 1 about you, Ruth.' 
 
 ' I knew you would be, and so I 
 took the young apprentice with me.' 
 
 ' But as I did not know of your hav- 
 ing a young gallant with you, it could 
 not lessen my anxiety.' 
 
 ' That is true. But I will tell you 
 how it was. Soon as I got out of the 
 door and master had shut it, and I 
 had hardly takeu three steps away 
 from it, when a respectful, pleasant- 
 toned, civil spoken young man stop- 
 ped me politely and asked me if the 
 door I came out of was that of ilister 
 Goulbourne, the jeweller t I wouldn't 
 have stopped to speak or answer any 
 man in the street, and in the night, 
 too, and didn't like to answer him, 
 but f It more like running forward, 
 but there was something so civil and 
 difiideat-like in his manner, and his 
 face as I turned the lantern full oa it 
 looked so — so — so — amicable, that 1 
 answered him.' 
 
 You cauld do no lcss*as lie was so 
 civil-spoken. But 1 bcgiu to fear 
 Spankie has a rival.' 
 
 ' Not he. The young man then said 
 he was fortunate to meet me, if 1 be- 
 longed here, as he understoijd my 
 masiter wanted an apprentice. I told 
 him' he did.' 
 
 ' Wds he an apprentice then V 
 
 'Yes, but tne ti.iest troking London 
 'prentice, maiden ever laid eyes on,' 
 
 'Riiilly, you excite my curiosity, 
 Eutii,' said Beatrice smiliusj. 
 
 ' You'll see him, for he's down 
 
 stairs,- I then told him tliit we did 
 want one ; and then he asked me 
 where I was going so Ijto, alone, for, 
 if I wciulcKperinit him, he would ao 
 conipauy mejand protect me, aud on 
 his return gii in aud see Mister G lul- 
 bourue about the place.' 
 
 • And so you gave your permis- 
 sion V 
 
 ' Yes, Miss Beatrice, especially Af- 
 ter he told me that they had a bon-fire 
 at the head of Thread-needle street, 
 which I had to pass to go to Sir 
 John's.' 
 
 ' And he went with you V 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'It was very inconsiderate in you, 
 Ruth, a perfect stranger, too, as be 
 was.' 
 
 ' But he was so gentle — polite. 
 
 ' Well, I dare say he quite won 
 your heart. Poor ' Spankie. I see 
 there is no hope for him.' 
 
 'Don't fear for Spankie, Miss Bea- 
 trice. I am not in love witli the ap- 
 prentice; even though he did fight so 
 brave.' 
 
 ' Fight V 
 
 ' ludcod, I wish you could have 
 seen it. Vou must know after we 
 got liy the Uon-lire, three st lut knaves 
 with nu:xrtcr-stavo8 came after us, 
 and called insultingly. He didn't 
 svem to miud 'era ;.iid we got to Sir 
 John's stops. - After we left there they 
 met lis and told him to resign me.' 
 
 ' You were in peiil, indeed, Ruth,' 
 said Beatrice with emotion. 
 
 ' You would have thought so, had 
 you seen and heard them. He bade 
 tliem let him pass w.th me, or abide 
 the consequuucc.i. They laughed at 
 jiiiri, anil set upon himliil three. He 
 
Si 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 dropped my arm, drew a hanger, and 
 advanced so bravely and fiercely upon 
 them, hacking this and that with such 
 right good will that they to^ to their 
 hee.s.' 
 . ' Is thia so ?' 
 
 'Truth it isl If it ha4 not been 
 for him, I had nat heen here. I never 
 saw a man more braver or wield a 
 sword better. And s > he come home 
 with me; and if you are glad to see 
 me you must thank himt' 
 
 ' Indeed he deserves it! Where is 
 he?' 
 
 ' With thy father down in the 
 shop 1' 
 
 • I should like to see hiral' 
 
 'You will if master engages hiral' 
 
 ' No doubt he will if he is skillful 
 and of good character. For he must 
 have someone to supply Jerry's place, 
 or I must assist him as I have often 
 done before!' 
 
 ' Yes, he has often said you were 
 as skiitl'ul an apprentice as he would 
 wish to have! I do hope he will re- 
 ward the young man's courage by 
 taking him into his service!' 
 
 ' So do I if be prove worthy!' 
 
 'He must prove worthy! Indeed, 
 bis lace speaks for him.' 
 
 ' Is he youug ?' 
 
 'Twenty he said; but he is tall and 
 looks older; but to be an apprentice' 
 he must be under twenty-one you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Is he well favored V 
 
 ' Tlie comeliest apprentice in Lon- 
 don. And he is so modest and diffi- 
 dent. He isn't one of your swagger- 
 ing quuitei-stalF bullies that others 
 are!' 
 
 'Yet it seeiiiti he can fight to pur- 
 pose.' 
 
 ' Yes; and when I told him he 
 fought too well to be over peaceable, 
 he laughed, and said he had practised 
 merely for amusement, and to defend 
 himself if need were.' 
 
 ' He had a sword you said4 I 
 thought there was a heavy fine against 
 apprentices bearing weapons of steel?' 
 
 ' So there is. But he kept his hid 
 beneath his coat, till he had to use it 
 against these three fellows.' 
 
 ' I hope he will not be fined or 
 troubled about it, if it should get 
 abroad,' said Beatrice. 
 
 ' He says he will be cautious here- 
 after. I do hope master will take 
 him.' 
 
 ' You seem to very greatly inter- 
 ested that he should. I fear a littla 
 for Spanlj-ie yet.' 
 
 ' Well, we shall see who loves him,' 
 answered Ruth, signifiuautly. 
 
 ' Love who ?' 
 
 " The new apprentice.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? There is a 
 secret about this youug man's coming' 
 here I am sure. What more have 
 yon to tell ?' 
 
 'I wont tell it new, but wait; be- 
 cau^e, perhaps, there may be no need 
 of telling you at all.' 
 
 ' How. mysteriously you look and 
 talk. Explain to me at once, Ruth, 
 what more you know.' 
 
 ' I will to-morrow if But there 
 
 comes master up stairs. Hush he 
 locks the door and bars it. The ap- 
 prentice will then come up stairs and 
 yuu will see him; for I am sure ho 
 has not let him out,' . 
 
 Mr Goulbuurue the next moment 
 p eared in the room alone, and see- 
 ing Beatrice still up, he said; 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 55 
 
 ' So Ru!,h has beea telling you about 
 her adveuture, I dare say. It was 
 not proper for her to go out so late. 
 It seems a yjung maa rescued ber 
 from the bauds of some ill-disposed 
 fellows. 
 
 ' She has told me so, sir, and feels 
 80 grateful to him, that she is anxious 
 that yuu should take him into your 
 employ; foe I learn from her he is a 
 jeweller.' 
 
 ' That may be as it turns out. He 
 seems to be a very respectable and 
 modest looking young man, and may 
 make a good workman. I have put 
 him- to the test to-night; and the re- 
 sult will show. I can h^ye no bung- 
 ler to work for me, with the delicate 
 jobs I have on hand. There ia tJie 
 king's clasp v^hicli 1 have at length 
 finished; and 1 will 1 ck it in this 
 cabinet of yours, Beatrice, until moru- 
 ing, wtieu the king's messenger will 
 probably be here early for it.' 
 
 Thus speaking, he placed it with 
 its gilded case in the desk, and lock- 
 ing it put the key in his pocket. 
 
 ' So it was not Sir John's man after 
 all, father,' remarked Beatrice, as her 
 father threw himself into his arm 
 chair to rest a little while before re- 
 tiring. 
 
 'Nuj Sir John's note is explicit. It 
 was a spy of this Lord Bresaeles 
 without doubt; and 1 enjoin you, my 
 daughter, to keep as much within as 
 possible, and give 'ho occasion for 
 this lawless admiration of young 
 lords. You are too far beneath them 
 in rank to be regarded as a suitable 
 person fur an honorable alliance, and 
 ,any other regard from them dicshonors 
 
 both you and me. Keep out of their 
 sight.' 
 
 ' I will obey you, sir.' 
 
 'I Wuld that I could marry you 
 to. some honest artisan of your de- 
 gree, who would be a kind husband, 
 and an hoaorabU protection. But, 
 methit^s, you are very iuuensible to 
 ih» admiration of such young men as 
 nave from time to time visited you. 
 Tuere is young Kenning, whoiie father 
 is a rich armorer, and who will iu- 
 tierit his father's business as well as 
 liis money; I think he hath looked 
 towards you.' i 
 
 'He haa no idea, father, beyond 
 money. He is ignorant and coarse in 
 uis manners, and would maVry me, as 
 lie would any other maiden, because 
 uis father bade him. I like him not.' 
 • 'There is Paul Povey, the brewer's 
 eldest son, he has just set up m busi- 
 ness. 1 know that ne hath an eye to 
 thee.' 
 
 'An eye to thy money, master, 
 rather,' said Hutli, pertly. ' He looks 
 only to tlie pounds Miss Beatrice may 
 bring to him. 
 
 ' Well what do you think of George 
 Stebbs, Beatrice ?' 
 
 'There is another dull head,' spoke, 
 up Euih. ' He would try and marry 
 x\f iss Beatrice because she is so hand- 
 some, and that he might strut to cou- 
 venticle with her on his arm, and see 
 the young men envy. He don't know 
 whether ehe is pretty or li^l ; but 
 has heard folks say so, and so would 
 wed her. To marry B^ at.ice to him, 
 would be throwing pearls upon 
 swine.' 
 
 ' Hist. You should never ^uyto 
 
56 
 
 THH GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the Scriptures in common parlance, I trice, sir,' answered Ruth, warmly, 
 girl,' said David, grave y. 'Beatricp, 'She could not help it. No maiden 
 
 if thou iiast any favor towards anj' 
 one, let me know it, and I will see 
 his parents, and settle the match, if I 
 approve it* for it is time I had a hus- 
 band for the !. Thou art — ^I say it 
 not to flatter thee — thou art too 
 comely to remain un wedded ia times 
 like these we are upon.' 
 
 ' I know of no one, sir, that I have 
 any preference for,' answered Bea- 
 trice, blushin.^ and casting down her 
 eyes, as became a maiden to whom 
 such a question had been so directly 
 put. ~ - 
 
 ' Then thou must keep much within, 
 and not gve occasion to these loose 
 lived lords to mark thee. The old 
 gossip-woman who sells the rush- 
 lights opposite, told me as I came ip 
 from the brazier's, that she had seen 
 Lord Bresseles kiss his hand to thee; 
 and says she, " Take I.eed, Master 
 David, of thy pretty bird, and not let 
 it put its head out of its cage, or 
 some hawk will pounce upon it." The 
 woman gave me good caution, if 
 thon letitst young nobles salute thee 
 openly.' 
 
 ' I am innocent, sir, of any blame,' 
 answered Beatrice, looking deeply 
 hurt, ' I was watering my flowers 
 ai.'d merely looking up, when he sa- 
 luted me, as the woman says. But I 
 did not look a second time, but came 
 directly Id.' 
 
 'Thy flowers must be taken in, aqd 
 kept otherwheres. So must thy 
 eages; f«r on Monday morning I'll 
 have the balcony railed up eflect- 
 nally.' 
 ' y«u ought not to blame Miss Bea 
 
 could be more discreet than she has 
 been.' 
 
 ' Well, well, I dare say. I do not 
 blame, thee child; only their needs 
 caution for the futilre.' 
 
 'If you engage this young aj pren- 
 tice, sir, he is so brave, and fights so 
 valiantly, that we need not fear so 
 long as he is here,' said Ruth. 
 I 'There is something in having a 
 stout apprentice to help to project 
 one's house*, but I like hot one who 
 braves the law, and carries steel, as 
 this one seemeth to have done.' 
 
 'But if he had not steel, sir, he 
 would hardly have beaten off ths 
 three quarter-staves,' said Ruth. 
 
 'I will see what his skill is, and 
 then decide whether he remain or not. 
 I have kft him locked up in the w..; c ' 
 shop, and given him ray G.'uoa musi- 
 cal watch, to take to pieces, and put 
 together again.' 
 
 'He was willing, then, to try it?* 
 said Beatrice. 
 
 'Yes. He made no objectinn, nor 
 could he, as it was a fair tes. o. his 
 qualification. I placed it in his hands, 
 and gdive him till midnight to do it, 
 for after that, being the lord's day, he ^ 
 may not work, and I forbade him. In 
 the morning I shall look in upon 
 him.' 
 
 ' But how will you know, sir,' said 
 Ruth; ' if he presents the watch to 
 you entire, that he has touched it at 
 all.' 
 
 ' By the tune which the musical 
 box in it will play. Ii plays one tnno 
 before it is taken to pieces, and quite 
 another after it is put together agaiui 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 57 
 
 as Beatrice well knows. I ascertain 
 the truth of this assertion by touch- 
 ing' a spring. So you perceive, were 
 he 80 inclined, he cannot df^ceive me.' 
 
 'But he looks like an honorable 
 young man,' said Ruth. 
 
 ' Yes he does indeed.' I am pre- 
 possi'ssed in liis favor;and trust he will 
 prove himself a good workman upon 
 this trial.' 
 
 'Jf hS does, sir, shall you keep 
 him ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Well, then I am fortunate in hav- 
 ing been so lucky as to have fallen in 
 with him,' said Ruth, with much ap- 
 parent satisfaction. 
 
 'I tell Ruth, father,' said Beatrice, 
 smiting-, ' that I think Spankie has 
 good cause for jealousy. You have 
 no ide* iiuw eloquent she is in praise 
 of the new apprentice, not only for 
 his courage, wUioh, to me, she extoll- 
 ed to the skies, but even of his per- 
 sonal appearance. I think Spankie 
 iiail best be informed at once of the 
 danger he is in.' 
 
 THe goldsmith laughed and said, as 
 he glanced at Ruth, whose rosy plump 
 cheeks, were rosier than ever. 
 
 '1 fear that if I engage him, and 
 Spaukie and he come togetlier, there 
 will be war.' 
 
 ' I'll answer for it there won't bel' 
 responded Ruth, very positively. 
 • Spankie loves me. t6o well to be 
 jealoi|s, even if there was cause.' 
 
 * I have no doubt he does, Ruth,' 
 answered the goldsmith. 'But let 
 
 this pass. If the youth acqiMts^Jiim- ' 
 self well, I will retain him; if not, I 
 shall dismiss him. I did not ask hi:a 
 if he went to conventicle.' ' 
 
 ' I did, sir,' answered Ruth, ' and 
 he told me certainly he did.' 
 
 ' Then there is an objection remov- 
 ed! 1 could have no Romish appren- 
 tice in my house 1 It waxes late. 
 Give me my candle, Beatrice, and I 
 will go to bedl Dost thou know that 
 ^Steadfast Strong lioldeth f.jrth at con- 
 venticle to-morrow! We must be up 
 betimes to hear bim. A good nigh^ 
 to thee, daughter. Go at once to bed, 
 thou and Ruth, and let the house be 
 quiet. The young man will be disf 
 tuvbed by any noise, if lie is like me, 
 when at work at night. It would 
 take me an hour to do what 1 have 
 given him three to do it in. Let all 
 be quiet as soon as I close my dour.' 
 
 ' Good night, dear father,' answered 
 Beatrice, and the goldsmith leaving 
 her, apartment, went into, his owa 
 room on the right of the little sitting- 
 room, and closed the door. 
 
 Beatjpice baaeRiUti.to.shut her own, 
 first seeing that the door at the stair- 
 head was secured; and in a few mia- 
 ments the whole house was still — 
 save a low buzzipg- of voices heard 
 within the maiden's apartmjut after 
 the door was shut, i 
 
 What .their couwersation was, and 
 what it led to, shail be detailed in the 
 ens uSug chapter. ■ 
 
58 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Thb house of the goldsmith, as we 
 have said, became still, and Beatrice 
 with'her maid retired withiu her own 
 apartment The latter, after listening 
 io be sure that there was no move- 
 ment in her master's chamber, said 
 mysteriously : 
 
 ' Miss Beattice, I have a secret to 
 tell youi' 
 
 *You are never without some mys^ 
 tery or other, Ruth. Bat what now ? 
 for I have seen you had something on 
 your mind you couldn't keep long.' 
 
 ' It IB about this young appren- 
 tice.* 
 
 'Ah, you are still thinking upon 
 him, I see,' said Beatrice,^ smiling 
 archjy. 'There is no kind of hope 
 left for poor Spankie, that is very 
 clear.' 
 
 " You may jo^e. Miss Beatrice, but 
 It will, maybe, come very true by and 
 by. I am half a mind not to tell you.' 
 
 ' Now don't keep the secret, Ruth; 
 don't resolve bo desperately^ or you 
 will not Bleep a wink to-night But 
 what is it, seriously, that you have to 
 reveal 7* asked Beatrice, whose cu- 
 riosity was getting to be excited by 
 the words and manner of her atten- 
 dant 
 
 ' It is about this young gentlemanJ 
 
 * What young gentleman V 
 
 •The new apprentice, I mean.' 
 
 ' Really, this is the first time I ever 
 knew that an apprentice was called a 
 young gentleman r 
 
 ' You seem to be very gay, to-night, 
 Miss Beatrice. One wuuld think yoi 
 knew.' ' 
 
 'Knew what? Certainly, you are 
 as mysterious as a witch fortune- 
 teller. Out with it and let me know.' 
 
 'Well, it is my opinion that this 
 young man is no more a goldsmith's 
 'prentice^than you are. Miss Beatrice 
 
 ' I am one, as my lather says,' she 
 answered, laughing. ' But why do you 
 suspect 80 V 
 
 His skin is as fair as a lord's, and 
 his haoids as white as a lady's. 
 
 ' Did you notice this ?' asked Bea* 
 trice, with some surprise. 
 
 ' Jndfeed, i could not h«lp it; and if 
 master had not been made so near- 
 sighted with working on such fine 
 things as he does, he would have no- 
 ticed his hands top.' 
 
 ' He may have been ill, and is pale 
 and thin.' 
 
 * He ill ? I would like to see an ill 
 man put to flight three quarter-staves. 
 He is strong and full of lieiiliii; but 
 it is not the robust, brown health of a 
 London -prentice, but the genteel, 
 healthy look of the nobility. He 
 never was an apprentice — not he.' 
 
 ' Then what is he ? How came ho 
 to say so V 
 
 'Can't you see. Miss Beatrice?' 
 
 ' Indeed', I cannot.' 
 
 'Then I will tell you. He is & 
 young gentleman who has disguised 
 himself to get into the house to be 
 near you.' 
 
 'Disguised? A young gentleman 
 disgtiised V 
 
 * There is no doubt of it I know 
 it' 
 
 ' You alarm me, Ruth. I hope and 
 pray it is not. What would my father 
 do, or what would become of him if 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 50 
 
 he were discovered ? Bat this is all 
 your imagination.' 
 
 ' It is not, but it is the truth. If 
 ever there was a young gentlefiian, 
 he is one. I should like to see him 
 take the master's Geneva watch to 
 pieces and put it together.' ' 
 
 'And don't you think hirrl an ap- 
 prentice at all?' exclaimed Beatrice, 
 looking both alarmed and amazed. 
 
 'Indeed I don't,' responded Ruth, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 ' Who, then, is he f 
 
 * He told me his name was (Jeorge 
 Faithful' 
 
 * That di^es not explain who he is.' 
 ' But it says wAoJ he is, though. He 
 
 means by giving that name to show 
 that he is faithful.' 
 
 ' Then it is not his own name, you 
 think?' 
 
 ' I am sure it isn't, and yet I can't 
 say. This I know and believe: that 
 he is a good, modest, handsome young 
 gentleman, who has seen you some- 
 where, and loves you, and has cbme 
 here under' the name and' dress of an 
 apprentice, to try and see you often 
 and win your heart.. Now you have 
 mj opinion.' 
 
 * Loves me V 
 
 'Yes, t)iat you may be sure of. 
 He talked with ine abuut you, and in 
 Buch a way that I guessed at the 
 state of his h^art at once.' 
 
 'You h*vo no right to guess at 
 such things, Ruth. You must be mis- 
 taken. I know of no young man who 
 loves me or thinks of me, that answers 
 your description of handsome, noble, 
 modest ai.d brave. Not I. If I did, 
 my father might h:>ve his Huxiety 
 touching me greatly relieved. I 
 
 should like to see the younj; man, or 
 young gentleman, as you call him, 
 and judge for myself.' 
 
 ' You can see him.' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 'By going down ihto the shop, 
 where the poor young man is, no 
 doubt^ in' perfect despair at the task 
 that is set before him. No doubt he 
 th'jttght he couM come and go to 
 work and learn by degrees. But ia 
 the very outset see what my master 
 has set him to do. He will certainly 
 fail as I stand here, for he is no jewel- 
 ler, that I knnw.' 
 
 ' Did he tell you so ?" 
 
 •No. But ' 
 
 ' But what ?' 
 
 ' Will you go down and see hini V 
 she asked quickly, as if to avoid the 
 reply 
 
 " By no means. Besides, my father 
 has the key.'' 
 
 ' I can get it when he is asleep.' 
 
 'Not for the world! Besides, it 
 would be. so improper to go down.' 
 
 'Ai'e you determined?" asked Ruth 
 with » searching l(|)ok, aad speaking 
 in an impressive manner. 
 ' 'Yea I cannot think of such a 
 thing as you propose even though it 
 were possible to get the key. If the 
 young man isreallyan apprentice, as' 
 I cannot but Chink h ■ is, he will be 
 engaged in performing his task, and 
 will be surprised at our visiting him 
 in such a manner and at such an 
 hour. He will think very meanly of 
 his master's daughter. If he isj not 
 one, and a spy, we ought less to think 
 of going near him.' 
 
 ' Theu you are resolved V 
 
CO 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' Firmly.' 
 , ' It would be so safe to have him in 
 the house, apprentice or spy, to be a 
 protection against any miscreant 
 ^ouiij; lor Is co.iiing about, he is so 
 brave aad tights so well. I said so to 
 hi in myself as we walked along.' 
 ' Y u was very familiar to teil him 
 
 BO.' 
 
 'I was telling him all about Lord 
 Brest eles' man and the pearl, as we 
 came from Sir John's for he asked me 
 BO ofieii what mjj errand was I could 
 not help telling hira, he seeme.l so in- 
 t«rest(?d to know. And so when he 
 expressed his indignation about it, 
 I tolJ him I hoped, if he came to live 
 with us, he won id protect you.' 
 
 'And what said ue V 
 
 •With his lifel' 
 
 'Eeally, I have a curiosity to see 
 one who, on such brief acquaintance, 
 Has so won your heart, Ruth I' 
 
 ' Then let me get the key, for I 
 want you to see hi ml' 
 
 ' No, no!' 
 
 ' You must see himl I have my 
 reasons for wishing you to see him!' 
 
 ' 1 do not wish you to urge me, 
 Buth. Let him remain where he is. 
 The morning will test whether be be 
 'prentice or pretender.' 
 
 Ruth walked up and down the room 
 with a troubled look, and appearing 
 much disappointed and discoticerted. 
 
 'If 1 could do it! If/ort?j/knew 
 how — ' she murmured. 
 
 ' What is the matter, Ruth ? F(jr- 
 aooth this young man has turned 
 your little hfead. Spankie's fate is 
 sealed without hope, I see!' 
 
 'No, it is not!' answered Ruth, 
 rt's.jlutuly. 'Miss Baatrice, I wiP 
 
 have to tell youl I waiited you first 
 to see him and ' 
 
 'Don't ask me again. Take my 
 boddice and hang it upon the brass 
 nob of the rack. It is time I retired!' 
 
 Ruth hanging up the garment as 
 she was ordered to do, came back to 
 her young mistress and, banishing 
 her discontent with a smile, said play- 
 
 fully, 
 
 ' Suppose this apprentice were the 
 handsome young man in scarlet silk 
 coat and gold braid, you saw so in- 
 tently regarding you this morning, 
 and who stole your heart away in two 
 minutes so that you will never get it 
 again till you ask him for it!' 
 
 ' What do you mean, Ruth ?' asked 
 Beatrice, blushing like the morning 
 between surprise and pleasure, and 
 fixing her dark eyes upon her maid 
 with earnest inquiry. 
 
 ' I mean what I say, Miss Beatrice. 
 Suppose that the young man you saw 
 should have taken it into his head 
 from love for you, to assume the dis- 
 guise of an apprentice in order to be 
 near you, and offer himself to serve 
 your father.' 
 
 ' Such a thing is not possible!'' 
 ' Yes, it is; and suppose that your 
 father should look up and give him 
 his terrible Geneva watch to take to 
 pieces and put tt)gelher again, in or- 
 der to test his skill who never took a 
 watch in his hand but to see the time 
 o' day by it ? — and Suppose he passes 
 a long night in despair of performing,, 
 a task which his love for you has 
 brought upon him, and in the morn- 
 ing your father, finding he has not 
 dune it, discovers he is a pretender, 
 and perhaps going farther, casts him 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 61 
 
 into prfgon, on the plea of an attempt 
 to ascertaiti where he kept his jewels 
 in order that he might rob himl Aud 
 all this for his love for youl' 
 
 'But, Kiith, this is all an imagi-. 
 nary easel' 
 
 'No, it is not;, and now you shall 
 have my seoret. Tue young appren- 
 tice is none other than the handsome 
 youth in the scarlet lined cloak. I 
 kept it from you, wanting you to see 
 him and make the discovery yuur- 
 eelf !» 
 
 'Ruth, Ruth, are you certain that 
 what you tell me is true?' cried Bea-, 
 trice with emotion, her cheek paling 
 and flushing by turns as she waited 
 her rriply. 
 
 ' Yes. I knew him from the very 
 first. But I did not let him suspect 
 that I was aware he was not an ap- 
 prentice. Djsg'uised as he was in his 
 coarse grey frock and prentice's cap. 
 I recognised him. That was the rea- 
 son I I t him accompany me so read- 
 ily for I wanted to find out all abou't 
 him.' , 
 
 'And did you fiiid out who he was V 
 asked Beatrice, who evidently be- 
 came deeply interested in the narra- 
 tive given by Ruth. 
 
 'No, only that he was callerl 
 George Faithful as he ' said. He tolu 
 me nothing; aud I did not like to b« 
 too curious lest he should take alarm 
 and not come home again to tht 
 house. But one thing is certain it it 
 the same young gentleman you saw, 
 and who has been in your thought,- 
 ever since.' ' / 
 
 ' I am very sorry if it should provi 
 so, Ruth,' said Beatrice, with livel; 
 solicitude. ' He has been very impru 
 dontl' 
 
 ' That may be. But it was because 
 he loved you.' 
 
 ...Beatrice looked beaufifullj' confus- 
 ed at this frank assertiou of her 
 maid's, and after a moment's reflection 
 said: 
 
 ' What can be done 7 My fathej" 
 will be very angry, and, as you say, 
 visit his deception with severity, if 
 not imprison him; fijr if he is the per- 
 son you think he is, he is no appren- 
 tice.' 
 
 ' Of that you may be sure, Miss 
 Beatrice.' 
 
 'Ruth, I am very mucti distreasod 
 ibout this. I hardly know how to - 
 ict. One false step mi*ht be fatal to 
 me. I confess to you that if he is the 
 same person I saw, I aiii mi'ire deeply 
 interested in him and his fate tli n I 
 Lire to confess to myself, or would 
 confess to you, save at such a time. 
 .Dumething must be done to relieve 
 ■lim from the difficulty in wiiicb he 
 las so imprudently placjd himself, 
 ifet it must Se done so that my fair 
 lame shall not have a shadow cast 
 upon it.'' 
 
 " Will you take my advice. Miss 
 Beatrice ?" 
 
 ' Let me hear it.' 
 
 ' Give me leave to got the key of 
 he work-room, and go down aud see 
 lim and tellhim plainly that lie is 
 lisoovered and that if he will give an 
 lonest accouitt of himself we will 
 .elp him out ot the net he has been 
 jaught in.' 
 
 ' Nay, it is possible.- he may be able 
 
 o execute the task imposed upon 
 
 lim. If he deliberately olTered him- 
 
 tili to ray father as an apprentice, ho 
 
 :io doubt practised svuiuwhat before- 
 
62 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 hand the craft he was to give himself 
 to.' 
 
 ' He could never have imagined that 
 the first thing he woUld be called up- 
 on to do, puuld be to dissect and 
 make up again a Geneva watch. At 
 all evexits it would not be proper, 
 after what, he has risked fur you, fur 
 us to leave him to his fate.' 
 
 ' But suppose he understands his 
 task and we find it is nearly accom- 
 plished.' 
 
 ' Then there is no harm done. He 
 will then be permitted to stay, and 
 you Cfin see him every day.' 
 
 ' That would be very improper, Kuth. 
 It would be wrong to keep such a se- 
 cret from my fa.ther.' 
 
 ' How do you know but the yojing 
 gentleman may be every way worthy 
 of you ? la that case you wUl not 
 have done wrong; for then you can 
 tell all to your father, and a happy 
 wedding will crown ail with rejoic- 
 ing'.' 
 
 What a wild tongue you have got, 
 Kuth. 1 hardly tuow what step to 
 take. I never was more perplexed in 
 my life. If he knows nothing of his 
 task he will be detected and I know 
 not what my father will do.' 
 
 ' And his suspdcions already roused 
 on account of liiis man of Lord'Bi'es- 
 seles coming here in disguise. A 
 second deception would im.ake him so 
 enraged, tliat I wouldn't answor for 
 the yowng man's safety, not' 1.' 
 
 'I am perplexed. Duty to n>y fa- 
 ther, and a desire to save one who 
 has, peirhups, placed hinuscif in dan 
 ger on my account, both anpeal to my 
 Ueart.' 
 
 ' Your< father gains nor loses noth- 
 
 ing , by being kept in ignorance, 
 while the young man may lose his 
 life I' 
 
 ' Have you any idea who he is V 
 
 ' Not the least ! Only tliat he ia 
 of gentle birth. That is clear.' 
 
 ' He must nut suffer for his impru- 
 dence. Can you get the^Eey wifhout 
 waking my father V 
 
 ' I will try. He always lays it on 
 the stand at the head of his bed witJi 
 the spectacles and snuff-box.' 
 
 ' And if you get it what can yoa 
 say to the young man when you go 
 down ?' 
 
 'Tell him plainly he is discovo^ 
 ed— ' 
 
 ' That is if you find he has yet done 
 nothing to-tbe wateh.' 
 
 ' Yes. I shall then ask him who ha 
 is?' 
 
 ' Do not be rudely inquisitive. You 
 had best let him out and tell him not 
 to run such risks more.' 
 
 ' How shall we account to your &> 
 therif we fet him out. No, no?' 
 
 ' I did not think of that.' 
 
 'The only way to do is fov you to 
 lisip him with the wateh yourself, and 
 let him remain an apprentice.' 
 
 'I help him with tlie watch?' 
 
 ' You will have to do it. The wiatch 
 must be done to save appearances ; 
 and if it is done, the young m*u ca.a 
 stay. If it is not done, of course it 
 will be clear to master he knows 
 nothing of the business and is a pre- 
 tender.' 
 
 ' I wish I had never seen him, or h» 
 had never seen inel' exclaimed Bea- 
 trice, clapping irer hands together in 
 great perplexity. 
 
 ' Nay, b3 assured all will be right 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 63 
 
 at last, Miss Beatrice, and you will 
 say that the 3ay uf seeing him was 
 the brightest of your life.' 
 
 'I hope so but I fear not.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear you say you 
 hope so. Now he frank and bold like 
 yourself in this matter. There will 
 be no harm in "his being an apf)ren- 
 tice for a while, till you know and love 
 one another, as I feel you must yet.' 
 
 Beatrice was silent for a few mo- 
 menti^. She seemed to be struggling 
 between maidenly propriety, filial 
 faith, and the newly awakei^d love 
 in her bosnm for the unknown young 
 man. At length she seemed to have 
 'come to a determination, for, raising 
 her face cheerfully and looking Euth 
 full in the feyes, she said: 
 
 ' I have resolved how to act.' 
 
 ' How, Miss Beatrice ?" asked Ruth 
 earnestly. 
 
 ' As I am, as it were, thrust upon 
 this, I will, oyit of — out of— of grati- 
 tude to the young man, go down with 
 you, and if it shall appear that he is 
 not an apprentice, but the young 
 gentleman disguised as one, I will 
 myself, in order to save him from the 
 I consequences of his rash foHy, per- 
 form his tas^b for him.' 
 
 ' Oh, just what I was about to ask 
 youl' joyfully exclaimed Ruth, flap- 
 ping together her hands and alnjost 
 dancing. 
 
 ' I will, as I said, perform his task 
 for him, and thus relieving him from 
 the danger he has placed himself in, 
 command him, when he shall see my 
 father in the morning, to decline ser- 
 vice with h\m, and at once take his 
 departure.' 
 
 ' He may not be willing to obey.' 
 
 j ' Then he is not worthy of a thought 
 of my regard: If he be the excellent 
 iperson you say, he will not force hia 
 presence upon me, and will take plea- 
 sure in complying with my wishes.' 
 
 'I don't know but what you are 
 right. Miss Beatrice,' answered Rnthj 
 thoughtfully. "It will be best that 
 he should go. But then — r— " 
 
 ' Well, but then, what, Ruth?' 
 
 ' it will be a pity if you are never 
 to meet again.' 
 
 ' That will . be as it shall prove to 
 be. But there must be no delay if we 
 would act. My father always fall* 
 asleep as soon as he is in bed. Go 
 carefully and get the key. Do not 
 wake hira for the world.' 
 
 ' If I should, I will make some good 
 excuse,' answered Ruth, quitting the 
 room and approaching that of her 
 master with the stealthy step of a 
 kitten. 
 
 ' This is the only course that I can 
 take, so far as I see,' said Beatrice to 
 herself, as she was left alone. 'It is 
 perplexing every way. But, if this 
 young man be indeed the same person 
 who has so fastened upon my soul, I 
 will at all risks rescue hioi from the 
 consequences of his folly, Oan he in- 
 deed love me ? Who dan he be f 
 Alas I tremble to ask, lust he should 
 be too high to regard other than with 
 mockery the love of one so lowly as 
 
 I-' - 
 
 'I have itl' cried Ruth, suddenly 
 reappearing, holding^ the massive key 
 in her hand. 
 
e4 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The young apprentice who had been 
 left lo the ordeal by which David 
 Gouibourne tested the skill iu- his 
 craft of all aspirauts for employment 
 with him, having taken up the watcii 
 and exaraiued its exterior, shook hij 
 head with a blank expression on his 
 fiue face. 
 
 ' It is no use for me to open it,' he 
 said with a perpldxed mauner. ' It 
 is a watch no doubt like all watches, 
 and I well know I cau take it to pieces 
 ia no other way than by breaking it 
 up with a hammer. If this was all, 
 it would be easy enough; but to put 
 it together again, there is the rub. I 
 fear if my success ia winning the 
 heart of the fair Beatrice is to depend 
 on my skill as a goldsmith's appren- 
 tice, I shall have to give up iu des- 
 pair and try to win her some other 
 way. I am fOiiunate in having so 
 soon the confidence of her maid. This 
 is half the held. Now if I could man- 
 age this watch that I gaze at so help- 
 lessly, and so be installed here as her 
 father's 'prentice, I shall have a fair 
 field for the rest, inasmuch as she will 
 not be guarded against a mere ap- 
 prentice. I thought 1 saw that pretty 
 maid of her's looking at my hands in 
 the entry out there. They are rather 
 too blanche for a goldsmith's appren- 
 tice, and I must take some of this 
 coke of the furnace aud blacken them 
 a little. But, first, 1 had bust see how 
 I am to manage the watch This 
 comes of falling in love with a lowly 
 maiden. The old juweller says he 
 must watch ine a whileT He may 
 well do so, for i have come to rob him 
 
 of his fairest jewel. But this watch 
 — all depends on this little glittering 
 bauble. Tic, tic, ticl It seems to be 
 tittering at my want of skill, fairly 
 laughing at me, while its hands point 
 waruiiigly to the fl^ng hours. 
 
 ' I may as well lie down on the set- 
 tee here and sleep till morning as sit 
 up here. Tick away, little watch! 
 you need not have atiy fears for your- 
 self to-night. I see how it will be; 
 in the morning the old gentleman 
 will unlock the door and take up the 
 watch. How will he know that I have 
 not separated it, aud put it again to- 
 gether? I will not ask that, for I 
 will not attempt to deceive him. If I 
 am just now playing the character of 
 a London 'prentice, I must not forget 
 that I am a gentleman and cannot 
 lie. I should be unworthy of his fair 
 daughter to seek her favor by an open 
 falsehood. Doubtless, too, he would 
 detect me. So the result will be that 
 I shall be dismissed by him in dis- 
 grace to-morrow, as not knowing any- 
 thing of my business, and perhaps I 
 shall have to go without even an op- 
 portunity of seeing or speaking with 
 the fair girl for whom I have coustfiit- 
 ed to be locked up here all night. 
 Harkl I hear a light step overhead. 
 It may be her own. I thought all iiad 
 retired. Perhaps it is the gold^r/iith 
 creeping down to ascertain whether 
 1 am at work or not. I will move- 
 these tools briskly about, and so quiet 
 his apprehensions if it should happen 
 to be he.' 
 
 ' Do 3'ou hear him ? He is at workl' 
 whispered Beatrice, as she noiselessly 
 followed Ruth down the stairs. 
 
 'Hist, Miss Beatrice, we shall bo 
 heard uy master.' 
 
THH GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 C5 
 
 'iSat if he is at work, he is an ap- 
 prentice.' 
 
 ' Perliaps he is trying to break out.' 
 
 * 1 hope not.' 
 
 'H'l do I, for I want you to see him.' 
 
 ' I don't mean for that; but it would 
 create such a disturbance it he breaks 
 out.' 
 
 ' Dont speak. All is silent again.' 
 
 'Tlien go forward.' 
 
 ' Please hold the light while I fit 
 the key iu the pafflocli and turn it,' 
 said ,' Ruth, iu a whisper, as' she 
 stopped opposite the door. 
 
 Ruth unlocked aud removed the pad- 
 lock without uoise, but as she took 
 away the bac, the sound caught the 
 ear of the young man. He rose up 
 and qaickly approached the door to 
 lititen. 
 
 'The goldsmith is coming, I see, to 
 pay me a visic. I must plead a head- 
 ache for not being at work,' and so 
 get off as well as 1 can in tl^e iuorii- 
 ing. I see that my enterprise, so 
 .boldly conceived, has failed iu the out- 
 set, aud all on account of this vwetcU 
 ed Geneva watch. I will retreat aud 
 Bit down and support my head in my 
 hand VVtiat a time he is opening the 
 door, aud how softly, as if he expect- 
 ed to catcli me napping or pilfeiiug 
 his jewels. Ati, good master golU- 
 amitii, .tiiou hast a jew«l up suirs 
 ■worth more to me thivu all thy labelled 
 rubies, diamonds and jewels. Dia- 
 monds out-ri vailing thine are her eyes, 
 rubies out-blushing thine are her lips, 
 j»nd her teeth laugh at the duller lus- 
 tre of thy pearls.' 
 
 ' You should knock upon the doer, 
 Euth.' 
 
 'i hear whispering. There ia mis 
 
 chief or women, whe.re there is whis- 
 pering. I must see what this is.' 
 
 ' There is no need to knock. I will 
 speak as I open the do^ir,' said Kith. 
 
 While the young man's ej'es were 
 closely fixed upon the door, ic slowly 
 opened, light streamed in, and he saw 
 tlie round pleasant face of tlie maid 
 thrust in cautiously, white she s'aid 
 in a warning tone — 
 
 ' So, master Faithful, don't speak. 
 It is me.' V 
 
 Master Faithful, who had at once 
 recognised her, had presence of mind 
 enough to obey, and wait the issue of 
 what he Saw, which was likely to be 
 a very different affair from a visit 
 from the goldsmith. Ruth seeing him 
 standing by the work bench, now ad" 
 vanceii, and said in an under tone — • 
 
 'lie silent, or speak only above 
 your breath. We have stole down 
 tiere to — ' 
 
 Wei Whp is with you ?' he asked 
 quickly, 
 
 Dear me, how' curious you aire,' 
 said Ruth, aud'she pushed the door to 
 behind her, though not so close but 
 that it was ajar. There is the watch 
 aud not touctied. I knew so.' 
 
 Know so, do you ?', he cried .with' 
 surprise. ' fray how did you know 
 so — and will you tell me, my fair friend, 
 to wliat good fortune do I owe this 
 strange vioit ?' 
 
 ' Dou't Hatter yourself, now master 
 Faitnlul; lor 'it is only tUrougti pity 
 mat brought us.' 
 
 U. I Are you in the pluial num- 
 ber i' 
 
 ' I kill, w that the watch would bring 
 you out,' she said, without, replying 
 to his mterrogatory. 'A.pietiy ap- 
 
68 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 prentice. What a rare workman you 
 will make. Master Goulbourne will 
 he very much benefiited by your 
 skill' 
 
 'You are laughing at me, aud-ljsee 
 you suspect me,' he -said, somewhat, 
 embarrassed. 
 
 'Sospeetl Do 1 not know?' she 
 said, playfully. ' Pray tell me why 
 jou have nut beguu to take this watch 
 ta pieces ?' 
 
 • Why V 
 •Yes, why V 
 
 'Well, really, a watch ia not to be 
 taken to pieces in a moment!' 
 
 ' Nor put together again. Confess, 
 Master Apprentice.' 
 
 ' Well, I confess, for I am detected.' 
 
 •You are not an apprentice?' 
 
 ' I am not.' 
 
 • You are not George Faithful ?' 
 'What an inquisitorl' 
 
 ' 'Is your name George Faithful ?' 
 
 • It is George.' 
 •Is it Faithful?* 
 •No.' 
 
 •How do yon expect to get out of 
 this diflSculty, when tny master comen 
 to see if yuu have done your task ?' 
 
 *I Shall have 'to confess my igno- 
 rance and go.' 
 
 'Worse than that. You know what 
 I told you about the man Lord Bres- 
 eeles sent as a spy, as he was ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 •Well, my master is angry enough 
 about that. So, in the morning, if he 
 finds you are riot what you professed 
 to be, he will become so enr&ged with 
 ■nspicion that he will have you sent 
 to prisuu.' 
 
 ' Have you come to aid my escape ? 
 I trust so, for I shall need a good 
 angel to extricate me.' 
 
 ' Wilt thou tell me what has brought 
 tbee hither ? Is it to rob my master 7' 
 
 ' No. Yet it is to rob him I' * 
 
 ' You confess, then ?' 
 
 'Don't fly. It is to rob him, but 
 not of these jewels — of one far more 
 val uable than any that the East can 
 furnish, or any that sparkle on a 
 king's crown. Canst thou keep the 
 secret, if I tell it to thee ?' 
 
 ' I can guess. It is my mistress.' 
 
 ' Thou hast guessed right. I came 
 in this disguise to steal her heart, if? 
 perchance, I might, and then, with 
 her father's consent, wear her as a 
 glorious jewel in my bosom. But 
 little did 1 anticipate the test I should 
 be put to in the outset of my appren- 
 ticeship,' he answered, with a smile. 
 
 ' And w'hy hast thou come in this 
 disguise ?' 
 
 'I knew that the goldsmith would 
 be wary of any one above his own 
 rank visiting his daughter, and so I 
 assumed the character you see me in, 
 and which, as this untouched watch 
 can testify, I have so poorly sustain- 
 ed.' 
 
 ' Dost thou not know that thou art 
 in great danger, not only by incurring 
 my master's resentment, but perhai'S 
 of being thrown into prison as a sus- 
 picious person.' 
 
 'I must abide the consequences; 
 for it is impossible for me to perform 
 the task assigned me. Where is thy 
 fair mistress ? If I could speak with 
 her, but for five minutes, I should 
 have well incurred, and will cheer- 
 fully bear all risks." 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 67 
 
 ' Thou dost not deserve to see Vier. 
 But I will tell you that she feels an 
 interest in yciur safety.' 
 
 ' She does ■? Then she suspects I am 
 not what I seem.' 
 
 'And she is angry. But, nev«rthe-' 
 less, out ofipity and 'benevolence, And 
 to prevent any mischief conning oi ■ 
 your being here, she is willing, in 
 the generosity of her heart, to help 
 ■thee out<jf thy difficulty.' 
 
 ' Noble 'Beatrice.' i 
 
 * Sir,' said Beatrice, at thifl moment,; 
 entering the room, ' I have heard siif-' 
 'ficient to assure me of your impru- 
 deace and danger in coming'here. I 
 will howe^ver «nde4vor to rbefriendl 
 ■yon:' 
 
 The young man, upon .seeing 'ber 
 •enter, started with surprise and 
 pleasure, and looked as if he could 
 hardly credit his sight. She in8taut-| 
 ly recogriised the beaming glance: 
 which liad won her heart, and al- 
 though she came in with a firm step 
 and grave countenance, intending to 
 reprove bim, she stood blushing and: 
 confused before his ardent, almost 
 worshiping gaze. 
 
 ' Pardon me, fair Beatrice,' he said, 
 approaching her, with an expression i 
 of mingled happiness and apprehen- 
 .sion, being af aid he h&<l oifendedi 
 when he would have conciliated. 'I 
 confess my imprudence, but I did not 
 anticipate detection so .soon. I hoped 
 under this disguise to win your 
 heart; for mine you have already. 
 Forgive me if I have displeased you.' 
 
 ' You speak boldly, sir.' 
 
 ' It i.^ my deep love for yon that 
 makes me bold, and that has caused 
 me to be iu , litis disguise.' 
 
 ' I cannot listen to yon, sir, further,' 
 she said, endeavoring to speak with 
 firmness, though her heart pleaded £!» 
 tenderness towards the handsome 
 young man wljo knelt before her with, 
 an air so subdued — so respectful, 
 '^y maid believiug.ehe had reason to 
 fi,u$peot you were not what you seem- 
 ed, .and, gra^ful to you for the ser- 
 vice dMue her, has, with much en- 
 trefiCy, prevailed upon me to consent 
 to reliqye yon, provided her sus- 
 picious, on coming here, should be 
 .co^ifiijHa^d. I overheard at the door 
 yo^r .CQijfession of being di8gui,sed, 
 and while I feel suitably affected by 
 your .jntfirest in one so humbje as I" 
 am, I canflot be a party to this decep- 
 tion, at ileast, an,d ,f^r,ther than this 
 security is confirmed. 1 am aware, 
 sir, .t,h»t my JiJther, on finding you 
 are qpt what you seem, will be high- 
 ly inceng^dj^gainst you, for his suspie- 
 ipftS ^re lively just now, and he will 
 flo doubt visit me with his displeas- 
 ure, though I am innocent of your 
 presence here.' 
 
 ' 1 see that I have erred in taking 
 this ^tej). Your maid has infprmed 
 me of ,tbe deception practised by a 
 man of lord Bres^eles, and I acknowl- 
 edge that sbould your father see that 
 I am not what I suppose to be, he 
 will have reason to be angry. But 
 ihe idea of bringing displeasure on 
 you humbles and girieves me. How 
 sh^ll I .remedy this error into whiqli 
 rny passion for. you has led me ?' 
 
 'Do not speak so ' freely, sir,' an- 
 swered Beatrice, trying to be severe. 
 ' You forget that you are a stranger to 
 me, nay that you are assuming a 
 obaracter that is not your owu, what- 
 ever that may be.' 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' I fear thnt if I tell thee who I am 
 thou wilt banish me forever fi-om thy 
 presenoe.' 
 
 'Thou hast nothing to fear from the 
 truth,' answered Beatrice, who, each 
 moment, became more -and more in- 
 terested in the yonng man, and she 
 felt that she would gladly, did she 
 dare so far to overpass the bounds 
 of maidenly decorum, tell him her 
 love for him as frankly as he had told 
 his for her. ' But it is surprising 
 that you should speak to me of a pas- 
 sion, sir, for one, whom you can 
 never have seen, unless at a dis- 
 tance.' 
 
 ' ' I have seen thee oftener than thou 
 hast perceived.'' 
 
 ' Nay; I have never perceived thee 
 bat once.' 
 
 ' Yet then I met thy eyes and lost 
 to thee my heart, maiden. That once 
 will never be forgotten by me.' 
 
 ' Nor by me,' thought Beatrice with 
 pleasure, as she heard thus from his 
 own lips the sweet assurance that her 
 love was reciprocated. 
 
 Beatrice felt like uttering aloud 
 this confession; for there was a noble 
 ingenuousness in the youug man, ac- 
 companied by his confessed passion 
 for iier, that almost drew her from 
 herself to make him a full confidant of 
 the secret of her heart. 
 
 Eiith began to feel that she would 
 be doing them b(fth a service, by tell- 
 ing liira plainly that Beatrice cared as 
 much for him as he did for her. But 
 she was restrained by the discreet 
 consideration that the stranger had 
 not yet declared his name or rank, 
 and might yet prove uuworthy of 
 her. 
 
 'What can he mpan t)yR,>t'ing that 
 if he tells wlio he is,' she mnsi'd with- 
 in herself, ' Miss Beatrice may banish 
 him and never speak to himv ajain. 
 This would be a great pity; for if ever 
 two were formed for each other, it is 
 them. Perhaps he is so far above her 
 in rank, (and this I half-suspect, 
 though he seems too modest to be a 
 lord,) that they never can marry; or 
 else he is so poor' that, knowing she 
 is an heiress, her father will never 
 con ent to their being married. I 
 will ask him at once. Please, sir, if 
 your name is not George Faithful, 
 will you tell my mistress what it is ?' 
 
 ' It is George Cecil. I am the only 
 son of a widow, and I am only a 
 secretary to a person at Court. I 
 cannot offer thee, maiden, more than 
 my heart and I' and. I know thou art 
 esteemed wealthy among the maidens 
 of thy degree. But this I care not 
 for 80 that thou wilt be mine. I know 
 that proud nobles would bend the 
 knee to thee, and ' 
 
 ' Nay, do not mock me with such 
 flattery, Mr. Cecil. Wert thou a no- 
 ble I should tremble, for I know that 
 maidens such as I, can never wed 
 with lords of the realm; nor do I as- 
 pire to it. In sayhig thou art popr 
 and a widow's son and an humble 
 secretary, thou hast greatly relieved 
 my fears, for I trembled lest thou 
 shouldst prove too high above me.' 
 
 ' I thought,' said Ruth, who seem- 
 ed pleased that the young man came 
 within the limits of her mistress's 
 condition, (yet was secretly disap- 
 pointed that he was not a lord!) 'thou 
 wort at least an Esquire's or a baro- 
 net's son, and, although I knew my 
 mistress was fit for a lord's bride, I 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 69 
 
 fa el therq would bj aa end of her 
 acqiiaiiitauce, if you were above her. 
 1 aiji SI) delighted tliat you are only a 
 geiitleiiiiiii's son, for her sake. There 
 iti Some hwpe now, and I always said 
 ttiai Aliss Beatrice would marry above 
 her faiher's trade, for her beauty if 
 not for her goodness; though master 
 has said she shall never marry a man 
 who canuut take to pieoesaud put to- 
 getlier again a watch.' 
 
 ' Has he said bo ? Then, if I would 
 have any hope left, I must at once set 
 to, to ieani at least to do this. But, 
 Bweet Beatricei, if thus I win thy 
 father's favor and consent, wilt thou 
 gjve nie thine?' 
 
 Beatrice was silent. She looked 
 happy and alarmed. Her heart was 
 already his, yet she feared to make 
 the confession.. 
 
 ' If you do uot speak. Miss Beatrice, 
 I will speak for thee.' 
 
 ' Kay, Kuth, not ' ^ 
 
 ' Master Cecil, you need have no 
 fear,' persevered Buth. ' Miss Bea- 
 trice has loved you from the moment 
 ehe saw you when your eyes met this 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Kuth, Ruthl' cried Beatrice, deep- 
 ly blushing, yet looking more pleased 
 than angry. 
 
 ' Dearest Beatrice 1' cried the young 
 man, ' these words fill me with joy 1 
 caniiiA express. I am at this moment 
 the liappiest of human beings. Thou 
 wilt uot gainsay what niv ears have 
 junt lieard ? Let me believe that my 
 tltt-p passion i'or thee is requited.' 
 
 lie u,uk hor hand iii his. She did 
 Dot wiiiiilraw It till he had pressed it 
 to hi.s lips. 
 
 ' i'loui this hour be our hopes; our 
 
 fears, our joys one, sweet Beatrice,' 
 he said with emotion. 
 
 Tears tirembled upon the d;uk eye- 
 lashes of the maiden, tears of liappi- 
 ness and hope. She did not.repiy for 
 a moment, and then sa^d: 
 
 ' I know not why I have given thee 
 up 80 freely my heart. It is thine. 
 But how darest thou to commit thy 
 destiny to one whom thou hast scarce- 
 ly seen ? I might ask myself the 
 same question; but I will not too 
 closely interrogate what 1 have done 
 ihis night. I have acted from im- 
 pulse rather than reflection.' 
 
 'You shall never repent of this act, 
 dear Beatrice. You ask me how I 
 have dared. I knew thee before I 
 beheld thee. Dost thou not remember 
 the Covenanter's widow who dwelt 
 thy next-door neighbor some number 
 of years V 
 
 'Aiiue Colvillel' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' She became a housekeeper to Lord 
 ■ — Lord Somebody,' said Kuth, tiyiu* 
 to recollect. , 
 
 ' To Lord Exeter,' said Beatrice. 
 
 'Yes; I have told you that I have 
 been a secretary. It was to Lord 
 Exeter. There 1 saw this Mistress 
 Anne, who often talked to me of your 
 beauty and graces of mind and per- 
 son, fair Beatrice. Shfc first tauglit 
 lue to love you, even before I had^ 
 seen you.' 
 
 'How wonderful!' exclaimed Ruth. 
 ' That accounts, then, for Mtiss Bea- 
 trice loving you aa soon as she saw 
 you, for she read in your eyes your 
 love for her. Now it is plain as can 
 be.' 
 
 These words of tne young lover 
 
70 
 
 T^E GOLDSMITH'S DAUGUTEB: 
 
 were very gratifying to Beatrice, and 
 ^alf excused ber to herself for so 
 readily giving away her heart. She 
 showed her gratification in her face 
 witliout disguise. From this moment 
 she felt that she could lovti hiin with 
 out rcaei'Vti. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The confession of George Cecil, that 
 he had learned to love Beatrice lung 
 before he had seen herj through the 
 representations of Anne Colvillo, seem- 
 ed to excuse her to her own pride and 
 maidenly propriety for so readily ad- 
 mitting him to her heart. They seem- 
 ed, the two lovers, to have known 
 each other for years, so well did tfiey 
 understand, as if by instinct, the state 
 of each other's heart. A mutual sym- 
 pathy in their natures had in the first 
 interview blazed into love. 
 «A8 Ruth looked from one to the 
 other and saw how happy they looked 
 under this mysterious union of their 
 souls so singularly brought aibout, she 
 could not but feel very happy herself. 
 Still there secretly lurked in her mind 
 Jhe wish that the young apprentice 
 had been at least so bi^h as a ban - 
 net's son. Nevertheless, she liked him 
 80 well, and had been so takuu with 
 him from the first, that she felt 
 that fhe could forgive him for not be- 
 ing more than a widow's sou, and a 
 clerk. 
 
 ' His doing nothing but writing,' 
 thought she, ' aecouuts for his having 
 Bucti delicate, lordly hands! Well, 1 
 know ue Uccimves Miss fieuti'ice; 1 
 
 read it in his eyes. And it is well ho 
 is not a baronet or lord, or he would 
 never think of having Miss Beatrice 
 as his wife; it is better for her own 
 happiness that he is only what he is. 
 But he is the properest and genteelest 
 young secretary I have ever seen! 
 But if he is going to have Miss Bea- 
 irice, he must learn to undo a watch, 
 or Master Goulbourne will never give 
 him his consent. Dear me, how happy 
 Miss Beatrice looks! Well, if it isn't 
 as good as a story in a book to think 
 how* the young man she loved at first 
 sight should also have loved her, and 
 come here to her, disguised as an ap- 
 prentice. Miss Beatrice,' she said 
 aloud, 'if you are going to take the 
 watch to pieces, you had best begin; 
 and while you do it, I would advise 
 Master Cecil to look well at it, that 
 ho may know how to do it. You 
 know how much depends upon it.' 
 
 Beatrice smiled, and said to the 
 young secretary, as she sat down at 
 the work benoh in th& seat he had 
 vacated: 
 
 ' Will you leairn how from mie V 
 
 ' I will try and be an apt appren- 
 tice, fair Beatrice,* answered the 
 young man, as he bent over hei , while 
 with a graceful hand she opened the 
 case Of the watch and prep-ared, like 
 one well skilled in what she waa 
 aiboat, to take it apart. 
 
 ' Now watch me well,* she said, 
 smiling and fixing her dark eyes on 
 his, but instantly dropping the lids aa 
 they met their warm glances beaming 
 with tenderness. 
 
 ' 1 will note every step of thy pro- 
 gress, sweet Beatrice. What exqui- 
 site touch it requires. Methuiks thy 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 71 
 
 lair finders were made for such deli-t I Pftt it together again it will play^ 
 
 cate work.' 
 
 'Nay, my father hath a lighter 
 touch than I,' she answered laughing- 
 ly. ' But if thou carest to learn be 
 attentive", and heed more the work 
 than the worker.' 
 
 ' Remember what depends on thy 
 knowing, Master Cecil,' said Buth 
 with more anxiety^ 
 
 ' I can rnever forget. I am all at- 
 tention.' 
 
 Beatrice now placed at hand a pair 
 of forceps and a small screw-driver, 
 a little steel hammer and a Ci rved 
 needle, and proceeded to perform her 
 task. The watch divested of its case 
 she held up and asked him if he saw 
 how the cases were taken off. 
 
 ' I marked every movement.' 
 
 ' Can you do it again ?' 
 
 ' Yes and put them on!' 
 
 ' Yiiu are apt. to learn!' 
 
 ' I stionld be dull indeed not to be 
 BO with such a prize as depends on 
 my knowledge of the art.' 
 
 ' Dear me, he flatters -like a lord, 
 Miss Beatrice,' said Ruth, laughing. 
 
 ' It is doubtless seeing them at 
 eourt, Miss Ruth. But tlie eX'pression 
 of the heart's deep feeling is ^ot flat- 
 tery I' 
 
 'Be attentive, sir,' cried Beatrice, 
 playfully. 'Thou seest these four 
 screws which I am removing one af- 
 ter the other. It disengages the cap 
 from these pillars! Now you caji see 
 the work of the watch complete. In- 
 closed in that brass troi^h there be- 
 tween the pillars is the musical box. 
 I now draw this screw and it plOjysl' 
 
 ' What sweet tones!' 
 
 'It plays lill It runs downl When 
 
 another tune; so that my father wUl 
 know when he t;[;ios the tune whether 
 it has been taken to pieces or notl' 
 
 ' Then I should have been discover- 
 ed had I b^en tempted to deo^ye 
 him.' 
 
 'Most certainly! Now this wheel" 
 is removed by drawing the pin {rdm 
 this pivot! Dost thou look V 
 
 'I am all attention! Nuthiog es- 
 capes me!' 
 
 He answered truly. He watched 
 every motion of her fingers and mark- 
 ed with the closest attention all that 
 was done. From time to time hia • 
 eyes would linger - upon ' the fair fia- 
 gers and admire their graceful move- 
 rnents, and sometimes steal up to her 
 face. 
 
 But an • ah!' from her in playful re- 
 proof recalled him to his duty. 
 
 At length the watch lay before her 
 upon the bench in all its separate 
 parts. An hour had been passed by 
 her in the complete directions. Not- 
 withstanding the fixed attentioo he 
 gave, there were, little momenta ia 
 which he managed to p ur into her 
 ear words oftenderness and devotion. 
 The hour, she felt was the happiest 
 in her life. Bending together over 
 the same movements, their, cheeks al- 
 most touching!, it was love'S: propi- 
 tious hour for biodiug their hearts 
 closer in one. 
 
 It is done!' said Beatrice, as she) 
 li^id the l^t piece upon the green vel-: 
 vet cjoth that covered thj? benct), 
 ' Hast thou marked every part weH 
 f(;r it cost my father many hours and 
 care to teach me.' 
 
 'Thou h^d^t not the motive foi; 
 
72 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 learninpf that I have, Beatricel I' 
 have fixed every step of the process 
 in my memory. I dan put the watch 
 together if thou wilt give me permis- 
 sion.' ' 
 
 ' You will find the task more than 
 you. believe,' she said, with gratified 
 surprise at his confident assertion. 
 
 ' No'I I have reversed in my mind 
 
 the whole process as you were at 
 work, and I can do what I say.' 
 
 ' I will w^tch you and correct any 
 mistake you make!' 
 
 The young secretary cheerfully sat 
 , himself down to the task, and giving 
 himself to it, he accomplished it in 
 little, less. than an hour witbout^mak- 
 ing but one mistake, a slight on.e 
 which her watchful eyes discovered and 
 pointed out to him. 'He completed 
 the whole work even to the replacing 
 the easel When he bsid done it and 
 held it up in triumph to Beatrice, she 
 said, what she had began almost to 
 believe: 
 
 ' You are more a jeweler than you 
 would confess to be. 1 believe you 
 have learned from others how to do 
 this.' . 
 
 ' Only from thy sweet teaching, 
 Beatrice.' 
 
 , 'You are then a promising pupjl. 
 Dost thou see this, Rjith V 
 
 Ruth made no answer; and upon 
 lookiug around she was discovered 
 fast asleep with her head on the 
 chest of drawers. Beatrice was about 
 to awake her when the secretary tak- 
 ing her hiand in his said with earnest- 
 ness : 
 
 ' Let me embrace this moment to 
 learu i'rom tliy lips ray fate, Beatrice? 
 
 bid me hope that thou wilt some day 
 not far hence be mine.' 
 
 ' I have told thee that my heart is 
 yours; for it is vain for me to con- 
 ceal it, nor do I wish. to. But I am 
 my father's not my own. So far as I 
 can give myself away I am yours. 
 But there are ' 
 
 ' You hesitate. I know what yon 
 would say. That there are inquiries 
 touching me. These I am willing he 
 should make. It is right that you 
 should know more of me. He shall be 
 referred to one he well knows and 
 esteems, the Mistress Oolville.' 
 
 ' If she speaks well of thee, my fa- 
 ther will be thy friend.-* 
 
 'I will refer him to her. I fear not 
 the result if he goes to her; fur she 
 knows me and my life, and will give 
 him the true character of one who 
 seeks alliance with his ^daughter. 
 Wilt thou then be mine if thy father 
 give thee to me ?' 
 
 'Hast thou not had my answer? 
 she said in the most lovely confusion. 
 
 He stole a kiss from her lips by 
 way of pledge and was turning round 
 to see if Ruth had discovered this by- 
 play, when he confronted in full vis- 
 age the^oldsmith himself The start 
 of surprise dre^ Beatrice's eyes in 
 the same direction, and upon seeing 
 her father exclaimed and awaked 
 Ruth, who on beholding him shrieked 
 aloud t 
 
 ' I have no excuse, my dear father, 
 none to offer 1' cried Beatrice. 'I 
 must seem to you very guilty, but 
 
 'Beatrice, be not alarmed and do 
 not kneel to me! Things might'have 
 been worse than they are,' spuke her 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 73 
 
 fa1b"v in a voice without anger, and 
 a countenance kindly in its looks. '1 
 know all, for I have heard and seen 
 all. Neither of you may offer auy ex- 
 planaiioii or excuse. I coiifoss my- 
 self not a little surprised at what 1 
 have discovered, but as you are clear 
 ly innocent, Beatrice, of this young 
 gentleman's presence here, I have 
 nothing to forgive in you, save to 
 censure you for so freely letting him 
 have your h art. As for the young 
 man himself, I am pleased with hia 
 manner of conversation and his ready 
 reference to Mrs. Colville, a worthy 
 and sensible woman, assures me thai 
 he ni'ist maintain a good namt^.' It 
 is true, young sir,' continued David 
 Goulbourne, addressing himself to 
 the secretary who stood before him 
 looking mortified and unhappy, while 
 Beatrice seemed overcome with grate- 
 ful joy at her father's leniency; ' You 
 have done a very imprudent t..iug in 
 coming to my abode in this disguise. 
 It is against you greatly, this piece 
 of deception. If you loved my daugh- 
 ter and were worthy of her- why ttid 
 you not Come to me openly and ask 
 her of me.' 
 
 'I wished first to learn, by my own 
 observation, if her character so beauii- 
 fully drawn by Mistress Colville an- 
 swered Lo'tiie picture of it; and know- 
 ing the a:itipatliy that unhappily 
 exists between the town people aud 
 the cu'urt, I knew that if I came 
 openly I should fiud, no favor, and 
 rather be receiVed with suspicion. 
 So 1 assumed this disguise. In love, 
 sir, as well as in war, stratagems are 
 deemed iawfuL* 
 
 ' As your intentions, young sir, 
 seemed to be honorable, I will pass 
 by the deception you have practised 
 upon me,' answered David Goulbourne, 
 ' for there is something in your face,: 
 as well as in your words that 1 have 
 overheard, which assures me that yoU' 
 are an honorable person.' 
 
 ' And, roaster, will you forgive me V 
 said Ruth, who stood uncertain what 
 would be her fate. 
 
 'Yes, for you acted with Beatrice 
 and with her consent. Know, maiden, 
 that I was not asleep when you came 
 and remtived the key from my table. 
 I rose up and dressed and came soft" 
 ly after you, and have heard all that 
 passed from the first. You have dune 
 wrong in doing as you have, for if by 
 any chance I had los\ my goods to- 
 night, and I had discovered that you 
 had been here, I should have accused 
 you aud cast you into prison. But let 
 this pass, since it is no worse. Bea- 
 trice, now I will bid you good night 
 Go at once to your chamber; and, 
 Ruth, follow her. I wish to have a 
 word or two with this young gentle- 
 man.' 
 
 Beatrice ft'lt that she could not 
 speak a word in objection to his com- 
 luaud. Thankful from the bottom of 
 her heart at the manner in which her 
 father had taken the discovery he 
 had made, she alm(<st feared to glauce 
 at her lover as she retired, yet she 
 did so, caught his eyes beut upon her, 
 aud looked a 'good uig-lii' to him. 
 
 When she reached her chamber, she 
 sank into a chair aud burst into luars, 
 tears of joy and shame. Ruth, look- 
 ing as if she should faint wuti her owq 
 
74 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fears, stood by her as pale as death 
 It was some moments before either of 
 them could speak or recover from the 
 shock they had received now that 
 they could give vent to their feeling 
 without any restraint. 
 
 ' Miss Beatrice, was ever anything 
 so unlucky T*^ at length said Rnth, 
 after she haid shut the door of the 
 room. ' I tremble like a leaf. I shall 
 never dare look my master in the face 
 after stealing his key and all. He 
 forgave me, but I fear he will always 
 be angry with me. Who would have 
 thought it ? I was so sure he was 
 asleep. Dear me! it makes my knees 
 so weak to think of it. And iiis com- 
 ing in, too, and catciiing you, there. 
 Was ever anything so unlucky ?' 
 
 'It was most lucky. Rath, as things 
 have turned out. It has brought 
 
 ID 
 
 thin^^s to a crisis at once." How good 
 and kind my dear father is.' 
 
 •"And this M.iater Cecil — did I tell 
 you the half about him 7 Isn't he so 
 noble and gentle ? I do hope all will 
 come out right at last. I wonder 
 what master can have to say to him. 
 I tremble so.' 
 
 ' J)o not fear. My father never acts 
 by impulses, doing this one moment 
 and repenting the next. Be assured 
 he forgives both you and me, as be 
 has said, and bears no hostility to 
 Mr. Cecil. But if he had chanced to 
 come down only at the last moment 
 and come in upon us, there is no 
 doubt at all that he would have been 
 BO confounded aud enraged at the dis- 
 covery that no explanation of mine or 
 of Mr. Cecil's could ever have pacified 
 him. He would have believed me a 
 party in the conspiracy, and no doubt 
 
 visited his vengeance upon all three 
 in a most formidable manner.' 
 
 ' I am so thankful that things are 
 no worse. How strange that he was 
 so quiet about it.' 
 
 ' He gathered from our conversar 
 tion tlie exact position of things, and 
 was, tlierefore, able to judge us with 
 proper judgment. He saw in Mr. 
 Cecil an ardent, honorable young 
 man, who had resorted to a stratagem 
 to become acquainted with me, of 
 whom he had heard so much from Mrs. 
 Anne; and he discovered in me a too 
 susceptible heart which had impul- 
 sively surrendered itself to him. He 
 saw that we were deeply interested, 
 even on our short acquaintance, one 
 in the otherj nay, he had heard ua 
 pledge ourselves to each other, and 
 so, desirous of my liappiness, resolved 
 to ascertain if this Mi'. Cocil were a 
 suitable parson, aud then give his 
 consent to our union. You wer9 
 asleep, I believe, Kuih,' concluded 
 Beatrice, with an arch -smile. 
 
 'Dear me! so I must have been. 
 I was dreaming Spankie'was putting 
 the marriage ring on my finger and 
 asking me if he sliould be married in 
 a white or orange cravat. I was just 
 going to say orange, for it is ray 
 favorite color, when you, cry out some- 
 thing, and I wake, and the first thing 
 I see is master in the room. I shall 
 never forget it till my dying day.' 
 
 ' I hear my father coming up stairs. 
 Let us be silent.' 
 
 ' Beatrice!' he called at the door. 
 
 ' Sirl' she answered, opening it 
 and as she did so, she cast herself ii* 
 to his arms, crying, wi;,h tears: 
 
 ' My dear, dear father, how can I 
 
THE GOLDSmTH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 73 
 
 accept of yottp- forgiveness for my 
 great imprudence V 
 
 ' You have it freely,' he answered, 
 kissing her. ' I do not deny your im- 
 prudence but ' 
 
 ' It is all my bluine, sir,' said Ruth, 
 openly. 'I first t<>lJ her that he was 
 not an apprentice at all, but the 
 young geritlt'iaaii 8h<^ had thought so 
 much of who had passed the lattice. 
 I advised her to go down and open 
 the watch, sir.' 
 
 'Then you have seen him before?' 
 "Yes, father, (nice; and I was so 
 foolish as to Jet that once deeply 
 affect my heart.' 
 
 ' Well, well, I -iknow all about it. 
 He has told me all,' said her father 
 smiling, and patting the hair back 
 from her brow. ' 1 am satisfied that 
 be will make you an excellent and 
 very kind husband.' 
 
 When Beatrice beard these words 
 fall from her father's lips she raised 
 her eyes and looked in his face with 
 such deep j<)y that he said: 
 
 ' How woiidertul it is that you Io\re 
 him 80 deeply Do you tkiuk it is 
 abiding love, B. iivnue ?' 
 
 'Abiding, sir. 1 can never cease 
 to entertain towards him the same 
 sentiments which I imjw do.' 
 
 ' Tlien kei p tieart, for you will not 
 be disappointed iu hiin. Since he has 
 told me who he is, 1 tiiid that I have 
 Some knowfedge of huu.' 
 ' And he is" Worthy V 
 t have^told him that I consent to 
 his union with you. What more can 
 I say, Beatrice ?' answered her father 
 ■with a smile. 'Do not fear to love 
 him; for 1 know that he loves you. 
 Since you came up we have had an 
 
 interesting conTeraatioa, and be as- 
 sured that I am satisfied you will not 
 regret having loved at fiist sight. 
 Now go to bed, and to-morrow wo 
 will talk further upon the subject.' 
 ' One v/ordj, dear father.' 
 ' Well, two of them if you will.' 
 
 Where is he ?' 
 •Departed. I thought and so did 
 he t^at he bad best go to his own 
 abode, since things have turned out 
 as they have.'. 
 
 ' So late, and so dangerous to be 
 abroad.' 
 
 'Do not fear f )r him, Miss Beatrice,' 
 said Ruth.. ' I will warrant you he .will 
 fight if he meets foes. But one thing 
 I have against him, and that is Ma 
 telling me that he saw Jerry pressed, 
 and 80 knew from that you wanted 
 an apprentice. If he is no apprea* 
 tice how should he know Jerry.' 
 
 ' He has explained this to me,' an- 
 swered the goldsmith, smiling. 'He 
 sent the duke's men to the ale-house 
 ttiat Jerry, who was drinking there 
 might be pressed, and so tie might 
 get his place. He knew Jerry by 
 having seen him come in and out 
 here; Tor he has watched and passed 
 the house- ofteuer tiiau you have seen 
 him. I have to thaiiK, hii» for getting 
 the variet well olf out of tSe way. 
 Now, good uig'ht and pleasant 
 dreams, daughter.' 
 
 ' How pleasant master is/ said 
 Ruth, after he had tor the 8e<x>ad 
 time that night, retired to his room: 
 but not without first having looked to 
 see if the king's bracelet was secure 
 in the cabinet where he nad placed it; 
 'he is certainly as much taK<-n with 
 this Master George Cecil as you are, 
 Miss Beatrice.' 
 
76 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' Or yoii either, Ruth. This is the 
 happiest night of my life.' 
 
 ' How uicely every thing goes on. 
 I wonder when you will be married.' 
 
 The maiden's reply was prevented 
 by a loud hammering at the street 
 door. 
 
 CUAPTEE X 
 
 At the startling sound at the door 
 at so late an hour, for it was already 
 midnight, Beatrice looked surprised 
 while Kutii's clieek became pale. 
 
 ' Who can it be ?' 
 
 ' It can be no one to harm U8, Ruth, 
 be assured, or they would not come 
 BO noisily,' answered her young m,s- 
 tress. 
 
 'There it is again! Harkl They 
 call for master Goulbournel' 
 
 'My father has heard, for he is 
 moving in his room.' 
 
 The next jnaoment the goldsmith 
 came out, and seeing Beatrice and 
 Ruth with their door open, he said: 
 
 ' Do not be terrified, daughter. 1*1 
 is doubtless a king's messenger by 
 the mode of assault upon my doorl' 
 
 ' What can he want at this hour of 
 the night, sir V 
 
 '1 know not till I ask him, unless 
 it be that he hath sent for his dia- 
 mond clasp to have it betimes in the 
 morning.' 
 
 ' He might have waited till the 
 morning, rnethinks,' said Ruth, ' and 
 not frighten people this way at mid- 
 night with his saucy and noisy me - 
 Bengers. ' But I suppose at cburt day 
 m nigat and night is day with them; 
 
 for I am told they keep up till sun- 
 rise and sleep till noon.' 
 
 ' Hist, maidl' said Mr. Goulbourne. 
 ' Thou forgptest thou art speaking of 
 the king's household Thy tongue 
 will one day bring mischief upon 
 thee.' 
 
 With this reproof David Qoulboume 
 hastened down stairs, and having pat 
 his key into the lock of the door, 
 paused ere he opened it and said: 
 ' Who is it that is without ?' 
 ' The king's master of the ward- 
 robe!' answered a stern voice, ' Open 
 and not keep me waiting here, or I 
 will make my knaves batter thy door 
 in, follow!' 
 
 The goldsmith, too familiar with 
 the style of the courtiers of the king 
 as well as of their servants to take 
 umbrage at this mode of address, un- 
 locked his door, and removing tho 
 iron bar, stood in the opening. Two 
 horsemen were in the street, one of 
 whom said: 
 
 'Why hast thou been so dilatory, 
 Master Smith!' 
 
 ' I came as soon as I could, sir!' 
 
 'Make haste and bring me tha 
 king's jewel that thou hast. He will 
 be up early and away to meet the 
 Swedish Ambassador and we will be 
 too much^occupied to come for it in 
 the morning! Gome, speed thee?' ; 
 
 'The king's chamberlain left it 
 with me, sir,' answered David; 'and 
 he bade me not deliver it to any one 
 again save himself, or to one bearing 
 tne king's signet.' 
 
 'I commend thy caution. Here, is 
 the king's signet, by which thou 
 mayst see I am a propjr person for 
 you to deliver it to.' 
 
THE GOLDSMITHS DAUGHTER. 
 
 77 
 
 The possessor placed in the gold- 
 smith's hand the sig-net, who examin- 
 ing it, by the light of the lamp . which 
 he held in his hand, at once recognis- 
 ed it, for he had uuce re et the stone 
 in it himself. 
 
 'It is suflScient authority. Tiiou 
 shalt have the clasp, sir,' answered 
 David. 'Wilt thou alight?' 
 
 'Nay, bring it to me hither.' 
 
 David returned up stairs and un- 
 locking ibe L'lbiuet took from it the 
 clasp, and curried it down to him in 
 its case. 
 
 ' There it is, sir. Say to the king- 
 that it will uot be out of repair S'joij 
 again, as 1 have SLCured each of the 
 settings.' 
 
 ' I will SO inform his majesty,' an- 
 swered, the horseman, as he received 
 the case, which he opened to a'scer- 
 tain if the jewel was in it, and then 
 placed it in his bosom. ' Good night, 
 or rather good morning, master Grold- 
 Bmith.' 
 
 ' Good night, gentlemen,' answered 
 the goldsmith. They rode off at a 
 round pace, and Soon disappeared in 
 the next street towards the palace. 
 He stood at the door till the echo o: 
 their horses hoofs were no Ipnger 
 heard, and then was about going in 
 and closing his door, when one of his 
 neighbors opposite, a cordwainer, who 
 had been brought to his window in his 
 night-cap by the sound of the ham- 
 mering on the goldsmith's door, call- 
 ed to hiui : 
 
 ' Friend David, what officer of the 
 king's household did this rider tel) 
 thee he was ?' 
 
 ' The master of the wardrobe is Sir 
 
 Poter Luslcy, .'it least he was' to day; 
 for I went to his iiouse at noon with 
 iny quartt'i''8 bill and he paid it; as I 
 lio Sir P(;ter'8 work. That horseman 
 who spoke to thee was not Sir 
 Peter.' 
 
 ' Art thou certain ?' 
 
 ' Sir Peter hath a small, weak voice 
 and stutters- a little at that. Thou 
 didst run risk, neighbor, in giving up 
 ihe jewel he asked for, if it were of 
 value.' 
 
 ' Nay, he showed me the king's sig- 
 net.' 
 
 ' I hope all is right then! But it 
 was not Sir Peter.' 
 
 'He may have been sent by Sir 
 Peter,' answered- David ' I must 
 either have delivered it to the king's 
 signet or the king himself; and it is 
 not likely he would have come for it.' 
 
 ' I hope all is right, onlj' it was not 
 Sir Peter himself as he said he was, 
 answered the cordwainer, persever- 
 ingly; and seeing David close his 
 door he put his head in and shut his 
 window 
 
 The street was once more still, and 
 Beatrice and Ruth, hearing the gold- 
 smith pass into his own chamber, re- 
 tired for the night, little anticipating 
 what the morrow would bring forth. 
 
 Tlie sun liad been about half an 
 hour up, and David Goulbonrne, hav- 
 ing performed family worship, had 
 just sat down to brt-akfast with Bea- 
 trice when a loud shout from the 
 street reached their ears. Fmm early 
 day-light the town had been noisy and 
 agitated in expectation of the gand 
 procession of the king and ambassa- 
 dors; and what with the galloping to 
 
78 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and fro of messengers from one to an- 
 other, the marching by of the train- 
 bands with trumpet and kettle-drum 
 to take up their quarters in different 
 posts in the town, and the confused 
 hurrying and murmuring of the crowd 
 running hither and thither to see 
 what was to be seen. It was a sab- 
 bath morning little in unison with 
 the goldsmith's feelings. 
 
 ' The king will have much to an- 
 swer for,' said David, as a second 
 shout fell upon his ear, louder than 
 the former ' This breaking of the 
 Lord's day by rulers in high places 
 will bring a judgment upon the land. 
 And this king who turns this holy 
 day into a feast day for pomp and 
 show is the head of the church. What 
 would become of the land if all 
 churchmen were like their chief. In- 
 stead of 'setting an example of holi- 
 ness he sets himself up as a pattern 
 of all disorder.' 
 
 ' Master Gjiilbourne, cried the 
 voice of the brazier from beneath the 
 window, ' come out hither and look 
 from thy balcony if thou woiildst see 
 the bravery of the Spanish Ambassa- 
 dor and his people.' 
 
 ' Father, let me go to the lattice — I 
 will veil my face ?' said Beatrice half 
 rising. ' 
 
 ' Do — let me and her too, good mas- 
 ter!' chimed in Rutb.- 
 
 ' Well, thou mayest see for a little 
 while,' answered David, as a burst of 
 trumpets tilled the street 
 
 'Come, master Goulbournel' called 
 out the brazier; 'if thou wouldst -see 
 a rare sight, come forth nowl' | 
 
 This brazier hath the curiosity of 
 a woman in him,' said David, as he 
 
 rose up slowly, while Beatrice and 
 Ruth were already on the balcony. 
 He followed them as if he cared not 
 to see such things on the Lard's day 
 yet nevertheless tempted by his curi- 
 osity; for he had a love for rich cos- 
 tumes, and he had heard that the ' 
 dresses of the Ambassador of Spain 
 and his people were gorgeous in the 
 extreme. So, struggling between 
 conscience and curi(j8ity, he found 
 himself also at the balcony. 
 
 The street was thronged with peo- 
 ple of the lower class; and the doors, 
 and windows, and balconies, and 
 even roofs, were filled with specta* 
 tors. 
 
 At the upper end of the street, he 
 beheld the van of the Spanish party 
 advancing, with trumpets sounding, 
 banners flying, and horses caparisoQ 
 ed with such ms^guificence that in the 
 beams of the sun they blazed ,like 
 gold. 
 
 ' The French ambassador is coming 
 up Thread-needle Street, master 
 Goulbourne,' said the brazier, who 
 stood beneath the balcony, which 
 was so low that he could touch it with 
 his hand, and so easily talk with 
 tho^ upon it. ' He had three score 
 swurds to guard his suite and him- 
 self, and over one hundred in a11.' 
 
 ' The Spanish Ambassador seems to 
 have a large number in his party,' ob- 
 served David. 
 
 ' They say he has fifty swords, and 
 full a hundred men in all — ^forty on 
 foot.' 
 
 ' He is in his coach.' 
 
 ' Yes, with six horses to draw it. — 
 The French Ambassador also rides in 
 his coach. Harkl — hear that I That 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 79 
 
 is the Frpncli man's bugle of defiance. 
 These Franks are ati insolent and 
 boasting set, and we all hope the gal- 
 lant Spaniards may whip them 
 thoroughly. Tntr fight — if they come 
 to blows about their quarrel— will 
 come off hereabouts; for they will bo 
 sure to meet near the corner here, 
 where the two streets come into onf. 
 With your leave, neighbor, I will 
 climb up on thy balcony, out of harm's 
 way. Though I sharpen swords, it is 
 for other men's flesh, not my own!' 
 
 ' Thru art welcome, neighbor ? 
 But dos't thou believe they will come 
 to crossing steel about such a trifle 
 as precedence in tlie procession that 
 is to form from the palace ?' 
 
 ' Be sure of it, and we are lucky to 
 get to see it. The king hath forbid 
 all Englishmen meddling in it, and so 
 we shall see it out and know who are 
 the /best men. Ah, gossip, whither 
 away in such a hurry?' called the 
 brazier from the balcony to one who 
 was passing by. 
 
 ' Ah, you up there, friend brazier !' 
 responded the wan who wore the uni- 
 form of the train-iband. ' You will 
 Boon see a rare fight. The two parties 
 will meet about here. But the French 
 -will- get the worst of it, though to 
 hear them boast and swear you would 
 think they could take England.' 
 
 'Hast thou been to the French 
 House V 
 
 ' That have I, and to the Spanish 
 Palace too, for my band is dismissed 
 from duty, the Mayor having enough 
 in arms to keep the peace.' 
 
 ' Then come up and tell what thou 
 hast seen,' said the brazier. 
 
 But the mau did uut hear, for at 
 
 that instant the head of -the Frenrh 
 party appeared in the street, and were 
 pressing forward to get ahead of the 
 Spaniards, who were not yet up with 
 the cross street by which the French 
 had eonM into the main thoroughfare. 
 As soon *g the French were seen, tha 
 Spaniards gallopsd forward, shouting, 
 'Dioa y Santiagol' The French an- 
 swered by cries of 'St. Denis and 
 France!' and hurried on to compaee 
 the street ahead of the Spaiwards. 
 
 Both parties were evidently fully 
 prepared for the meeting at this place, 
 arid in an instant foot guards at the 
 heads of both, were engaged sword in 
 hand. The Spaniards fought and 
 pressed on, the French pressing for- 
 ward also, they were soon intermin- 
 gled in a fearful melee. The thou- 
 sands who looked on shouted and 
 huzzaed ; ud by their cries of ' down 
 with the French 1 That was a good 
 blow, Don Spaniard!' showed which 
 way their sympathies ran. 
 
 The French fought with long pistols 
 and fired at theii antagonists, while 
 the latter fought only with steel, of 
 which they made good use. The am- 
 bas8ad(;rs of each sat in their splendid 
 coaches witnessing the conflict be- 
 tween their retainers, and now and 
 then encouraging them. A party of 
 French made their way to the Spanish 
 coach, and proceeded to cut the har- 
 ness, but their swords produced no 
 impression ! 
 
 'The Spaniards have lined their 
 harness with chains of iron!' cried 
 David to the brazier. 
 
 ' Leave the Spaniards to take care 
 of themselves,' answered the brazier 
 to his friend, both of whom were 
 
80 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTEH. 
 
 deeply interested spectators of the. 
 fierce combat. The French finding- 
 they were foiled by the superior saga- 
 city of their foes, tried to kill the 
 horses to the coach, but each horse 
 had a swordsman appointed for its 
 defence, and they were driven back ; 
 but the Spaniards penetrating to the 
 F.ench coach cut the harnesses, which 
 were unprotected, and checked the 
 advance of the ambassador, and after 
 fairly routing his retainers, forcing 
 them to retreat down the street, kill- 
 ing and wounding several, they gain- 
 ed the lead, and coach, horsemen, out- 
 riders and swordsmen falling into 
 line, went forward at full speed past 
 the goldsmith's, the people shoutin'g 
 and lauding them for their valor. 
 The French ambassador had to remain 
 seated half an hour in his coach, till 
 his slain horses could be replaced by 
 others, and his harness repaired, and 
 all the w il ' forced to bear with the 
 jeers of the London populace, vi^ho 
 rejoiced in the discomfiture of the re- 
 prcseiitiitive of a nation which had 
 been their hcneditary foe for centuries. 
 At length the French party moved 
 ^forward amid tho hisses and groans 
 of the people who, had half an hour 
 before shouted the praises of the 
 Spaniards ; but instead of reaching 
 the palace, he turned aside to his own 
 abode, indignant, and burning with 
 resell tmeut. 
 
 ' Well, Master Goulbourne,' said 
 the brazier, after he had accepted the 
 goldsmith's invitation to breakfast 
 with him, ' this hath been as pretty 
 a fray as I have seeu in London 
 streets since Monk came in. How 
 well the Dons fight.' 
 
 'They are a brave people. How 
 
 many of the men were killed and 
 'lurt? Did not some one say as we 
 •ame in ?' 
 
 ' The Don had four of his brave fel- 
 lows killed and five wounded. Mon- 
 ■lienr lost nine killed, and not under a 
 score that had blood drawn. I heard 
 me say in the street tliat the /French 
 ambassad r as he went by, swore- that 
 he would leave England ; for that the 
 Knglish fought against him on the 
 side of the Spaniard^.' 
 
 ' I saw no Englishman engaged.' 
 
 ' I did, three or four ; and especial- 
 ly Will Irouarm, the smith, with his 
 sledge knocked two of the French 
 coach horses on the head. Tliis Isaw 
 myself.' ^ J 
 
 'The king will have him arrested 
 for this : becau.se his interference may 
 possibly lead to a quarrel with 
 France.' 
 
 ' The soon^er the better.' 
 
 'We are in no condition to go to 
 war. The king has no money, the 
 Parliament has none, and the city of 
 London hath none to lend to king or 
 parliament, Beatrice, I fear there will 
 be no going to conventicle to day,' 
 added David, addressing his daughter, 
 who had no^ long remained upon the 
 balcony after the beginning of the? 
 bloody fray we have described ; but 
 would rather have shrunk within her 
 room to get out of the noise of battle. 
 ' The streets will be filled with idlers 
 and it will be unssjife. The king's 
 follies destroy all God's worship both 
 in church and conventicle.' 
 
 ' Doubtless he thinks he is too high 
 for Uie laws of God to reach him.' 
 
 ' There are more riders comiug past. 
 Do' they stop here, Ruth?' he asked 
 
THE aoLDSMixrrs^ daughter. 
 
 81 
 
 as tlie sounds cSascd' opposite liis 
 door. 
 
 ' Yes, master. It- ia a kiug'8 lord, I 
 think, by "liis dtess; and two ralets 
 ■with him, both with the king's badg^e 
 ou their hats.' 
 
 ' It is my lord CHamberlaih,' cried 
 David, who had' risen and gone to the 
 window; ' I will go down to the dbor 
 to receive him.'' 
 - ' A fair, g()()d morning to ttiee, mas- 
 ter goldsmith,' said the nobleman. ' I 
 am ou my way to th'e palace, and will 
 take the king his clasp, as I promised 
 bis Majesty.' 
 
 ' His M'lijesty hath it already, my 
 lord. He sent last night for it at 
 midnight.' 
 
 'Then my errand is done. Thou 
 hast had a bloody-fray about here, mas- 
 ter. The Spaniard, I hear, hath had 
 the best of it.' 
 
 ' Greatly so, my lord. The French 
 ambassador had his harness cut, and 
 could not go on, — they say he will go 
 back to France.' 
 
 ' Let him go, and he may and wel- 
 come ;' answered the nobleman, as he 
 put spurs to his horse, and rode oflF. 
 
 About half aii hour afterwards, as 
 the goldsmith was seated in his arm- 
 chair, reading King James' Bible 
 which was supported before him on a 
 trifold, Ruth, whose curiosity to see 
 all that was going on kept her at the 
 lattice, exclaimed, 
 
 ' Master, here is the lord Chamber- 
 lain back again, and hath with him 
 six fellows with swords. He looks 
 very fierce and displeased at some- 
 what. He is already off his horse at 
 the door. Hear him V 
 
 A loud knock at the same moment 
 
 reached the ears of the goldsmith, and 
 he hastened down to the door, which 
 he had no sooner opened than he bo- 
 held ihe lord Chamberlain, who in a 
 stern voice said, 
 
 ' How now, master Goldsmith f 
 Didst thou not tell me the king had 
 sent i'or the clasp ?'' 
 
 ' I told you truly, my lord,' answer- 
 ed David, beginning to experfence a ' 
 misgiving at his heart, as he recalled 
 what the cordwainer had saiil, and 
 added it to this second visit of the 
 king's chamberlaini 
 
 ' The king hath not his jewel, nor 
 hath^ he sent for it as thou sayest.' 
 
 ' My lord, at twelve o'clock or little 
 past, two horsemen came hither, one 
 of whom said he was Sir Peter Losley. 
 He demanded the clasp in the name 
 of the king, and in proof of His 
 authority" showed me his Majesty's 
 signet. Therefore I delivered it to 
 him.' 
 
 ' Then Sir Peter Losley hath it,- yet 
 the king saith plainly he sent no one 
 for it.' 
 
 ' Sir Peter hath it, my lord.' 
 
 ' He is at the palace. Ride thither 
 at full speed,' said the noble to one of 
 his retinue, ' and ask Sir Peter Los- 
 ley to ride to me here. I saw him in 
 saddle in the palace yard not two 
 minutes ago. I will wait here.' 
 
 ' Gome in, ray lord, if you will honor 
 ray poor house.' 
 
 ' I will stand within the door only. 
 I trust, master goldsmith, this will be 
 cleared up by Sir Peter; for the king 
 on hearing what I told him, grew red 
 in the face, and swore that he sent no 
 one for it; and if you give not up the 
 jewel to. me, to arrest you ou th^ 
 
82 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 spot. For this purpose I have, as 
 you see, come thus attended.' 
 
 ',My lord, I am distressed. I cer- 
 tainly gave- the clasp to one who 
 bore the authority of the king's sig- 
 net, who called himself also Sir Peter 
 Lesley.' 
 
 ' Sir Peter will clear you, then. 
 But if he do not "bear thee out, it will 
 go hard with you, master Goul- 
 bourue.' 
 
 'I feel that it must,' answered 
 David, who was troubled at this dark 
 shaduw tliat seemed to be eclipsing 
 his fair fame. , 
 
 At length tha messenger returned 
 ' and Sir Peter Losley with him, whom 
 he had no sooner seen approach, and 
 heard who it was, than his heart fail- 
 ed him: for he saw he was a far differ- 
 ent person in appearance from him to 
 whom he had delivered the clasp. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ' Sir Peter,' said the chamberlain as 
 the knight rode up and drew rein 
 near him;'l have sent for thee to 
 learn what thou hast done with the 
 king's jewel which this honest gold- 
 smith saith he gave into your bauds 
 the last night V 
 
 ' He is a dishonest goldsmith if he 
 say BO, my lord,' answered Sir Peter 
 liosley with an oath. 'I have not 
 spoken with the man in my life, much 
 less huth he given me a jewel.' 
 
 'He is right my lord,' said David 
 frankly. ' The ■ knight is right. 1 
 have been deceived. He is not the 
 eavalier iiito whose hands I'^ave the 
 
 clasp. Nevertheless he did represent 
 himself to' me as Sir Peter Losley; 
 and did show me the king's signet in 
 token of his authority. Some one 
 has taken it by treachery.' 
 
 ' What thou sayest may be true, 
 master goldsmith, nevertheless I have 
 uo discretion to decide touching thy 
 guilt or innoceuce,' answered' the no- 
 bleman. 
 
 ' Guilt, my lord ? Does any one 
 suspect me of guilt V 
 
 ' I say nothing, master Goulbourne. 
 The king must decide the matter. I 
 lear, however, it will go hard with 
 thee, if thou canst not bring forward 
 the person who showed thee the king'a 
 signet and to whom you gave the 
 jewel. Take him into custody!' 
 
 These words were addressed to the 
 five men of the king's guards who ac- 
 companied the lord chancellor, and 
 before David could realise that he 
 was a suspected man, he found him- 
 self a prisoner, and ■ irons upon his 
 wrists. 
 
 ' My lord, this is terrible. Do not 
 thus put me to shadie before my 
 neighbors. I am an innocent man. 
 Nay, at least suffer me to return to 
 my house to bid my child farewell, 
 and luck up my effects I 
 
 ' I wili leave a king's officer here 
 to take charge till thou canst prove 
 or disapprove thy innocence,' answer- 
 ed the noblemau'coldly. 'Take him 
 to Newgate, fellows, till the pleasure 
 of the king sliall be known.' 
 
 ' My lard,—' 
 
 'Not a word! You are the king'a 
 prisoner. Lead him off. I will go 
 and inform his majesty what thou 
 sayest.' 
 
 ' And tell the king,' cried David, as 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the men were riding off with hira led 
 between two of tlieir horses, ' tell the 
 king that if the jewel be lost, I will 
 make it good though it ruin me in my 
 estate.' 
 
 ■J will speak for thee fairly to his 
 niitj. sty,' answered the lord chamber- 
 lain, as he galloped off accompanied 
 by Sir Peter Loslcy in an ther di- 
 rection. Ruth, who had witnessed 
 tiie arrest of her tnaster, hastened to 
 give the intelligence to her young 
 mistress, who, being in her own room, 
 had not heard what had passed. 
 
 ' They are taking my master to 
 Newgate 1' she sh^eked aloud, com- 
 iiinuicating her own alarm and grief 
 to Beatrice ere she scarcely under- 
 stood her words. 
 
 ' Taking my father to Newgate ? 
 What hath he done ?' she cried hast- 
 ening to the street. 
 
 ' Some one hath come and got of 
 him the king's jewel by deceit, and 
 stolen it off, and the king this morn- 
 ing c ill? for it, saying he hath sent 
 no man for it.' 
 
 • By this time Beatrice was at the 
 door. A glance showed her the two 
 guardsmen dragging off her father 
 between them. She flew like the 
 wind towards him, calling upon his 
 name in thrilling tones of anguish. 
 She would have approached him, but 
 the soldiers kept her away by curvet- 
 ting and reining back their horses, 
 
 ' My dear father, what is this they 
 charge against thee ?' she cried, heed- 
 less of the people arobnd and indiffer- 
 ent to the gaze and jeers of the rude 
 soldiers. 
 
 ' Nay, 'Beatrice, go home and look 
 after the house and my goods,' an- 
 
 swered her father with as much firm- 
 ness as he could command. ' The 
 person to whom I gave the kind's 
 clasp last night was an impostor!' 
 The king charges me with the blamJd,' 
 and has arrested me till it be inquiiied 
 into. Fear not for me. I shall ibg; 
 released and be at home with thee. by 
 noon. Do not follow me. But return-, 
 and comport thyself with maidenly 
 discretion; for thou seest all eyes 
 are upon thee. There will be Ino 
 harm come to me, though it is a gc^-; 
 vious blow and sudden to be accu«ieii, 
 and borne awayl' ' - 
 
 Beatrice finding that the guards 
 would not suffer her to come near her 
 father, and being comforted by his, 
 words, she obeyed him and returned 
 back to/Buth. But she had not got 
 as far as th^ brazier's when the hou- 
 est man stepped forth and said: . > 
 
 'Gome in to my house, maiden/tasd! 
 I will protect thee till ttiy father 
 comes back.' i 
 
 'And will they acquit him, sirP' 
 she asked with tears in her eyes. , 
 
 ' He hath done nothing, if I he^.rd; 
 aright what passed between him^and 
 my Lord Chambelain, but what ,hf} , 
 can clear himself to the king. - It 
 seems some one hath taken the name^ 
 of Sir Peter Losley, and with; the 
 king's signet stolen, or a forged one, 
 got from him the jewel; and now the 
 king commits him till he can pro,ve 
 his innocence of any guilt in the inat- 
 ter.' ,,', 'j'"'" 
 
 ' Prove his innocence, sir V exclaim-, 
 ed Beatrice, with fear. ' Of what 
 guilt do they accuse him V ,, 
 
 ' The king, if he produces not , the 
 jewel, may be disposed to ^cpuse 
 
84 
 
 THE QDLDSMIT.rS DAUGHTER, 
 
 him of having himself taken it and 
 secreted it for his own usel' 
 
 ' What! accuse my father of rob- 
 bery V she cried with indignation. 
 ' But I seeL I seel He will be accus- 
 ed unless lie can prove that he gave 
 it to this impiisterl' > Alas, ray dear 
 father! what evil hath so 8uddenl3' 
 come upon thee and me! can I not 
 see the king and bespeak his majesty 
 in bis behalf?' 
 
 'It will do no good, maiden; and 
 besides thou art too fair to appear at 
 court as a petitioner. With the king 
 and his courtiers thou would be as a 
 lamb that strayeth into a den of lions. 
 Thy words could not clear thy father, 
 unless thou could'st prove and show 
 to whom he did deliver'the jewel!' 
 
 'This is true, indeed!' she answer- 
 ed sadly, ' what shall I do^' 
 ' 'Come in, and remain here for the 
 present, and I will go to Newgate' 
 and talk with' thy father about this 
 sad business, and see what. can be 
 done !' 
 
 'You are very kind; sir! But 1 
 will go to my own house to take care 
 of my father's goods, aa he bade 
 me!' 
 
 ' Yes, for there will be a rabbje in 
 lupon them if the house be left open 
 'as it is,' said Ruth. 'Take heart Miss 
 Beatrice! It will go well yet I am 
 sure. So honesf a man as your father 
 and my master will never suffer for 
 another's crime!' 
 
 ' I will tiien go at once after thy 
 father, maiden,' answered the brazier,, 
 putting on his coat. ' I will be hh 
 friend, though I am but' an humble 
 enel' 
 
 Beatrice pressed the hard hand of 
 
 the tradesman in silent expVeasion of 
 her gratitude, and then hurried to her 
 own. door. To her surprisp, she be- 
 held standing upon the threshold one 
 of the king's guard with his sw .rd 
 drawn, and his bridle lianging loosely 
 upon his arm. 
 
 She stopped and was uncertain 
 whether to pass in past him or ll'>^ 
 when seeing their embarrassment, he 
 said with courtesy: 
 , ' Do not'fear me ! I am not here to 
 keep out ladies, but rogues!' 
 
 ' You are a kind and pleasant fel- 
 low,' said Ruth, ' and know how to be 
 civil. Gome, Miss Beatrice.' 
 
 The maiden hastened in, as he step 
 ped aside for the pupose, and bidding 
 Ruth lock the door and sue that the 
 shop was secured, she hastened up 
 stairs, and with great presence of 
 mind locked up her father's papers 
 and everything that was valuable, or 
 might compromise him at such a time; 
 for he had- among his papers, besides 
 others, a letter from Cromwell, thank- 
 ing him for his zeal and faithfullness 
 on certain occasions, when his loyalty 
 to the Protector was particularly 
 tested. 
 
 ' If,''thought Beatrice, ' it should go 
 hard against my father, and they 
 search his house, and find such papers 
 as these, they will tend to prejudice 
 the king against him, and do him an 
 injury.' 
 
 ' All is safe below stairs,' said Ruth, 
 who could hardly speak for her grief, 
 ,' Oh, my poor master! I did' tiiinlt if 
 [io odd; too, that the king should send' 
 for his jewel at midnight! But bow 
 oould my muster refuse to deliver it 
 DO tlie king's signet?" 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ,S5 
 
 ' I pray that he may soon be releas- 
 ed wiih honor to himself and infamy 
 to his foes,' cried Beatrice. 
 
 ' I should like well to know who 
 ihey wercl I wish that young' Master 
 George Cecil were here to comfort and 
 -advise us! If I knew where to send- 
 for him I would let him know what 
 has happened, and I dare say, as he 
 livete about the Court he might help 
 your father!' ! 
 
 'He is too humble in station, a poor 
 young gentleman like him, a widow's: 
 son without influence,' answered Bea" 
 trice sadly. 'He could do me no 
 good, tliough he might desire to do 
 80 wiili all his heart.' 
 
 ' Yet if I knew where to send to 
 him, 1 would do so.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he may hear of it. But I 
 tf^ust the king will speedily release 
 my poor father! To see him dragged 
 bff so between two horsemen, my 
 grey-haired father, it has nearly 
 brokdii my heart.' 
 
 ' Hope for the b6St! The noblest 
 lords are arrested every day and 
 Bent to the tower.' 
 
 ' They are guilty, but my father is 
 an innocent man. I feel an impulse 
 to hasten at once to the king ' 
 
 ' You don't stir a step. Miss Bea. 
 trice. The king would no sooner see 
 you than he would be sure to keep 
 yvur father in prison, so that ' 
 
 'No mure! But what shah 1 do?' 
 
 '^VVait patiently. We sliall ere 
 long .get news. If either of us go let 
 me go. I have it now.' 
 
 ' What is. it ?'^ 
 
 ' M.KUess Aune Colville-will tell me 
 all about liini, and where to find him 
 He said bhe knew him. . It is but a 
 
 short walk. I will thf>re at once. 
 Now don't «ay a word. I've made no 
 my mind. Somebody must befriend 
 my master; for the more I think of 
 his case, the worse it -appears to me.' 
 ' Who will you go to see ?' • 
 'George Cecil. 1 will ask him to 
 go ^nd see master at Newgate, and 
 get from him a description of the man 
 he gave the jewels to. As master 
 'Cecil is a clerk of a lord he may be 
 able, from seeing maiiy of them, to 
 tell who it is.' 
 
 ' It may not be done by a lord.' 
 ' It is done by no one else, be as- 
 sured. It is just equal to such tricks 
 as this. Buckiiigham, Bresseles, and 
 Barekhart. I will go and see, at any- 
 rate, what can be donel Do not open 
 the door while I am gone.' 
 
 With these words tlie faithful Ruth 
 put on her bonnet and tabby, and in a 
 few moments was on her way to see 
 the good old housekeeper, Anne Gol- 
 ville, a,nd to ascertain from her wliere 
 she could find Geiarge Cecil, the clerk. 
 Beatrice followed her witli her 
 prayers, though she had but little 
 hope of her being able to raise up 
 any friends for her father, from the 
 source to which she was about to ap- 
 ply. This was the heaviest hour the 
 maiden had ever yet known. Her 
 heart was heavy with grief and anx- 
 iety, and her imagination tortured her 
 with a thousand fears. It was in vain 
 she rejected that even if the jewel 
 weite h;st irrecoverably, her ■ futtier's 
 wealtli would^t least cover its value, 
 tliough it iniirht ruin him. She feared 
 that such a compensation would not 
 be taken, but that he would be ,con- 
 demned as a malafactor and his pro- 
 
 perty coutiscated. 
 
 / 
 
»<t 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ■ With her mind torhired by these 
 lears she paced up and down the room 
 listening to every sound, and hasten- 
 ing to the window at the noise of 
 eyery one riding by ; though she 
 scarcely knew whom she hoped or ex- 
 pected to see. Suddenly she heard 
 horsemen trotting past and hearing 
 them stop, she flew to the lattice 
 She recognised Lord Bresseles, pass 
 ing with retainers, half a score, who 
 was asking the soldier why he stood 
 there on guard. Beatrice heard the 
 soldier relate the circumstances, and 
 then heard him say, with apparent 
 JSympathy — 
 
 'Poor man. If he be innocent, I 
 hope he will be able to clear himself 
 by pointing out the rogue who cheat- 
 ed him. What hath become of the 
 fair daughter of the unlucky gold- 
 smith V 
 
 n 
 
 ' She is within, my lord I' 
 
 'I will see her, and comfort her, 
 and offijr her my services to speak to 
 the king in behalf c.f her father.' 
 
 ' Siie will no doubt gladly see you, 
 my lord, for she is above in great dis- 
 tress.' 
 
 At this very moment lord Bresseles 
 caught sij^lit of the face of Beatrice, 
 ■who betrayed her gratitule at his 
 sympathy for her fiitlier, and he bowed 
 low aniJ said respectfully, and with a 
 weli-leigiied look of sorrow — 
 
 ' I grieve, maiden, at this misfor- 
 tune wtjicti hath befallen tlieel I am 
 on my way to the king at Whitehall, 
 and if you give me leave, I will be- 
 speak his lu.ij'isty in your father's be- 
 half 
 
 ' Nay, sir, answered Beatrice, ' I 
 fear it can do uo goodi it depends 
 
 on his being able to prove that he 
 erave the king's jewel to a person who 
 exhibited the king's signet. If he 
 cannot prove this, there is no help, 
 sir, for my father. You have my 
 thanks, sir.' 
 
 With these words she left the lair 
 tice, for she liked not the way in 
 which the free and unblushing young 
 nobleman admired her with his eyes 
 and all her original antipathy to him 
 revived. 
 
 ' By my faith ! a reserved wench/ 
 said Lord Bresseles, laughing to his 
 valet, as he rode on. ' Very well,' he 
 added to himself, ' I will humble this 
 proud bearing. Markhaml' 
 
 ' My lord,' answered the confidant. 
 
 ' You see how shy she is ?' 
 
 ' Yes, m .' lord.' 
 
 ' ' I sha\l get little favor by civility 
 and playing the lover. To-night, if 
 har father be kept in prison so long,, 
 the maiden shall be my captive ia 
 York Buildings.' 
 
 ' It will be very easy, my lord.'' 
 
 'And her father in prison, and like- 
 ly to be ruined, will place her in my 
 power! I can, you know, buy his 
 release V . 
 
 'lYes, my lord.' 
 
 We will now follow Ruth after her 
 departure in search of the housekeep- 
 er of the old Countess of Exeter. She 
 was not long in reaching the abode 
 of this noble lady, which was in the 
 vicinity of the king's palace. Upon 
 making known to the stately porter 
 at the gate that she wished to speak 
 a few words to Mistress Anne, he 
 called to one of the maids and bade 
 her show tlie young woman to the 
 sitting-room in the wing of the palace, 
 where the housekeeper kept. 
 
THE GOLDSMITirS DAUGHTER. 
 
 87 
 
 ' Mistress Anne, here is one who 
 comes out of breath a-most, to speak 
 witli you,' said the maid as she open- 
 ed ithe door. 
 
 Ruth entered the room, and was 
 met by a respectable-looking, benevo- 
 lent lady of middle age, who no soon- 
 er beheld her than she said with a 
 smile of recognitioh, mingled with 
 surprise : 
 
 'Dear bless mel — is not this Ruth?' 
 'Indeed it is. Mistress Anne. I did 
 Hot believe you would know me.' 
 
 'Oil, yes! — take a seat — you seem 
 rufflfd.' 
 
 ' I have a great affliction to tell you 
 of, Mistress Anne.' 
 
 ' Well, sit down, and tell me first 
 how fares it with tiiy master, the hon- 
 est David Goulbourue, and with his 
 fair daughter Beatrice.' 
 
 'Sorrowfully enough I Thou shalt 
 hear all. Three days agone the king 
 sends a diamond clasp to my master, 
 to get a setting put in ; and the lord 
 Chamberlain who left it tells him 
 when it is done, not to deliver it to 
 (any one but to himself, or one bearing 
 tlie authority of the king's signet 
 So last night, after the clock struck 
 twelve, two horsemen came to the 
 door and asks for it. One of them, 
 who said he was Sir Peter Losley, 
 showing the king's signet as his au- 
 thority. So my master gave- him the 
 jewel. But this morning conies my 
 lord Chamberlain also for the jewel ; 
 when, hearing my master's story, he 
 sends forthwith to^the king, who de- 
 clares he hath not his jewel, and hath 
 sent no one for it but my lord Cham- 
 berlain this morning. Therefore my 
 master is arrested and dragged off to 
 KiiWjj;ate, ou suspiciuu of having the 
 
 jewel in his own hands ; and a guard 
 is at the door to keep the house till 
 the king's officer's come to search it.' 
 
 ' AlasJ this is a sad storVI I fear 
 me, if your ma.ster cannot discover to 
 whom he gave it, it will go heavily 
 with him.' 
 
 'Indeed it will! I have, therefore, 
 come to ask you if you know George 
 Cecil — a modest young man — for he 
 may be able to do my master pome 
 3eivice,by finding out by his description 
 if it were any of the courtiers that 
 played rny master so falsely.' 
 
 ' George Cecil!' repieated Mistress 
 Anne with sui prise, 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am; he first said his iiame 
 was Geoi-ge Faithful, but afterwards 
 he said it was George Cecil, and that 
 you knew him, as he was a secretary, 
 or had been, to the great Lord 
 Exeter.' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The eyes of Ruth were fixed upon 
 the young secretary with the earnest 
 attention of one who felt that he 
 might c6iiceive of some way of serv- 
 ing her master. At length she gave 
 utterance to her hopes and wishes, 
 saying with emotion: 
 
 ' Oh, good Mister Cecil, if you can 
 think of any way to help us, do it, for 
 my dear young mistress' sake!' 
 
 ' Don't be so bold, my good Ruth, 
 to address ' 
 
 What Mistress Anne would have 
 added Ruih could not guess, fir the 
 young man lifted his finger, and 
 catching her eye, said in a hiw tone: 
 
 'Hush, Misuess Anne! The maid 
 
ss 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 is right. Do not interrupt her. I 
 will do all I can, Ruth, to aid your 
 master! You say he was taken to 
 Newgate ?' 
 
 ' Yes, like a very criminal with 
 irons on his hands 1' 
 
 ' This is indeed rough usage for a 
 man who is not yet been found guilty. 
 Where did you leave your mistress V 
 
 'At home ia great distress tool 
 She knew that I was coming hither, 
 and she believes that you will ,do 
 something for her.' 
 
 'Slie shall not be disappointed. 
 Hasten at once to her and remain 
 with her, and tell her that within two 
 .' hours at the fartiiest I will see her I 
 In the meanwhile I will exert myself 
 all I can, and I trust that I shall 
 bear to her good news!' 
 
 ' My lord,' said Mrs Colville kindly, 
 as he was going out, ' you have not 
 breakfasted! you ' 
 
 ' My lord!' repeated Euth, amazed, 
 gazing from one to the other. 
 
 ' You have betrayed me Mistress 
 Annel' said the young man smiling, 
 as he looked at Ruth's face and wit- 
 nessed its expression of awe and sur- 
 prise. ' I hope to have been plain 
 George Cecil a little longer; but I 
 trust that Ruth will keep ray secret 
 ■till I give her permission to divulge 
 itr 
 
 'Dear bless me! Tell me truly, 
 Mistress Anne,' cried Kuth, looking 
 both pleased and alarmed, 'is the 
 young gentleman indeed a lord ?' 
 
 'Yes, Ruthl' answered the house- 
 keeper; 'since I have been so unfor- 
 tunate as to betray his secret, wiiich 
 I was not, however, a party to, I will 
 .' iafonii ywu that this is Gt:»vge Gfiscii, 
 ; the j>.wauiful Mari^uis of Ji.veierl' 
 
 'Dear me! Forgive my boldness, 
 my lordl' cried Huth, dropping on 
 lier knees. 
 
 'There is no offence given, Ruth! 
 Get up land hasten to tiiy young mis- 
 tress, and stay with her till I cornel' 
 I ' My poor young mistressi' siglied 
 Ruth, with tears filling her eyes. 
 
 ' Wtjat new grief is this, Ruth ?' 
 
 ' She will be so sorry and miserable 
 when she hears that you are lord, a 
 marquis! Oh, dear me! It will 
 break her heart, for she loves you so! 
 Now it will be all over with her. I 
 would rather you would have been 
 the poor secretary, and so one day 
 you would have been married and 
 lived so happy; but now it is all over 
 with her!' 
 
 ' Do not grieve, my good Rujh, 
 without a cause,' said the youthful 
 nobleman, smiling. ' When I fell in 
 love with your mistress, 1 was then 
 what I am now. I had learned to 
 love her ere I saw her, from iliy de- 
 scription of her, Mistress Anne, and 
 when 1 saw her and found that sJie 
 loved me as plain poor George Cecil, 
 my heart it became wholly hers, and 
 hers it is, and ever shall be, unless, 
 indeed, she thinks that she is too 
 good for a lord! — One such as lords 
 are in these days,' be added, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 ' Oh, she will love you lord or clerk 
 just the same! Oh, it will make her 
 so glad to know that after all you are 
 a lord, and love her still! On, 1 am 
 ready to fly to tell herl' 
 
 ' No, no, Ruth; you must not think 
 of telling hei at present. She might, 
 you know, take alarm, and never see 
 me more, nut putting conHii rice in 
 my siucurity. So, unless j^a uc^iir© 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER, 
 to separate us, keep the secret till 
 
 89 
 
 ' Till when, my lord ?' 
 
 'Till we are marriedl' 
 
 'Oh, dear, v hat a surprisel But 
 it will be !^o long!' 
 
 ' No loirger tlian to-morrow, if she 
 will consent to be mine.' 
 
 ' Oil, joy, j.iyl This is the hiippiest 
 day of my life! Miss Beatrice i.s to 
 be a lady after all! I always prophe- 
 sied ill' 
 
 ' If you wish the prophecy to - be 
 fulfilled,' said the marquis with a 
 smile, 'you must not fail to keep a 
 secret, that may alarm her to discov- 
 ei- it.' ^ 
 
 ' 1 will keep ;t, my lord; but I wish 
 her father, my master knew this.' 
 "• ' He does; I made known to him my 
 name and rank last night, first pledg- 
 ing him to secrecy till I. removed the 
 seal.' 
 
 'That accounts for his delighted 
 looks and his willing consent when he 
 oame up stairs. I thought then he 
 bad heard something that greatly 
 pleased him about you.' 
 
 ' And doubtless,' said Mistress 
 Anne, ' he was more pleased at know- 
 ing that the young man, George 
 Cecil, proved to be a nobleman well 
 known to be virtuous and upright, 
 rather than gratified at his merely be- 
 ing one. I did not know before, Ruth, 
 that my noble young lord had seen 
 Beatrice; indeed, I was not aware 
 that my praises of her beauty and 
 worth, when he would come in here 
 of an evening to talk with me, made 
 such an impression upon him. I am 
 delighted to hear of it! My lord 
 
 Beatrice Goulbourne, though humble, 
 will adorn your high, rank by her 
 beauty and virtues. Ynu could not 
 have made a better clioice. She dO' 
 serves, 1 am sure, tlie happiness that 
 is in store for her. Does my lady 
 marchioness, your mother, know all 
 
 this r 
 
 'Not yet. I have this morning' 
 toM her that I have ciiosen my future 
 wife, but that I shaU not nialie known 
 to her either her r-nanie or her rank 
 until she beholds her as my bridec 
 But linger not here, Ruth. Hasten 
 home to thy mistrehs. 1 am going to 
 see what I can do for her father, for I 
 am convinced' be is innocent.' 
 
 ' Oh, my good lord marquis! I am 
 80 overjoyedl I feel now you can do 
 something for him,. you are so great 
 and noble! I will go now, my lord.' 
 
 " Keep the secret, Ruth,' he said, 
 playfully raising his finger as she 
 went out of the door. 
 
 ' And is this indeed true, my lord V 
 said Mrs. Anne after Ruth had depart- 
 ed. 'Have you indeed seen and loved 
 this virtuous maiden, Beatrice ?' 
 
 ' I have, indeed, good Mistress 
 Anne,' answered the young nobleman, 
 who from a boy had loved the excel- 
 lent housekeeper, and now that he 
 was a man still respected her for her 
 goodness of heart, and plain, practi- 
 cal sense, ' You so often discoursed 
 to me of her, that I resolved to see 
 her with my own eyes. So I went to 
 the goldsmith's two weeks ago and 
 made a trifl.ng purchase, but could 
 not get the sight of his daughter. 
 But the next day being Sunday, I 
 saw her come forth with her father 
 
90 
 
 THE GOLDSMirH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and go to conventicle. I followed 
 them, and, unseen, gazed upon her 
 during tlie sermon till I lost my heart. 
 I tried afterwards to see her in pass- 
 ing the house, but was only yesterday 
 gratified with a view of her at the 
 balcony above the shop. Our eyes, 
 by some mysterious sympathy, met! 
 Our souls intermingled, and I felt 
 from my heart that she would love me 
 from that hour; for I felt that I had 
 from the depths of yny own being fill- 
 ed her spirit with my spirit. Thou 
 knowest not, Mistress Anne, what 
 ■written volumes there lie in one 
 glance of the eye I' 
 
 'I have been young, 'my lord,' an- 
 swered the good houseiteeper, with u 
 smile. 'And how did you come to 
 speak with her and learn from her 
 own lips, as I understand from Ruth 
 you did, that she loved you ?' 
 
 ' 1 saw an apprentice come out of 
 file shop, as I stood at the corner of 
 the street planning some way of see- 
 ing her, for I knew that in my own 
 rank to approach her would alarm her 
 and put her on her guard. ' When I 
 saw her at the lattice I was on foot, 
 and habited only in an ordinary suit, 
 such as a merchant's son might wear, 
 and which I often g6 abroad in to es- 
 cape the annoyances of the attentionb 
 paid to my rank by the common peo- 
 ple. S<) she could not know me to be 
 a person much above her own station. 
 This apprentice came loitering past 
 me, swaggering like a seaman and 
 humming a sailor's ballad. Said I U> 
 him, " My man, do you live with M s- 
 ter G.nilbourne?" "That I do," h, 
 answered; " but I mean not to long. 
 
 These Dutch wars want lads o' mettle 
 and I think I shall take to tjie sea, so 
 heave-lio-yeo." 
 
 ' He was going on when I followed 
 him and said:v 
 
 ' " What wilt thou take to leave 
 thy master at once, and go into yon- 
 der inn where I saw a press-gang 
 enter a moment since ?" " What, be 
 pressed, master ?" said he. " Yes, I 
 want thy place with the goldsmith. 
 So if thou wilt go into the inn and 
 suffer the duke's men to press thee, I 
 '.\ill give thee ten gold pieces." 
 " Done, my master!" he replied strik- 
 ing his hand in mine. 
 
 ' So I gave him the pioney, savr 
 hiiu taken by the duke's men, and 
 borne off. I then obtaiLied a suit of 
 clothes similar to his, and when night 
 came offered myself to the goldsmith 
 as his apprentice. But I will not 
 now enter, into the details of what 
 followed — know that I saw the comely 
 Beatrice; spoke with her: nay, for 
 two hours held sweet discourse with 
 her; and, ere we parted, we inter- 
 changed vows of eternal love!' 
 
 ' And she supposed you to be ' 
 
 ' Only George Cecil, not an appren- 
 tice, b It a pour clerk, a widow's soni 
 derein Itold her truly, as my honored 
 luother is a widow, and I am her se- 
 cretary, and, as she often says, a poor 
 jue enough. Her father, however, 
 liscerned that I was no uppr.iiitice; 
 uid 1 frankly told him who 1 w is, and 
 isked his daughter at his hands. 
 .Vfter his surprise had subsided, and 
 le became convinced of my sincerity, 
 'le gave me his consent; promising at 
 ;ny request, to keep the secret from 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 SI 
 
 his daughter. But I cannot linger 
 here while he is in danger. Nodonbt 
 he is the victim of some designing 
 person, who I cannot be at a loss to 
 suspect. But I will soon learn the 
 facts, and exert mjself- in behalf of 
 Beatrice's father.' 
 
 Thus speaking, the young nobleman 
 left the room. 
 
 In rank, and social position he held 
 one of the highest places in the king- 
 dom, and to wllom all good men look- 
 ed to efifect some great moral change 
 in a court that was proverbial for its' 
 licentious courtiers. 
 
 The king was with the beautiful 
 and voluptuous Lady Castlemaine, his 
 mistress, playing with her child, and 
 laughing off her importunities to have 
 the infant boy created a duke, when a 
 page entered and said: , V 
 
 'My Lord Marquis of Exeter, de- 
 sires to speak with your majesty.' 
 
 'The Joseph of our royal court,' 
 said Charles^ laughing. ' It won't do 
 to receive him in your drawing-room 
 here, Castlemaine.' 
 
 'You are jealous of the^ handsome 
 marquis, Garll' 
 
 'I don't know but what I am; for 
 he is the most popular man in the 
 realm. I have to play Buckingham 
 against him, or he would yet head a 
 virl nous party that would make it go 
 hard with us, Castlemaine. Au revoir, 
 beauty belle! as my horse is at the 
 door, and the procession waits for my 
 coming forth, I will give my Lord 
 Exeter a hearing in the vestibule. 
 By the way, they say that the French 
 minister hath taken umbrage at the 
 affair this morning, and will go home I 
 Let himl If we war with our cousin 
 
 Spain, we will take his Gibralterfrom 
 him. Sir Page, what hath become of 
 my lord Chamberlain with my dia- 
 mond clasp ?' demanded the king, as 
 he passed out of the door, grasping 
 his short cloak, and holding it together 
 for want of the jewel. 
 
 ' He has not yet returned, your ma- 
 jesty.' 
 
 ' Ah 1 here is my youthful cousin of 
 Exeter!' said the king, extending his 
 hand, which the young nobleman 
 kissed upon his knee. ' How can I 
 serve thee, fair cousin ?' 
 
 ' I have uo favor to ask your ma- 
 jesty save that you will see if your 
 royal signet is in its usual place, or 
 hath been removed since yesterday.' 
 
 ' Wherefore V asked the king 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Because, your majesty, I learn that 
 an honest goldsmith, to whom ^ou 
 gave a jewel to reset, did last night 
 deliver it to a person who, as his 
 authority, showed the jeweler your 
 royal signet, and I have learned that 
 you did hot send him.' 
 
 'Pore God! I sent no one but my 
 lord' Chamberlain this morning, who 
 sent me back word the goldsmith had 
 already delivered it to Sir Peter Los- 
 leyl But I sent not Sir Peter; and 
 the jeweler I have commanded to be 
 put under arrest if he do not bring 
 forth the jewel presently. I have 
 given the matter into the hands of 
 my lord Chamberlain. But I know 
 not what the issue is.' 
 
 ' Here he is now, your majesty,' 
 said a page. ^ 
 
 ' Well, my lord,' said the king, 
 ' have you my jewel ?' ■ 
 
 ' No, your majesty. I coufropted 
 
92 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the goldsmith with Sir Peter Losle^, 
 and he confesses that he is not like 
 the man to whom he declanes he gave 
 the jewel, on the faith of his calliui; 
 himself Sir Peter L'jsley, and^ exhibit 
 inj your royal signet. S ), suspect 
 ing him fuuUy, I had him off to priaon 
 ■where he awaits yonr majesl/y'e pleas- 
 ure.' 
 
 ' Did the jeweller say the man ex- 
 hibited my signet to him V 
 
 ' Yes, yoar majesty.' 
 
 * This chimes with .what you have 
 just ,told me, lord 'of Exeterl CSoroe 
 ■with me both, ray lords-, I will see if 
 my Cabinet hath been disturbed where 
 I keep niy royal signet.' 
 
 The king rapidly traversed the hall, 
 aud entered a gorgeous apartment, at 
 the extremity of which was a, rose- 
 wood cabinet inlaid with -silver. It 
 contained several drawers, before 
 whicli was dropped a curtain of silver 
 and blue tissue. He raised the veil, 
 and placing his hand on one of tlie 
 drawers, he took a key to open it 
 with, but could not turn it. In the 
 effort the drawer came open! 
 
 ' Some one hath been here!' cried 
 the king atigrily. 'The drawer is un- 
 locked, and tlie lock tampered witli 
 and spoiled! Yet here is my seal 
 safe! Ua, a silk thread of twisted 
 blue, and orange is caught in one of 
 the rough edges of the gold chasiuif ! 
 This is not from my glove or cloak. 
 There hath been foul play, my Lord of 
 Exfeterl Some one has been here 
 since yesterday.' 
 
 'I suspected fold play, your majes- 
 ty, for I believe Master Goulbourue 
 honest.' 
 
 'Aiidso do I now; some one hatli 
 
 taken my seal away for the purpose 
 of stealing the diamond clasp. This 
 IS as clear as light. Muster G uil- 
 oourne is doubtless innocent. My 
 iord chamberlain— 'biit you are old 
 md look fatigued; you, my Laid uf 
 Bxeter, as you seem to interest yuu'r- 
 self in the affair — ride to Newgate 
 and have the goldsmith bcouglit hi tit- 
 er unbound and free. I will exaininj 
 him fairly as to this mysterious cir- 
 oumstance. Let me find him here 
 when I return from the procession of 
 ambassadors. And look you, my 
 lords, try and find out wfep wore last 
 night cloak or glove of blue and 
 orange silk! For this shred uf thread 
 hath caught in the signet from the 
 hand that last night held it!' 
 
 David Goiilbourne was standing by 
 a window in a cell iu Newgate, his 
 arras folded upon his brejist, and his 
 head sunk upon it, in ati attitude of 
 the deepest despondency. He had 
 been in the cell about half an hour, 
 but it seemed to him a period of years 
 of misery. He thought of iiis degra- 
 dation before his townsmen and the 
 world, of the ruin uf his estate and 
 liousehold, and more than all, of the 
 ilaiiger tp which his hively ^au^fhter 
 wo Id be expoised deprived of her. 
 natural protector. 
 
 'But it is heaven's hand! I must 
 try and bear it with all my patience,' 
 lie sighed. 'I truest t'liat the guiltj' 
 will be discovered and the inn iceut 
 acquitted! But there seems little 
 Hope. They who have robbed me so 
 Mtfiilly, will have the art to keep 
 c.i! cealed. Alas! at the moment 
 when, through, my diughter, I was 
 oouiiag to such great honor and hap- 
 
THE GOLDSMIT,l*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 03 
 
 pinpss, to be so suddenly cast down: 
 This noble youth will thus despise the 
 maiden whom he bus honored by his 
 love. Ho will now forget me! Even 
 shonld I recompense the king^ for the 
 clasp with all my wealth, yet the 
 ignominy of having puiloiped it would 
 hang upon me and my name forever! 
 Alas! this is a calamity from which 
 none but the interposition of a merci- 
 ful Heaven can relieve mel But who 
 comes V 
 
 ' Sir,' sa-id the keeper of the prison, 
 as he unlocked the door of his cell, 
 'you will be g>lad' to know that^ou 
 are freel' 
 
 ^. ' Free V I& the clasp found ?' cried 
 the poor man with a heart overfull, 
 
 '1 don't know. The Marquis of 
 Exeter is here himself with an* order 
 to release you. I ask no questions.' 
 
 ' The Marquis of Exeter! Then I 
 am indeed remembered and have dune 
 him wrong!' 
 
 The keeper leid him from his cell 
 along the diark passage to the office 
 where David beheld t^e young noble- 
 man, in waiting for him. Lord Exeter 
 grasped' him by the hand and said: 
 
 ' I have come to liberate you, my 
 friend, by the king's- order!' 
 
 ' Is the clasp found ?' cried David. 
 
 ' Not yet; but the king has discov- 
 ered that his cabinet has been forced 
 and his signet removed from its place. 
 He, therefore, believes that you gave 
 the jewel to some one who bore it to 
 you.' ' 
 
 ' Thanks be to Godl' exclaimed the 
 goldsmith, clasping hiS hands togeth- 
 er, and elevating his eyes to heaven 
 in grateful praise. 'My noble lord, 
 how shall I thank you for bearing to 
 me this intelligence P 
 
 'Not at all. TFi« king wis'ies to 
 s?e you after be returns frotn escort- 
 ing in the Swedish Ainbassad ir, andi 
 hear the account from your own lipsij 
 Be assuredi that yon are ccquitted as-; 
 innocent whether the jewel be rgcov' 
 ered or, not; for the king has the 
 strongest evidence th:it some other 
 hand than his own hath had his sig"- 
 net. - His mnjosty hopes' by youp 
 means to discover the guilty one.' 
 
 ' I will tell the king all' 1 know, but 
 I fear it will hardly lead to his deteo 
 tion, unless r see liim again.' 
 
 ' Would you know him then ?' 
 
 'Without fail I' 
 
 ' Come- with me to see thy daughter 
 and gladden her heart! You will*' 
 have time while the king is absent. 
 My carriage waits for you at the- 
 door.' 
 
 CHAPTER. XIII. 
 
 Whew Riith returned to- the resid- 
 ence of the goldsmith, she was oblig- 
 ingly admitted by the soldier ; but 
 was compelled to pass through a 
 crowd of curious neighbors, who, 
 hearing of the arrpst of: Diivid G-oul- 
 bourne, had gatfoeged about his door 
 to learn> the facts.' She was not a lit- , 
 tie gratified to find from their wurda 
 that they believed lier master inno- 
 cent of any attempt to appropriate to 
 his own use the kmg'a jewels. 
 
 Ruth found Beatrice awaiting her 
 with impatience and earnest curio&i- 
 
 ty- , 
 
 ,. ' Have you seen him?' was her first 
 exclamation, as she took her hands in 
 hers. 
 
94 
 
 . THE GOLD»MITFrS DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' Yoa, and — oh — ' 
 
 Ruth checked herself instantly a' 
 the 'ohi' for she had come near upon 
 divulging the secret entrusted to her 
 keeping, with the very first word she 
 uttered. 
 
 'Oh, what?' 
 
 'I mean that I have seen him, and 
 told him alll He said right, in sayiijo: 
 Mistress Anne knew all about hira. 
 She gives such a good character of 
 him ! But you don't know all — ' 
 
 ' Was he tbere with her ?' asked 
 Beatrice, delighted at these wprds. 
 
 'Yes, indeedl \ told him all! you 
 don't know how sorry he looked 1' 
 
 'And does he believe my father 
 innocent V 
 
 'As the babel Dear me I How 
 pale he looked when I told him he 
 was in prison and you left alone 1 He 
 told me to come right back to yqu, 
 and stay with you, and to tell you to 
 keepnp heart, for he was in hopes he 
 should be able to make master's inno- 
 cence appear to the kingl' 
 
 ' Oh, how good and kind he is! I 
 feared when he should hear this he 
 would desert us !' 
 
 'Not he! He's too generous and 
 nob'e — dear me, I like to have toldl' 
 
 ' Tuld what ?' n . 
 
 ' Why, how he said he'd marry you 
 td-moVrow, if you'd give your con- 
 sent 1' 
 
 ' Why, Ruth !' Exclaimed the blush- 
 ing and happy maiden, in a slight ac- 
 cent of reproof. ' This is your own 
 making upl' 
 
 'Not II But if he asks you, I hope 
 you wont refuse. He is everything 
 to make you happy, I wish — ' 
 
 'Wish what? How you check 
 your words 1' 
 
 ' I wish you could hear Mistress 
 \nne talk about hiral And she is so 
 ielighted too! He knew j'ou from 
 M'T sayings, just as well as if he'd 
 ippn acquainted with you all his 
 life!' 
 
 ' Then he is indeed George Cecil, ' 
 •ind a secretary, and just as he said!' 
 
 ' Well, not exactly like. But he'll 
 tell you himself, when he comes.' 
 
 ' Is he coming here ?' asked Beatrice, 
 surprised. 
 
 ' He said he would be here as soon 
 as he could go to the king, perhaps in 
 two hours. It is most that now ; be- 
 fore coming straight home to you, I 
 went round to say a word to Spankie ; 
 cf>z I feared he'd hear about master'^ 
 arrest, and feel worried about me ; 
 and so I saw him and told him all 
 about it, and how you had a lover — ' 
 
 'Ruth, Ruthl' 
 
 'It is true! Spankie said he would 
 come round as soon as he could, and 
 try and comfort you. Hist! There 
 is wheels! It is a coach with arras • 
 on it! Who can it be to stop here!' 
 she cried running to the lattice. 
 ' Your father! and lord — I mean 
 George Cecil! Joy! joy! he is free! 
 
 ' Who is free ?' gasped Beatrice, 
 hardly daring to believe her ears. 
 
 'I — /, my child!' cried her father, 
 clasping her to his bosom. 
 
 ' Free and safe! Oh, this is too 
 much!' she cried with gushing tears, 
 as she clung to hira. 
 
 ' Thank, next to heaven above, this 
 young man, my daughter!' said David 
 as he turned and directed her atten- 
 tion to George Cecil, who stood behind 
 him. 
 
 ' You have my thanks, a daughter's 
 grateful thanks, sirl' she said, going * 
 
THE GOt-nSMITHS DAUGHTER. 
 
 95 
 
 np to him and offering him her hand. 
 • How shall I repay you ?' 
 
 ' By resigniug to me tliis lovely 
 hand, from this hour,' as he pressed 
 the hiind he held to his lips. 
 
 Beatrice dropped her eyes in sweet 
 confu ion, while the glow of pleasure 
 mingled in her cheek with the blush- 
 ing tints of maidenly shan,^. 
 
 'I will take this- gentle silence for 
 assent, sweet Beatrice,' he said, as he 
 drew her, half resisting, half yielding, 
 to his breast, to which he folded her 
 for an instant, ere she broke from the 
 dear imprisonment, and once more 
 cast herself into her smiling and ap- 
 proving father's arms. 
 
 ' Have they found the clasp, mas- 
 ter V cried Ruth, who was as happy 
 as she could be. 
 
 ' Not yet, but the king has discov- 
 ered that some one has been making 
 use of his signet, and so acquits Mr. 
 Goulbourne of all guilt. Neverthe- 
 less,, he is to go to the king to show 
 him how the clasp was given, and to 
 describe the individual.' 
 
 ' Then my father is acquitted with 
 honor 1' 
 
 'Yes, and I am in hopes will be 
 able to confound his enemies!' 
 
 ' What noise is that below ?' asked 
 David, as he heard voices in alterca- 
 tion." ' I trust no more mishap to 
 usi' 
 
 'I will come up! I will see himl 
 I have much to say for him!' cried an 
 earnest voice at the street door. 
 
 ' It is the cordwainer, master!' said 
 Buth, who had gone to the window, 
 ' He insists on seeing you, and the 
 guard keeps him back.' 
 
 'I will see him,' said George Cecil, 
 leaving the room. The next moment 
 lie appeared, followed by the honest 
 cordwainer. 
 
 'Matter Goulbourne, I have just 
 hear^ about your affair. I was at 
 conventicle,, or should have heard it 
 sooner. Don't you know I cautioned 
 you last night, when you delivered 
 the jewel to the two men ? I told 
 you he who called himself Sir Peter 
 Losley did not look like that knight. 
 But you answered me short about his 
 showing the king's signet ?' 
 
 ' What did you se^ Mr. Goulbourne 
 deliver the clasp ?' asked Lord Exeter, 
 with surprise. 
 
 'That did I, sir, and warned him at 
 the time. And what is more, I have 
 now come here to say that I am ready 
 to bear witness before the king, that 
 I saw Master Goulbourne deliver the 
 jewel into a man's hands, who called 
 himself Sir Peter Losley, the king's 
 master of the wardrobe, who did not 
 favor the knight in the least.' 
 
 ' This will be useful to Mr. Goul- 
 bourne,' said George Cecil ; 'you must 
 accompany him before the king.' 
 
 'That I will do cheerfully, sir!' 
 
 ' Do you know who the person was 
 who received the jewel V continued 
 the young nobleman. 
 
 ' No ; but I would know both him 
 and his man again if I saw 'em in 
 Hommadon!' 
 
 ' I trust that you will be able to 
 recognise him!' answered Lord Exe- 
 ter. I wish you to be ready here to 
 go with Mr. Goulbourne to the palace 
 by poon, at which time the king will 
 have returned to White Hall.' 
 
96 
 
 THE GOLDSMirH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' I will be on the spot, sir,' replied 
 the cbrdwainer, stoutly^ 
 
 'In the meanwhile I will go to at- 
 tend to some affairs that c 11 for my 
 oversight,' said the young marquis. 
 ' I shall be back here at a quarter to 
 twelve. I will instruct the guard to 
 let no one in, M' . Goulhourne, but by 
 your pewnission.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir,' said David, as he 
 followed his noble benefactor to the 
 door, where he took a respeptful and 
 grateful leave of him, while Ruth 
 made him a very low curtsey. Bea- 
 trice interchanged with him a rapid 
 glance of confidence and love, and 
 then said, turning to Ruth, smiling. 
 
 'Methinka you have become very 
 ceremonious towards your gallant 9f 
 last nightl You spoke to him and 
 acted while he was here as if he had 
 been the king, or a lord at the least. 
 The awe has not left your face yet.' 
 
 Ruth interchanged a look with, her 
 master, and both smiled, when the 
 latter seeing thereby that Ruth had 
 the secret, and fearing they would 
 betray their trust, took Beatrice by 
 the hand, and said cheerfully, 
 
 ' Come, since things are coming 
 round so well, let us finish our break- 
 fast, late as it is, for you know I did 
 but taste it when I was called up 
 from the table by my lord Chamber- 
 lain.' 
 
 'This has been a day of events, 
 father!' 
 
 'It has indeed! Come Ruth, pre- 
 pare the tuble^again.' ' 
 
 ' It only needs,' sail Ruth, 'to dis- 
 cover tlie rogues who took the clasp 
 to make this day eud as it should. 
 
 unless Miss Beatrice will consent to 
 be married this evening.' 
 
 'Why, Ruth! you are too — ' 
 
 ' Too what ?' said Ruth slyly. 
 
 ' Too forward.' 
 
 ' Well, if you knew — ' 
 
 'RutTi, come and place my chair, 
 said the goldsmith. 'If you have any 
 secrets, keep them till another day ; 
 we must eat now, d'ye hear ?' 
 
 The goldsmith then sat down to the 
 table, from which four hours befo e he 
 had been called up by the lord Cham- 
 berlain, to deliver to him the clasp 
 for the king. He did not commence 
 his repast wiljhout acknowledging, in 
 a fervent blessing, the mercies which 
 had been vouchsafed to him and his, 
 in his remarkable deliverance from 
 the dungeons which had menaced 
 him; 
 
 We will now follow the?' marquis of 
 Exeter, who had no sooner gut into 
 his carriage, than he ordered his 
 coachman to drive to ' York Build- 
 ings.' Upon reaching them he stop, 
 ped at the door of . the residence of 
 Lord Bresseles, and alighted. 
 
 He found tlie nobleman in, and was 
 received by him with friendly courte- 
 sy. Lord Bresseles looking as it' he 
 felt himself honored by the visit of 
 the pop'.ilar and rich young marquis, 
 who, however, rarely mixed inl the 
 society of the dissipated young no- 
 bles of the court. 
 
 ' It "is as rare to see you, my dear 
 marquis, as a lark in winter.' 
 
 ' You seem to be just going out— 
 I will not detain you.' 
 
 'No, I have just coraie in! I have 
 not yet taken off my liding coat and 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 97 
 
 spurs. I went out lioping to see the 
 fig-lit betwetju the ambassadors, but it 
 was over ere I got to 'the ground. 
 The Spaniards protected their coach 
 horses with chain harness, and placed 
 a man to protect each of the six 
 horses, so that the French were com- 
 pletely foiled in, trying .to cut the 
 harness or slay the horses 1 Did you 
 see the battle V 
 
 ' No, I was at home. By the by, 
 why are you not with the procession, 
 mj' lord ? 'I feared I shAild find you 
 out I' 
 
 ' It is too doll an affair for mel 
 'Where are you, that you are not 
 there, one of the first nobles .of the 
 realm ? But the procession should be 
 back ere long.' 
 
 ' Th^ truth is, a friend of mine is in 
 ill favor with the king, laboring under 
 a suspicion, and I wish you would do 
 me tlie iavor to gp with me to White 
 HalUand bespeak the king's good will 
 for him, and assist him out of his trou- 
 bles.' 
 
 'A friend of yours! To be sure I 
 will, my dear marquis I Who is it? 
 Buckingham or Monmouth V 
 
 '1 will name him, when we reatjii 
 the palace, my lord I' 
 
 ' V ry well. I will go now I* 
 
 ' Not this moment, but only be 
 there when his majesty returnsl It 
 will be by twelve o'clock.' 
 
 ' I will serve you if I can. I will 
 be there! The king, has' before this 
 obliged me in several things I But 
 you are not going?' 
 
 ,' 1 have no time to linger, my lord,' 
 anlRi'ered the marquis, rising, and 
 glancing at a surcoat that lUy upon a 
 ebair, the sleeve of which was richly 
 laced, with silken lace of inwov»;ii 
 
 orange and blue. Upon discovering 
 this, he betrayed only by the sparkle 
 of bis eyes his secret satisfaction. It 
 confirmed his suspicions that Lord 
 Bresseles was the man who had re- 
 ceived the clasp from David Goul- 
 bourne ; for Ruth, it will be recollect- 
 ed, had told him about the visit of 
 his nobleman, and his evident inten. 
 tion to make captive th^ maiden. 
 When, therefore he heard of David'S 
 arrest, and the facts which preceded 
 it, bis suspicions at ouce fell upon 
 Lord Bresseles ; and they were 
 strengthened almost to conviction by 
 David's accurate description of the 
 person to whom he had delivered the 
 jewel. So positive was he that Lord 
 Bresseles was the guilty /nan, that as 
 we have seen, he went boldly to his 
 house, where his suspicion waS' re- 
 sulved intc? certainty by the discove- 
 ry of the laced surcoat, a thread in 
 which his keen eye saw drawn up a4 
 if it had been caught by some*oint. 
 All this he. took notice of whilethe 
 talked with Lord Bresseles ; and .be- 
 came so convinced of his guilt, that 
 tie did not hesitate to make use of any 
 reasun fof bringing him to White 
 Hail. ♦ ^ 
 
 ' An elegant surcoa't, my lord^l la 
 this the latest style ?' ho said care- 
 lessly taking up the garment. 
 
 ' Yes ; the fashUm introduced by 
 the king last mouth. Here is the 
 vest to itl You should get one ?' 
 
 I have not before seen so elegant 
 a pattern. If you sue not going to 
 wear this to-day, I should like to 
 show it to my tailor.' ^ 
 
 'By all means L Mingn, take the 
 surcoat to my Lord Excici's ear- 
 riajje.' , 
 
98 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 'Y6u will be there at twelve, my 
 lord, ^ trust, for your presence will 
 be of most essential service in bring- 
 ing my friend to peace Vitfa the 
 king!' 
 
 * I will not fail you, ray dear mar- 
 qlife!' answered the nobleman, as his 
 visitor took leave. 
 
 ' I have the real culprit now,' said 
 the Marqijis of Exet6r to himself, as 
 be re-entered his cOa'Ch. 'With this 
 'surcoat I will Condemn himl' 
 
 'I Wohder what can be Exeter's 
 motive in calling on me so unexpect- 
 edly ind asking my influence 1' mused 
 Lord Bresseles, as he saw the carriage 
 drive oflf. ' Doubtless he seeks some 
 political influence, and wants to gafh 
 minel He Bhall have only what he 
 pays well for. If 1 serve him in this 
 frietid of his, he must serve me some 
 other day. I wonder wh?) it is! I 
 may not like to ask the king in his 
 behalf; for his majesty is jealous of 
 me touching his pretty Stewart, that 
 he*8etB ufT against Castlemaine I But 
 when I get this poor goldsmith's 
 daughter into my power, I will show 
 the king a prize of beauty that will 
 make him envy me the poase|pion of 
 iti Markhagil' 
 
 'My lord I' answered bia valet, en- 
 tering the room. 
 
 Have yoU all ready for our' adven- 
 ture to-night, the ruflSans aril hired, 
 and masques i»T all V 
 
 ' It shall be done, my lord!' 
 
 ' Now tliat we nave got the fa;ther 
 safe in Newga^p, the lamb is ours 
 without resistande. What shall -we 
 do witu this jewel ? for now that 1 
 have ii, I may as well keep it!' 
 
 ^hy and by, send it ovw to Holland 
 
 I a diamond at a time, and sell it to tha 
 Jewsl' 
 
 ' Well proposed 1 What noise is 
 that V - 
 
 ' The trumpets and drums, my lordl 
 The king is escorting the ambassa- 
 dors into the townl' 
 
 ' Have m3' horse presently brought. 
 I must ride to Whitehall. See that 
 nothing is wanting to make our suc- 
 cess perfect to-nightl' 
 
 ' I will, my lordl' * 
 
 The 'kin^ at length rfiaehed hia 
 palace, and entering it, his eye fell 
 upon the Marquis of Exeter, with the 
 goldsmith standing just behind him, 
 and the cordwainer a littje to hia 
 right. 
 
 'Ah, well, my lordl So you have 
 the goldsTflith with you, I seel'*- 
 
 ' Yes, your Majesty! And I think, 
 moreover, I have discovered who 
 took the jewel, and made use of your 
 signetl' * 
 
 ' Ah, so ? Then by the Eed Gross! 
 I will make him bleed for 'it, be he 
 lorcf or clown. Come hi hither to this 
 room, and let us hear what thou hast 
 ta sayl' 
 
 • The feing entered a gorgeous but 
 small ante-room to his crowp room, 
 and seating himself all booted and 
 spurred aa he had alighted from his 
 hor8e,jjsaid: 
 
 ' Novr, we will hear, my lord!' 
 
 'Tiiis surcoat, your maj.sty will 
 see, is laced with the same thread, 
 blue and orange, which was caught 
 in the chasing of the signetl' 
 
 'By the mass, yes! And a thread 
 is drawn out! I will match it fcffth- 
 Vvitiil' arid tl«B king went to hia 
 oabiiiet, and lukiiig the si-'uet, com- 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 99 
 
 pared the shred attached to it with 
 the part that had been ravelled oat, 
 and foqnd it to matpli in Jength, ^s 
 ya the colors and texture. ' Yqu a^e 
 my Lord of Exeter, k^s t,ljie same,4ud 
 was tQrn from thi?) Now .^119^6 cot^t 
 ie ^tbis V 
 
 '^jther appro^ehep pay I^pctJ Preig-j 
 geJee, your m^esty. Pte^^e ask hipi 
 who <Qwn3 .the ,CQat ?' 
 
 ' Ah, my lord,' you are wel'cpijrjjB,' 
 dftidithe iking, as JiO^d !^respel^p p,p-| 
 pjrpftohed ^nd kiss.ed his ,h.»nd. ' >Ve 
 were just lopking at thi^ ,8urqp9,t, Jiaj 
 ted. I^now ypu whose it .is V 
 
 'JJine, your majesty. .Exeiter ,di(i 
 Sae tbe honor to 1k?i,tosw it of ^m^j^he- 
 ixig taken wi^h -the p^tt^rp. BffRl 
 did not expect Jie ^pujd.Jpip^oi^.me fey 
 showing it to^our majesty!' 
 
 The brow of the king became dark 
 as nigfft. The cordwainer shrunk be; 
 fore him, and even J)avid Goulbourne 
 was moved with awe. The Marquis 
 of Exeter stood calmly observing both 
 the king and Lord Bresseles. 
 
 'My lord,' said the king, ' your lace 
 is not the best! It ravels. See, I 
 found this shred attached to my sig- 
 net! It is not good lace, my lord! 
 T^ou should have gotten better lace! 
 It is treacherous lace, very! My 
 Lord Bresseles, do not turn pale! A 
 I^tle bad lace is not muph matter! 
 Nay, do not kneel! It is no crime 
 for a noble to wear bad lace to his 
 Bleevesl' 
 
 'Pardon me, your majesty!' 
 
 << Ah,' cried the king, changing' his 
 bitter tone of irony to one stern and 
 commanding, ' so then you eonfess 
 yourself i robber!' 
 
 ' It was bpt in sport, your majea- 
 .ty^' ' ; 
 
 ' I fen,ow no .sports .that will excuse 
 breaking -tjlje l,og^ qf a Jcing'^ cabinet, 
 3Ij4 using his ,sigfi^t tp procure roya*l 
 jewels from his goldsmith!' 
 
 'I lifive t^ je.sveljS, your majesty!' 
 
 'j^ynd I ,^itl have them soon. I 
 §]^^\ 3,tip,nce.despa,tch offiqer(S to your 
 ■lodginss .^nd ^earch Tthein! lu the 
 ipqaojyme .malce a iull oufessiun, e^- 
 .pe.ci^lly |io;^ you gained access to my 
 cabinet.' 
 
 ^011,4 Bre^,f pies, wl|p bad been .qom- 
 pletely takep .by surprise, now relat' 
 jed .tliat ^e had obtaiaefl the signet by 
 means of a page, whom he had brib^edi 
 and tlj,^t-.^e.^Jn^d took the jewel irjcire- 
 ly .^ .^ jest, intifnding , to. return itl 
 But, being embarrassed, and unable 
 to meet the clear eye of the Marquis 
 of dEs.eter, who, he felt, was reading 
 his soul, he made but lame matter* of 
 his defence. ' 
 
 It increased rather than abated the 
 anger of the king, who on the spo$ 
 and before them all, condemned hiij 
 to pay the value of the clasp to the 
 goldsmith, in consideration of the im- 
 prisonment he had suffered, and to be 
 committed to the Tower for one year, 
 while Markham was banished the 
 kingdom. 
 
 This just decision was not only 
 gratifying to the Marquis of Exeter, 
 who thought he foresaw in it the re- 
 formation of the king's lax govern- 
 ment of his realm, but to David and 
 the qordwainer who Jjeard it. 
 
 The goldsmith knait and kissed the 
 king's hand, and thanked him for the 
 gracious manner in which he had t^k- 
 
100 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 en up bis cause. Lord Exeter also 
 thanked his majesty; and then the 
 three hastened in the coach to convey 
 the happy issue of an affair that had 
 threatened so heavily 'to Beatrice and 
 Euth. ' • 
 
 The joy of Beatrice we will leave 
 to the imagination of our readers. 
 After all that her lover -had done in 
 teer father's behalfj it will be supposed 
 she was willing to make him happy, 
 by setting an early day for their 
 union. 
 
 After a playful contest, she con- 
 sented to reduce the month. 
 
 She was at first disposedl to make 
 it to a day. • 
 
 The next morning, therefore, they 
 were married in St. Paul's church, 
 
 I privately; but nn pen can adequately 
 express the surprise of Beatrice, when 
 at the close of 'the ceremony, she 
 heard her husband congratulated by 
 the Bishdp by tly title of Lord Mar- 
 quis of Exeter, and herself as the 
 Marchioness of Exeter I Nor will we 
 attempt to picture her joy, when sur- 
 prise gave place to the full, sweet, 
 delightful conviction of* the whole 
 tiuthi?!*' 
 
 Rutd, be it recorded in her lasting 
 honor, faithfully had kept the secret; 
 and not long afterwards she made 
 Spankie the footman happy, and the 
 inarquis, to reward her fidelity, gave 
 hena martiage portlbn of a thousand 
 pounds, and made Spankie the head 
 steward of the household. 
 
 THE END