"But you must go. My father will become
impatient. Again farewell!"
On this they separated: the young man sorrowfully departing, while her
footsteps retreated in the opposite direction.
Meanwhile the May games went forward on the green with increased spirit
and merriment, and without the slightest hinderance. More than once the
mummers had wheeled their mazy rounds, with Gillian and Dick Taverner
footing it merrily in the midst of them. More than once the audacious
'prentice, now become desperately enamoured of his pretty partner, had
ventured to steal a kiss from her lips. More than once he had whispered
words of love in her ear; though, as yet, he had obtained no tender
response. Once--and once only--had he taken her hand; but then he had
never quitted it afterwards. In vain other swains claimed her for a
dance. Dick refused to surrender his prize. They breakfasted together in
a little bower made of green boughs, the most delightful and lover-like
retreat imaginable. Dick's appetite, furious an hour ago, was now clean
gone. He could eat nothing. He subsisted on love alone. But as she was
prevailed upon to sip from a foaming tankard of Whitsun ale, he quaffed
the remainder of the liquid with rapture. This done, they resumed their
merry sports, and began to dance, again. The bells continued to ring
blithely, the assemblage to shout, and the minstrels to play. A strange
contrast to what was passing in the Puritan's garden.
CHAPTER XIX.
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