"She has left me to come off as I may," thought Wayland, as he heard the
hag shut the garden-door behind him. "But they shall not beat me,
and they dare not murder me, for so little trespass, and by this fair
twilight. Hang it, I will on--a brave general never thought of his
retreat till he was defeated. I see two females in the old garden-house
yonder--but how to address them? Stay--Will Shakespeare, be my friend in
need. I will give them a taste of Autolycus." He then sung, with a good
voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty,-"Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses."

"What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?" said the
lady.

"One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars," answered Janet,
demurely, "who utters his light wares in lighter measures. I marvel old
Dorcas let him pass."

"It is a lucky chance, girl," said the Countess; "we lead a heavy life
here, and this may while off a weary hour."

"Ay, my gracious lady," said Janet; "but my father?"

"He is not my father, Janet, nor I hope my master," answered the lady.
"I say, call the man hither--I want some things."