“O, this is wholly impossible!—­I will not believe it!” almost shrieked Aveline, throwing herself into Dame Sherborne’s arms.

“It is some wicked device to ensnare you, I am convinced,” said the old lady, clasping her to her breast.  “But we defy them, as we do the Prince of Darkness, and all his iniquities.  Avoid thee, thou wicked old sinner!—­thou worse than the benighted heathen!  Get hence!  I say, Sathanas!” she ejaculated to Sir Francis.

“Ay, I am well assured it is all a fabrication,” said Anthony Rocke.  “My master had too much consideration and tenderness for his daughter to promise her to a wretched old huncks like this, with one foot in the grave already.  Besides, I knew he held both him and Sir Giles Mompesson in utter abomination and contempt.  The thing is, therefore, not only improbable, but altogether impossible.”

“Hold thy peace, sirrah!” cried Sir Francis, foaming with rage, “or I will cut thy scurril tongue out of thy throat.  Huncks, indeed!  As I am a true gentleman, if thou wert of my own degree, thou shouldst answer for the opprobrious expression.”

“What proof have you that my father entered into any such engagement with you?” inquired Aveline, turning to Sir Francis.  “Your bare assertion will scarcely satisfy me.”

“Neither will it satisfy me,” remarked Anthony.  “Let him produce his proofs.”

“You are acquainted with your father’s handwriting, I presume, fair maiden?” rejoined Sir Francis.  “And it may be that your insolent and incredulous serving-man is also acquainted with it.  Look at this document, and declare whether it be not, as I assert, traced in Hugh Calveley’s characters.  Look at it, I say, thou unbelieving hound,” he added, to Anthony, “and contradict me if thou canst.”

“It is my master’s writing, I am compelled to admit,” replied the old serving-man, with a groan.

“Are you prepared to render obedience to your father’s behests, maiden?” demanded Sir Giles, menacingly.

“O, give me counsel!  What shall I say to them?” cried Aveline, appealing to Dame Sherborne.  “Would that Sir Jocelyn were here!”

“It is in vain to expect his coming,” rejoined Sir Giles, with a bitter laugh.  “We have taken good care to keep him out of the way.”

“There is no help then!” said Aveline, despairingly.  “I must submit.”

“We triumph,” whispered Sir Giles to his partner.

“Talk not of submission, my dear young lady,” implored Anthony Rocke.  “Resist them to the last.  I will shed my best blood in your defence.  If my master did give them that paper he must have been out of his senses, and you need not, therefore, regard it as other than the act of a madman.”

“Peace, shallow-pated fool!” cried Sir Giles.  “And do you, fair mistress, attend to me, and you shall learn under what circumstances that contract was made, and how it becomes binding upon you.  Deeply indebted to Sir Francis, your father had only one means of discharging his obligations.  He did hesitate to avail himself of it.  He promised you to his creditor, and obtained his own release.  Will you dishonour his memory by a refusal?”