“Sia!” said Cary:  “but if he be admitted, it must be done according to the solemn forms and ceremonies in such cases provided.  Take him into the next room, Amyas, and prepare him for his initiation.”

“What’s that?” asked Amyas, puzzled by the word.  But judging from the corner of Will’s eye that initiation was Latin for a practical joke, he led forth his victim behind the arras again, and waited five minutes while the room was being darkened, till Frank’s voice called to him to bring in the neophyte.

“John Brimblecombe,” said Frank, in a sepulchral tone, “you cannot be ignorant, as a scholar and bachelor of Oxford, of that dread sacrament by which Catiline bound the soul of his fellow-conspirators, in order that both by the daring of the deed he might have proof of their sincerity, and by the horror thereof astringe their souls by adamantine fetters, and Novem-Stygian oaths, to that wherefrom hereafter the weakness of the flesh might shrink.  Wherefore, O Jack! we too have determined, following that ancient and classical example, to fill, as he did, a bowl with the lifeblood of our most heroic selves, and to pledge each other therein, with vows whereat the stars shall tremble in their spheres, and Luna, blushing, veil her silver cheeks.  Your blood alone is wanted to fill up the goblet.  Sit down, John Brimblecombe, and bare your arm!”

“But, Mr. Frank!—­” said Jack, who was as superstitious as any old wife, and, what with the darkness and the discourse, already in a cold perspiration.

“But me no buts! or depart as recreant, not by the door like a man, but up the chimney like a flittermouse.”

“But, Mr. Frank!”

“Thy vital juice, or the chimney!  Choose!” roared Cary in his ear.

“Well, if I must,” said Jack; “but it’s desperate hard that because you can’t keep faith without these barbarous oaths, I must take them too, that have kept faith these three years without any.”

At this pathetic appeal Frank nearly melted:  but Amyas and Cary had thrust the victim into a chair and all was prepared for the sacrifice.

“Bind his eyes, according to the classic fashion,” said Will.

“Oh no, dear Mr. Cary; I’ll shut them tight enough, I warrant:  but not with your dagger, dear Mr. William—­sure, not with your dagger?  I can’t afford to lose blood, though I do look lusty—­I can’t indeed; sure, a pin would do—­I’ve got one here, to my sleeve, somewhere—­Oh!”

“See the fount of generous juice!  Flow on, fair stream.  How he bleeds!—­pints, quarts!  Ah, this proves him to be in earnest!”

“A true lover’s blood is always at his fingers’ ends.”

“He does not grudge it; of course not.  Eh, Jack?  What matters an odd gallon for her sake?”

“For her sake?  Nothing, nothing!  Take my life, if you will:  but—­oh, gentlemen, a surgeon, if you love me!  I’m going off—­I ’m fainting!”

“Drink, then, quick; drink and swear!  Pat his back, Cary.  Courage, man! it will be over in a minute.  Now, Frank!—­”