“Sir Frederick, I protest, by all that is sacred—”
“I will listen to no protestations; I have been cheated with them too long,” answered Sir Frederick.
“If you leave us,” said Ellieslaw, “you cannot but know both your ruin and ours is certain; all depends on our adhering together.”
“Leave me to take care of myself,” returned the knight; “but were what you say true, I would rather perish than be fooled any farther.”
“Can nothing—no surety convince you of my sincerity?” said Ellieslaw, anxiously; “this morning I should have repelled your unjust suspicions as an insult; but situated as we now are—”
“You feel yourself compelled to be sincere?” retorted Sir Frederick. “If you would have me think so, there is but one way to convince me of it—let your daughter bestow her hand on me this evening.”
“So soon?—impossible,” answered Vere; “think of her late alarm—of our present undertaking.”
“I will listen to nothing but to her consent, plighted at the altar. You have a chapel in the castle—Doctor Hobbler is present among the company-this proof of your good faith to-night, and we are again joined in heart and hand. If you refuse me when it is so much for your advantage to consent, how shall I trust you to-morrow, when I shall stand committed in your undertaking, and unable to retract?”
“And I am to understand, that, if you can be made my son-in-law to-night, our friendship is renewed?” said Ellieslaw.
“Most infallibly, and most inviolably,” replied Sir Frederick.