"My signature!" Sir Francis cried, reeling from the effect of the wine he had swallowed. "Nay, my good lord; I can sign nothing that I have not read. What is it?"
"A blank sheet," Lord Roos rejoined. "I will fill it up afterwards."
"Then, my lord, I refuse—that is, I decline—that is, I had rather not, if your lordship pleases."
"But my lordship pleases otherwise. Give him pen and ink, and set him near the table."
This was done; and Sir Francis regarded the paper with swimming eyes.
"Now, your name,—written near the bottom of the sheet," Lord Roos cried.
"'Tis done under com—compulsion; and I pro—protest against it."
"Sign, I say," the young nobleman exclaimed, rapping the table peremptorily.
On this, Sir Francis wrote his name in the place indicated.
"Enough!" Lord Roos cried, snatching up the paper. "This is all I want. Now set him on the table, that his partner may have him in full view when he arrives. 'Twill give him a foretaste of what he may himself expect."