exhaustion, perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more
effective method of attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his
knees, he took the unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several
times; then, emboldened by his success, threw his long arms about her,
and before Sir John, choked with indignation, could find words to stop
him, drew her towards him and treated her red lips as he had treated her
fingers. This rude proceeding seemed to break the spell that bound her,
for she pushed back the chair and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying
in a broken voice----

"Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong."

"May be," he answered. "So long as you love me I care not what it is."

"That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well,
but, alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere
he returns, or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a
nunnery where no man may come."

"Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----"

Then at last Sir John broke out.

"To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!" he roared from
the darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though
she would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced
by an arrow. "First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and
then, when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!" and he
rushed at them like a charging bull.