, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept
his hold of the brown tress.

"Now, Sir Christopher," he said, "I am minded to put my sword through
you."

"And pierce your daughter's heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go
to the grave."

"Oh! father, father," broke in Cicely, who knew the old man's temper,
and feared the worst, "in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my
heart is Christopher's, and has been from a child. With him I shall have
happiness, without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so
he swears. Why, then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of
good lineage, and name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour
him much and let us be together day by day? And now, when it is too
late, you deny him. Oh! why, why?"

"You know why well enough, girl? Because I have chosen another husband
for you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry
you. But this morning I had it under his own hand."

"The Lord Despard?" gasped Cicely. "Why, he only buried his second
wife last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
never will I go to him alive."

"And never shall he live to take you," muttered Christopher.

"What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son,
and should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within
three shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies.
But enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you."

"So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father's
friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete
I was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the
world's eye or in yours?"

"No, lad," answered the old knight bluntly; "but since you will have it,
here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name,
and little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the
hammer, Christopher. You'll never stow a bride in it."

"Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is
another--in your eyes. Yet, sir, I h