“Ah! traitress! then it was all planned,” Sir Francis thought;—­“and, blind owl that I am, I have fallen into the snare.”

But the poor knight was nearly at his wit’s end with fright, when he saw Lord Roos quit his place at the upper table and approach him.

CHAPTER VII.

How Lord Roos obtained Sir Francis Mitchell’s signature.

“What, my prince of usurers!” exclaimed Lord Roos, in a mocking tone; “my worthy money-lender, who never takes more than cent. per cent., and art ill content with less; who never exacts more than the penalty of thy bond,—­unless more may be got; who never drives a hard bargain with a needy man—­by thine own account; who never persecutes a debtor—­as the prisons shall vouch for thee; who art just in all thy transactions—­as every man who hath had dealings with thee will affirm; and who knows not how to lie, to cheat, to cozen—­as some usurers do.”

“You are pleasant, my lord,” Sir Francis replied.

“I mean to be so,” Lord Roos said; “for I esteem thee for thy rare qualities.  I know not thy peer for cunning and knavery.  Thy mischievous schemes are so well-conceived that they prove thee to have an absolute genius for villany.  Scruples thou hast none; and considerations and feelings which might move men less obdurate than thyself, have no influence over thee.  To ruin a man is with thee mere pastime; and groans of the oppressed are music in thine ears.”

“Aha! a good jest.  You were always merry with me, my lord.”

“Yes, when I borrowed money from thee—­but not when I had to repay it twice over.  I laughed not then; but was foolish enough to threaten to take thy life.  My anger is past now.  But we must drink together—­a rousing toast.”

“At your lordship’s pleasure,” Sir Francis replied.

“Cyprien! a flask of wine, and thy largest goblet,” Lord Roos cried.  “’Tis well!  Now pour the whole into the flagon.  Do me reason in this cup, Sir Francis?”

“What! in this mighty cup, my lord?” the knight replied.  “Nay, ’tis too much, I swear.  If I become drunken, the sin will lie at your door.”

“Off with it! without more ado.  And let the toast be what thou practisest—­’Pillage and Extortion!’”

“I cannot drink that toast, my lord.  ’Twill choke me.”

“’Sdeath! villain, but thou shalt, or thou shalt never taste wine more.  Down with it, man!  And now your signature to this paper?”

“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.”