“Amen!” exclaimed Jocelyn, fervently.

“Who was it spoke?” demanded the Puritan.  And as no answer was returned, he repeated the inquiry.

“It was I—­Jocelyn Mounchensey, the son of your old friend,” replied the young man.

“Come nigh to me, Jocelyn,” said the dying man.  “I have done you wrong, and entreat your pardon.”

“O, talk not thus!” cried Jocelyn, springing towards him.  “I have nothing to forgive, but much to be forgiven.”

“You have a noble heart, Jocelyn,” rejoined Hugh Calveley; “and in that respect resemble your father.  In his name, I conjure you to listen to me.  You will not refuse my dying request.  I have a sacred trust to commit to you.”

“Name it!” cried the young man; “and rest assured it shall be fulfilled.”

“Give me some wine,” gasped the Puritan, faintly.  “My strength is failing fast, and it may revive me.”

And with, great effort he swallowed a few drops from the cup filled for him by Jocelyn.  Still, his appearance was so alarming, that the young man could not help urging him not to delay.

“I understand,” replied Hugh Calveley, slightly pressing his hand.  “You think I have no time to lose; and you are right.  My child, then, is the trust I would confide to you.  Son, behold thy sister!  Daughter, behold thy brother!”

“I will be more than a brother to her,” cried Sir Jocelyn, earnestly.

“More thou canst not be,” rejoined Hugh Calveley; “unless—­”

“Unless what?” demanded Sir Jocelyn.

“I cannot explain,” cried the Puritan, with an expression of agony; “there is not time.  Suffice it, she is already promised in marriage.”

“Father!” exclaimed Aveline, in surprise, and with something of reproach.  “I never heard of such an engagement before.  It has been made without my consent.”

“I charge you to fulfil it, nevertheless, my child, if it be required,” said Hugh Calveley, solemnly.  “Promise me this, or I shall not die content.  Speak!  Let me hear you.”

And she reluctantly gave the required promise.

Sir Jocelyn uttered an exclamation of anguish.

“What afflicts you, my son?” demanded the Puritan.

“To whom have you promised your daughter in marriage?” inquired the young man.  “You have constituted me her brother, and I am therefore entitled to inquire.”

“You will learn when the demand is made,” said the Puritan.  “You will then know why I have given the promise, and the nature of the obligation imposed upon my daughter to fulfil it.”

“But is this obligation ever to remain binding?” demanded Sir Jocelyn.

“If the claim be not made within a year after my death, she is discharged from it,” replied Hugh Calveley.

“O, thanks, father, thanks!” exclaimed Aveline.

At this moment the door of the vault was thrown open, and two persons entered, the foremost of whom Sir Jocelyn instantly recognised as the King.  The other was his Majesty’s physician, Doctor Mayerne Turquet.  A glance sufficed to explain to the latter the state of the Puritan.