"
"He may atone," said the friar, "and the king may mollify.
The earl is a worthy peer, and the king is a courteous king."
"He cannot atone," said Sir Ralph. "He has killed the king's men;
and if the baron should aid and abet, he will lose his castle and land."
"Will I?" said the baron; "not while I have a drop of blood in my veins.
He that comes to take them shall first serve me as the friar serves my
flasks of canary: he shall drain me dry as hay. Am I not disparaged?
Am I not outraged? Is not my daughter vilified, and made a mockery?
A girl half-married? There was my butler brought home with a broken head.
My butler, friar: there is that may move your sympathy.
Friar, the earl-no-earl shall come no more to my daughter."
"Very good," said the friar.
"It is not very good," said the baron, "for I cannot get her to say so."
"I fear," said Sir Ralph, "the young lady must be much
distressed and discomposed."
"Not a whit, sir," said the baron. "She is, as usual, in a most
provoking imperturbability, and contradicts me so smilingly that it
would enrage you to see her."
"I had hoped," said Sir Ralph, "that I might have seen her,
to make my excuse in person for the hard necessity of my duty."
He had scarcely spoken, when the door opened, and the lady
made her appearance.
CHAPTER IV
Are you mad, or what are you, that you squeak out your catches
without mitigation or remorse of voice? Twelfth Night.
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