'I swear'--he used a great round oath, very horrid from the lips of a Christian man--'I swear that, if you marry me, the three--Robin, Humphrey, and Barnaby--shall all save their lives. And as for Sir Christopher and thy father, they also shall be enlarged. Can I say aught in addition?' I suspected no deceit. I understood, and so did Madam, that this promise meant the full and free forgiveness of all. Yet there was something of mockery in his eyes, which should have made us suspicious. But I, for one, was young and ignorant, and Madam was country-bred and truthful. 'Benjamin,' I cried, falling on my knees before him, 'think what it is you ask! Think what a wicked thing you would have me do!--to break my vows, who am promised to your cousin! And would you leave your grandfather to perish all for a whim about a silly girl? Benjamin, you are playing with us. You cannot--you could not sell the lives--the very lives of your grandfather and your cousins for such a price as this! The play has gone far enough, Benjamin. Tell us that it is over, and that you never meant to be taken seriously, and we will forgive you the anguish you have caused us.' 'Get up,' he said, 'get up, I say, and stop this folly.' He then began to curse and to swear. 'Playing, is it? You shall quickly discover that it is no play, but serious enough to please you all, Puritans though you be. Playing! Get up, I say, and have done.' 'Then,' I said, 'there is not in the whole world a more inhuman monster than yourself.' 'Oh! my dear--my dear, do not anger him!' cried Madam. 'All is fair in love, my pretty,' said Benjamin with a grin. 'Before marriage call me what you please--inhuman monster--anything that you please. After marriage my wife will have to sing a different tune.' 'Oh! Benjamin, treat her kindly,' Madam cried. 'I mean not otherwise. Kindness is my nature, I am too kind for my own interests. Obedience I expect, and good temper and a civil tongue, with such respect as is due to one who intends to be Lord Chancellor. Come, Child, no more hard words. Thou shalt be the happiest woman, I say, in the world. What? Monmouth's rebellion was only contrived to make thy happiness. Instead of a dull country house thou shalt have a house in London; instead of the meadows, thou shalt have the parks; instead of skylarks, the singers at the playhouse; in due course thou shalt be My Lady'---- 'Oh! stop--stop; I must marry you since you make me, but the partner in your ambitions will I never be.' 'My dear,' Madam whispered, 'speak him fair. Be humble to him. Remember he holds in his hands the lives of all.'