Ramiro gave them; Father Thomas scrawled them down, adding some words and his own signature, then said, “There you are, that will hold good against anyone except the Pope.” “A mere form,” repeated Ramiro, “of course. But the world attaches so much importance to forms, so I think that we will have this one witnessed—No, not by myself, who am an interested party—by someone independent,” and calling Hague Simon and the waiting-woman he bade them set their names at the foot of the documents. “Papers signed in advance—fees paid in advance!” he went on, handing over the money, “and now, just one more glass to drink the health of the bride and bridegroom, also in advance. You will not refuse, nor you, worthy Simon, nor you, most excellent Abigail. Ah! I thought not, the night is cold.” “And the brandy strong,” muttered the priest thickly, as this third dose of raw spirit took effect upon him. “Now get on with the business, for I want to be out of this hole before the flood comes.” “Quite so. Friends, will you be so good as to summon my son and the lady? The lady first, I think—and all three of you might go to escort her. Brides sometimes consider it right to fain a slight reluctance—you understand? On second thoughts, you need not trouble the Señor Adrian. I have a new words of ante-nuptial advice to offer, so I will go to him.” A minute later father and son stood face to face. Adrian leaped up; he shook his fist, he raved and stormed at the cold, impassive man before him. “You fool, you contemptible fool!” said Ramiro when he had done. “Heavens! to think that such a creature should have sprung from me, a human jackass only fit to bear the blows and burdens of others, to fill the field with empty brayings, and wear himself out by kicking at the air. Oh! don’t twist up your face at me, for I am your master as well as your father, however much you may hate me. You are mine, body and soul, don’t you understand; a bond-slave, nothing more. You lost the only chance you ever had in the game when you got me down at Leyden. You daren’t draw a sword on me again for your soul’s sake, dear Adrian, for your soul’s sake; and if you dared, I would run you through. Now, are you coming?” “No,” answered Adrian. “Think a minute. If you don’t marry her I shall, and before she is half an hour older; also—” and he leant forward and whispered into his son’s ear. “Oh! you devil, you devil!” Adrian gasped; then he moved towards the door. “What? Changed your mind, have you, Mr. Weathercock? Well, it is the prerogative of all feminine natures—but, your doublet is awry, and allow me to suggest that you should brush your hair. There, that’s better; now, come on. No, you go first, if you please, I’d rather have you in front of me.” When they reached the room below the bride was already there. Gripped on either side by Black Meg and the other woman, white as death and trembling, but still defiant, stood Elsa.