"Nay, nay," he said: "believe me there is naught to fear. I will see that thou art not ill-used." As he spoke the window above was thrown up, and a string of fearful oaths greeted the two, whereat the girl once more tried to release her imprisoned wrist, but Trenchon held it lightly, though with a grip like steel. The stout old man thrust his head through the open window. "God's blight on thee!" he cried, "thou pair of fools who wish to wed so much that ye venture out in such a night as this. Well, have your way, and let me have my rest. In the name of the law of Scotland I pronounce ye man and wife. There, that will bind two fools together as strongly as if the Archbishop spoke the words. Place thou the money on the steps. I warrant none will venture to touch it when it belongs to me." And with that he closed the window. "Is he raving mad or drunk?" cried Trenchon. The girl gave a wailing cry. "Alas! alas!" she said; "he is neither. He is so used to marrying folk who come from England across the Border that he thinks not it his daughter who came with thee, but two who wished to wed. They come at all hours of the night and day, and he has married us. I am thy wife." The astonished man dropped her wrist, and she put her hands before her eyes and wept. "Married!" cried Trenchon. "We two married!" He looked with interest at the girl, but in the darkness could see nothing of her. The unheeded rain pelted on them both. "Hast thou"--he hesitated--"hast thou some other lover, since you weep?" The girl shook her head. "No one," she said, "comes near us. They fear my father." "Then, if this be true, why dost thou weep? I am not considered so bad a fellow." "I weep not for myself, but for thee, who through the kindness of thy heart hast been led into this trap. Believe me, it was not my intention." "Judging from thy voice, my girl, and if thou favorest thy mother, as I think, whom I remember well, this is a trap that I shall make little effort to get my foot out of. But thou art dripping, and I stand chattering here. Once more I will arouse my father-in-law." So saying, he stoutly rapped again with his stick upon the door. Once more the window was pushed up, and again the angry head appeared. "Get you gone!" cried the maddened blacksmith, but before he could say anything further Trenchon cried out: "It is thy daughter here who waits. Open the door, thou limb of hell, or I will burst it in and cast thee out as thou hast done thy daughter." The blacksmith, who had never in his life been spoken to in tones or words like these, was so amazed that he could neither speak nor act, but one stout kick against the door so shook the fabric that he speedily saw another such would break into his domicile; so, leaving the window open that his curses might the better reach them, the blacksmith came down and threw the barrier from the door, flinging it open and standing on the threshold so as to bar all ingress.