“Phoo!” says the Lord Chancellor, “the signature is not in His Majesty’s handwriting.” Indeed, since his studies at Bosforo, Giglio had made an immense improvement in caligraphy. “Is it your handwriting, Giglio?” cries the Fairy Blackstick, with an awful severity of countenance. “Y—y—y—es,” poor Giglio gasps out, “I had quite forgotten the confounded paper: she can’t mean to hold me by it. You old wretch, what will you take to let me off? Help the Queen, some one—Her Majesty has fainted.” “Chop her head off!” } exclaim the impetuous Hedzoff, “Smother the old witch!” } the ardent Smith, and the “Pitch her into the river!” } faithful Jones. But Gruffanuff flung her arms round the Archbishop’s neck, and bellowed out, “Justice, justice, my Lord Chancellor!” so loudly, that her piercing shrieks caused everybody to pause. As for Rosalba, she was borne away lifeless by her ladies; and you may imagine the look of agony which Giglio cast towards that lovely being, as his hope, his joy, his darling, his all in all, was thus removed, and in her place the horrid old Gruffanuff rushed up to his side, and once more shrieked out, “Justice, justice!” “Won’t you take that sum of money which Glumboso hid?” says Giglio; “two hundred and eighteen thousand millions, or thereabouts. It’s a handsome sum.” “I will have that and you too!” says Gruffanuff. “Let us throw the crown jewels into the bargain,” gasps out Giglio. “I will wear them by my Giglio’s side!” says Gruffanuff. “Will half, three-quarters, five-sixths, nineteen-twentieths, of my kingdom do, Countess?” asks the trembling monarch. “What were all Europe to me without _you_, my Giglio?” cries Gruff, kissing his hand. “I won’t, I can’t, I shan’t—I’ll resign the crown first,” shouts Giglio, tearing away his hand; but Gruff clung to it. “I have a competency, my love,” she says, “and with thee and a cottage thy Barbara will be happy.” Giglio was half mad with rage by this time. “I will not marry her,” says he. “Oh, Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel?” And as he spoke he looked wildly round at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick. “‘Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning me to keep my word? Does she suppose that I am not a man of honor?’” said the Fairy, quoting Giglio’s own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness of her eyes; he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful inquisition. “Well, Archbishop,” said he in a dreadful voice, that made his Grace start, “since this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to dash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let me at least keep my honor. Get up, Countess, and let us be married; I can keep my word, but I can die afterwards.”