"I know not," answered Sir Edmund fiercely, and laying his hand upon his
sword, "but this I know, that you or any man will do well not to repeat
it if you value life."
"Do you threaten me?" asked Sir John. "Because, if so, you will do well
to begone out of this house of shame and woe lest you be borne out feet
first. Nay, nay, I forgot," he added slowly, clasping his head in his
hands, "you are my daughter's affianced, are you not, and will give
her high place and many famous titles, and her son shall be called
Clavering, that the old name may not die but be great in England, in
France, and in Italy. You must bide to marry her, lest that cuckoo, Hugh
de Cressi, that cuckoo with the sharp bill, should creep into my nest.
I'll not be worsted by a stripling clad in merchant's cloth who slew
my only son. Take not my words ill, noble Noyon, for I am overdone with
grief for the past and fear for the future. You must bide to marry her
by fair means or by foul. Draw her from the sanctuary and marry her
whether she say you yea or nay. You have my leave, noble Noyon," and so
speaking he swayed and fell prone upon the floor.
At first they thought that he was dead. But the chaplain, Nicholas, who
was a leech, bled him, and he came to himself again, although he still
wandered in his talk and lay abed.
Then Acour and Nicholas took counsel together.
"What is to be done?" said Sir Edmund, "for I am on fire for this maid,
and all her scorn and hate do but fan my flame.
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