dearly for you that I
cannot afford to lose you. Cost what it will, you must be mine."

"Never!" exclaimed Aveline, resolutely.

"You will soon alter your tone, when you find how little power of
refusal is left you, fair mistress," said Sir Giles. "A litter is
waiting for you without. Will it please you to enter it?"

"Not unless by force--and you dare to offer me violence," she replied.

"I advise you not to put our forbearance to the test," said Sir Giles.

"I should be grieved to impose any restraint upon you," subjoined Sir
Francis; "and I trust you will not compel me to act against my
inclinations. Let me lead you to the litter."

As he advanced towards her, Aveline drew quickly back, and Dame
Sherborne uttered a loud scream; but her cries brought no other help
than could be afforded by old Anthony Rocke, who, planting himself
before his young mistress, menaced Sir Francis to retire.

But this state of things was only of brief duration. It speedily
appeared that the two extortioners had abundant assistance at hand to
carry out their infamous design. A whistle was sounded by Sir Giles; and
at the call the cottage door was burst open by some half dozen of the
myrmidons, headed by Captain Bludder.

Any resistance that the old serving-man could offer was speedily
overcome. Knocked down by a pike, he was gagged and pinioned, and
carried out of the house. The cries of Aveline and the elderly dame were
stifled by scarves tied over their heads; and both being in a fainting
condition from fright, they were borne to the litter which was standing
at the door, and being shut up within it, were conveyed as quickly as
might be to Sir Giles Mompesson's mansion, near the Fleet. Thither,
also, was old Anthony Rocke taken, closely guarded on the way by two of
the myrmidons.

Chapter XXV.

The "Stone Coffin."

A dreadful dungeon! the last and profoundest of the range of
subterranean cells already described as built below the level of the
river Fleet: a relict, in fact, of the ancient prison which had escaped
the fury of Wat Tyler and his followers, when the rest of the structure
was destroyed by them. Not inaptly was the dungeon styled the "Stone
Coffin." Those immured within it seldom lived long.

A chill like that of death smote Sir Jocelyn, as he halted before the
door of this horrible place. Preceded by Grimbald the jailer, with a
lamp in one hand and a bunch of large keys in the other, and closely
followe