THREE:"Oh Stephen, my son, my first-bornthy mother kneels to thee. Lay aside that lance and hearken to the words of her who bore thee, and nourished thee. Oh, bring not sorrow and ruin on thyself and her! What would be the bitterness of my dying moments if my son lived not to lay me beside his father?if thy Margaret was left to mourn in lowly widowhoodand, perhaps, to fall beneath the base arts of Calverley! Oh, my son, my son, by the soul of thy dead father, and by the blessing of thy mother, resist not!Hark! they comethey come! Haste, StephenGive me the weapon."
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THREE:"No."
THREE:"Now you're married."
THREE:As this was accomplished, a third shaft tore the bark from the tree; and in an instant after, Calverley, followed by some of his myrmidons, sprung down from an aperture of the wall."Who's Rose?"