e elm chairs,
whereon rested a rough deal case, without a lid, but partly covered with
a sheet.

To anyone coming from the outside, this angle of the forge would always
seem weird and even mysterious even when the furnace was blazing and the
sparks flying from the anvil, beneath the smith's powerful blows, or
when--as at present--the fires were extinguished and this part of the
shed, innocent of windows, was in absolute darkness.

Sir Marmaduke paused a moment under the lintel which dominated the broad
entrance. His eyes had some difficulty in penetrating the density which
seemed drawn across the place on his left like some ink-smeared and
opaque curtain.

The men assembled outside, watched him from a distance with silent
respect. In these days the fact of a gentleman drinking more liquor than
was good for him was certes not to his discredit.

The fact that Sir Marmaduke seemed to sway visibly on his legs, as he
thus stood for a moment outlined against the dark interior beyond,
roused no astonishment in the minds of those who saw him.

Presently he turned deliberately to his left and the next moment his
figure was merged in the gloom.

Round the angle of the wall Squire Boatfield was still standing, sipping
buttered ale.

Less than two minutes later, Sir Marmaduke reappeared in the doorway.
His face was a curious color, and there were beads of perspiration on
his forehead, and as he came forward he would have fallen, had not one
of the men stepped quickly up to him and offered a steadying arm. But
there was nothing strange in that.

The sight of that which lay in Adam Lambert's forge had unmanned a good
many ere this.

"I am inclined to believe, my good Boatfield," quoth Sir Marmaduke, as
he went back to the trestle-table, and poured himself out another
half-glass full of brandy, "I am inclined to believe that when you
advised me not to go in there, you spoke words of wisdom which I had
done well to follow."

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE GIRL-WIFE

But the effort of the past few moments had been almost more than
Marmaduke de Chavasse could bear.

Anon when the church bell over at Acol began a slow and monotonous toll
he felt as if his every nerve must give way: as if he must laugh, laugh
loudly and long at the idiocy, the ignorance of all these people who
thought that they were confronted by an impenetrable mystery, whereas it
was all so simple ... so very, very simple.

He had a curious feeling as if