elt Mr. Rogers's grip on my shoulder--no gentle one, I
can assure you. He, too, had been gazing at the curate, but now
stared down, searching my face.

"You've hit him, by George! Quick, boy!--have you learnt more than
you told me last night? Or is it only guessing?"

"Ask him," said I, "why he married Miss Isabel."

"Married! Isabel Brooks married!"--Mr. Rogers's eyes, wide and
round, turned slowly from me and fastened themselves on the curate.

"Not to _him_, but to Archibald Plinlimmon. Mr. Whitmore married
them privately. Ask him why!"

"Why?" Mr. Rogers released me and springing on the curate, seized
him by the collar. "Why, you unhanged cur? Why? Or better, say
it's not true--say _some_thing, else by the Lord I'll kill you here
and now!"

Mr. Whitmore slid from his chair and grovelling on the floor clasped
Mr. Doidge's knees. "Take him off!" he gasped. "Have mercy--take
him off! You shall hear everything, sir: indeed you shall. Only
have mercy, and take him off!"

"Pah!" Mr. Rogers hurled him into a corner.

"Enough, Mr. Rogers!" commanded the Rector. The two stood eyeing the
culprit who, crouching where he fell, gazed up at them dumbly,
pitifully, as a dog between two thrashings.

"Now, sir," the Rector continued. "You married this couple, it
seems. At whose request?"

"At their own," came the answer in a whisper.

"Ay," said Mr. Rogers, "at their own request. You--not being a
priest at all, or in orders, but a swindler with a forged licence--
married that lady at her own request."

"Is that true?" the Rector demanded.

The poor wretch made as if to crawl towards him, to clasp his knees
again. "Mercy!" he whined, between two sobs.

"One moment," Mr. Rogers insisted, as the Rector held up a hand.
"Did young Plinlimmon know of the fraud?"

"No."

"Does he know now?"

"No."

"Thank the Lord for that small mercy! For, by the Lord, I'd have
shot him without grace to say his prayers."

"Mr. Rogers!" Again the Rector lifted a reproving hand.

"You don't understand, sir. For this marriage--which isn't a
marriage--Isabel Brooks gave the door to an honest man. He may be a
bit of a fool, sir: but since she wasn't for him, he prayed she might
find a better fellow. That's sound Christianity, hey? I can tell
you it came tough enough. And now--" He swung round upon Whitmore.
"Did this man Letcher know?" he demanded.

"He did, Mr. Rogers. Oh, if you only knew what agonies