666 or Was it perhaps some player lady keeping out upon the table and, with his finger on the fine names of her rôles in the theatre? the place, waited while she read. Their Or was it could it be Mr. Mars- two heads stooping over the book under ton could not shake off the impression the gas, with the pale sky looking in at thus made upon him. He had two church- the window, made a curious picture, he ings to-morrow which ought to have oc- eager, she still fumbling a little to get on cupied him still more, for new members her spectacles without further comment. of the congregation were the most inter- Reginald Winton,' ""she read hesitat esting things in the world to the rector. ing, "bachelor, of this parish.' I never But he was haunted by the other intima- certainly heard of any one of that name tion, and the churchings sank into insig- in this parish; stay, it might be the new nificance. He pondered for a long time, care-taker perhaps at Mullins and Makdisturbed by the questions which arose in ings his mind, and at length, not feeling capa ble of containing them longer, he took the book in his hand and went across the hall, which was still in the afternoon gloom, to his wife, whose little drawingroom on the other side was lighted by the flickering firelight, and not much more. She was very glad to see him come in. "Did you think it was tea-time?" she said. "I am sure I don't wonder, but it's only three o'clock. Dear, dear, to think of the fine sunset we were looking at an hour later than this yesterday. But London is getting worse and worse." Why don't you have the gas lighted? the rector asked in a querulous tone. "I have brought something to show you, but there is no light to see it by." "You shall have the light in a moment," cried Mrs. Marston, "that is the one good thing of gas. It spoils your picture frames and kills your flowers; but you can have it instantly, and always clean and no trouble. There!" The gas leaping up dazzled them for a moment, and then Mr. Marston opened his book and pointed his finger to the entry. "Look here, Mary-look at that did you ever see a name like that before? What do you suppose it can mean?" Mrs. Marston had to put on her spectacles first, and they had always to be looked for before they could be put on. She had just adopted spectacles, and did not like them, nor to have to make, even to herself, the confession that she wanted them; and they were always out of the way. The rector was short-sighted, and had the exemption which such persons enjoy. He looked upon the magnifying spectacles of his wife with contempt, and it was always irritating to him to see her hunting about, saying, Where have I put my glasses?" as was her wont. "Can't you tie them round your neck," he said, "or keep them in your pocketor something?" When, however, they were found at last, he spread the book "That's not the name," cried the rector. He would have liked to pinch her, but refrained. "This is no care-taker, you may be sure; but it is the other name - look at the other name. Where have you seen it before? and what is the meaning of it?" Mr. Marston cried with excitement. He had worked himself up to this pitch and he forgot that she was quite unprepared. She read, stumbling a little, for the handwriting was crabbed, "Jane Angela Pendragon Plantagenet Fitz-Merlin Altamont, spinster, of the parish of Billings.' Dear, dear," was good Mrs. Marston's first comment - "I hope she has names enough and syllables enough for one person." "And is that all that strikes you?" her husband said. "Well it is an odd name—is that what you mean, William? very silly, I 66 - Ah, now we are coming to it at last," cried the rector; "names in novels, when they are founded on anything, generally follow the names of the aristocracy. Now here's the question: Is this a secret marriage and the bride some poor young lady who doesn't know what she is doing, some girl running away with her brother's tutor or some fiddler or other, to her own ruin, poor thing, without knowing what she is about? "Dear me, William! what an imagination you have got!" said Mrs. Marston, and she sat down in her surprise and drew the book towards her; but then she added, "Why should they come to St. Alban's in that case? There are no musicians living in this parish. poor people do give their children such grand names nowadays. That poor shirt And "Family Herald," said the rector, with a careless wave of his hand, "and all Christian names, which makes a great difference. It was her last batch of heroines, poor soul; but do you think a poor needlewoman would think of Pendragon and Plantagenet? No; mark my words, Mary, this is some great person; this is some poor, deceived girl throwing away everything for what she thinks love. Poor thing, poor thing! and all the formalities complied with so that I have no right to stop it. Sayers is an idiot,” cried Mr. Marston. "I should have inquired into it at once had I been at home, with a name before my eyes like that." "Dear me !" said Mrs. Marston; there is not much in it, but she repeated the exclamation several times. "After all," she said, "it must be true love or she would not go that length; and who knows, William, whether that is not better than all their grandeur? Dear, dear me, I wish we knew a little about the circumstances. If the gentleman is of this parish couldn't you send for him and inquire into it?" The rector was pacing up and down the room in very unusual agitation. It was such a crisis as in his peaceful clerical life had never happened to him before. "You know very well he is not of this parish," Mr. Marston said. "I suppose he must have slept here the requisite number of nights; and besides he knows I have no right to interfere. The bans are all in order. I can't refuse to marry them, and what right have I to send for the man or to question him? No doubt he would have some plausible story. It is not to be expected, especially if it is the sort of thing I think it is, that he should tell me.” "Dear, dear!" repeated Mrs. Marston. "A clergyman should have more power; what is the good of being a clergyman if you cannot stop a marriage in your own church? I call that tyranny. Do you mean to tell me you will be compelled to marry them, whether you approve of it or not? "Well, Mary, it is not usual to ask the clergyman's consent, is it?" he said, with a laugh, momentarily tickled by the suggestion. But this did not throw any light upon what was to be done, or upon the question whether anything was to be done, and with a mind quite unsatisfied he retired again to the study, seeing that it was out of all reason to ring the bell at half past three for tea. He drew down his blind with a sigh as he went back to his room, shutting out the colorless paleness which did duty for sky, and resigning himself to the close little room though it was too warm. Mr. Marston tried his best to compose himself, to take up his work such as it was, to put away from his mind the remembrance of a world which was not wrapped in fog, and where wholesome breezes were blowing. St. Alban's was a good living; it had endowments enough · to furnish two or three churches, and to get it had been a wonderful thing for him; but sometimes he asked himself whether two hundred a year and a country parish with cottages in it instead of warehouses would not have been better. However, all that was folly, and here was something exciting to amuse his mind with, which was always an advantage. He had laid down his book (for he thought it right to keep up his reading) for the fourth or fifth time, to ask himself whether sending for the bridegroom as his wife suggested, or going out in search of him, might not be worth his while, when Mrs. Marston came suddenly bursting into the study with, in her turn, a big volume in her arms. The rector looked up in surprise and put away his theology. She came in, he said to himself, like a whirlwind; which was not, however, a metaphor at all adapted to describe the movements of a stout and comfortable person of fifty, with a great respect for her furniture. But she did enter with an assured, not to say triumphant air, carrying her book, which she plumped down before him on the table, sweeping away some of his papers. "There!" she cried, breathless and excited. The page was blazoned with a big coat of arms. It was in irregular lines like poetry, and ah, how much dearer than poetry to many a British soul! It was, need we say, a Peerage, an old Peerage without any of the recent information, but still not too old for the purpose. "There!" said Mrs. Marston, again flourishing her forefinger. The rector, bewildered, looked and read. He read and he grew pale with awe and alarm. He looked up in his wife's face with a gasp of excitement. He was too much impressed even to say, "I told you so,” for to be sure a duke's daughter was a splendor he had not conceived. But his wife was more demonstrative in the delight of her discovery. "There!" she cried for the third time. "I felt sure of course it must be in the Peerage, if it was | head, "that we both know a duke is but a what you thought; and there it is at full man and I am a clergyman, and I want length, 'Lady Jane Angela Pendragon nothing from him, but to do him a service. Plantagenet Fitz-Merlin Altamont.' It It would be wicked to hesitate. The fairly took away my breath. To think you should have made such a good guess! and me talking about Mrs. Singer's baby! Why, I suppose it is one of the greatest families in the country," Mrs. Marston said. "There is no doubt about that," said the rector. "I have heard the present duke was not rich, but that would make it all the worse. Poor young lady - poor misguided — for of course she can know nothing about life nor what she is doing. And I wonder who the man is. He must be a scoundrel," said Mr. Marston hotly, "to take advantage of the ignorance of a girl." 66 My dear," said Mrs. Marston, "all that may be quite true that you say, but if you reckon up you will see that she must be twenty-five. Twenty-five is not such a girl. And Reginald Winton is quite a nice name." question is, where is he to be found, and how can we reach him in time? He is not likely to be in town at this time of the year; nobody is in town I suppose except you and me, and a few millions more, Mary; but that doesn't help us the question is, where is he likely to be? Thank heaven, there is still time for the post," Mr. Marston cried, and threw himself upon his chair, and pulled his best note-paper out of his drawer. But, alas! the question of where the duke was puzzled them both. Grosvenor Square; Billings Castle, -shire; Hungerford Place, in the West Riding; Cooling, N.B.; Caerpylcher, north Wales. As his wife read them out one after another, with a little hesitation about the pronunciation, the rector wrung his hands. The consultation which the anxious pair held on the subject ran on to the very limits of the post-hour, and would take "Just the sort of name for a tutor, or a too long to record. Now that it had come music-master, or something of that sort," to this Mrs. Marston was inclined to hold said the rector contemptuously. He had her husband back. "After all, if it was been a tutor himself in his day, but that a real attachment," she said, between the did not occur to him at the moment. He moments of discussing whether it was in got up from his chair and would have his seat in Scotland, or in Wales, or at paced about the room as he did in his his chief and most ducal of residences wife's quarters had the study been big that a duke in November was likely to enough, but failing in this, he planted be. "After all, it might be really for her himself before the fire to the great danger happiness and what a dreadful shock of his coat-tails and increase of his tem- for them, poor things, if they came to be perature, but in his excitement he paid married, thinking they had settled everyno attention to that. "And now the thing so nicely, and walked into the arms question is, what is to be done?" he said. of her father!" Her heart melted more "I thought you told me there was noth- and more as she thought of it. No doubt, ing to be done. I shall come to church poor girl, she had been deprived early of myself to-morrow, William, and if you a mother's care: and, on the other hand, think I could speak to the poor young at twenty-five a girl ought to know her lady-perhaps if she had a woman to own mind. She could not be expected to talk to most likely she has no mother. give in to her father forever. And if it That's such an old book one can't tell; should be that this was a real attachment, but I don't think a girl would do this who and the poor young lady's happiness was had a mother. Poor thing! do you think concerned if I were there a little before the hour and were to talk to her, and try to get into her confidence, and say how wrong it was "Talk to a bride at the altar!" said the rector; the indecorum of the idea shocked him beyond description. "No, no, something must be done at once, there is no time to be lost. I must write to the duke." "To the duke! This suggestion took away Mrs. Marston's breath. "I hope," said her husband, raising his The rector made short work of these arguments. He pooh-poohed the real attachment in a way which made Mrs. Marston angry. What could she know of poverty? he asked; and how was a duke's daughter to scramble for herself in the world? As for love, it was great nonsense in most cases. The French system was just as good as the English. People got to like each other by living together, and by having the same tastes and habits. How could a fiddler or a tutor have the same habits as Lady Jane, For Lady Angela, if you like it better?" | the marriage that all this fuss was to be He went on, as Mrs. Marston said, like made. "It must be a swell wedding," the this, till she could have boxed his ears for verger said to his wife. "You had better him. And the fact was that he had to put on your Sunday bonnet and hang pay an extra penny on each of his letters about. Sometimes they want a witness to get them off by the post; for he wrote to sign the book, and there's half-crowns several letters-to Billings, to Hunger- going." Accordingly all was expectation ford, and to Grosvenor Square. Scotland in the neighborhood of the church. The and Wales were hopeless; there was no best altar-cloth was displayed, and the chance whatever that from either of these pinafores taken off the cushions in the places his Grace could arrive in time. pulpit and reading-desk, and the warming Indeed, it would be something very like a apparatus lighted, though this was an exmiracle if he arrived now. But the rector pense. Mr. Marston felt justly that when felt that he had done his duty, which is there was a possibility of a duke and a always a consolation. He retired to rest certainty of a duke's daughter, extra preplate and full of excitement, feeling that arations were called for. He came over no one could tell what the morrow might himself early to see that all was ready. bring forth a sentiment, no doubt, There was no concealing his excitement. which is always true, but which com- "Has any one been here?" he asked, mends itself more to the mind in a season almost before he was within hearing of when out-of-the-way events are likely, the verger. Simms answered "No" Mrs. Marston had been a little cool but added, "Them churchings, rector. towards him all the evening, resenting much that he had said. But it was not till all modes of communicating with the outer world were hopeless that she took her revenge and planted a thorn in his pillow. "If you had not been so disagreeable," she said, "I would have advised you not to trust to the post, but to telegraph. I dare say the duke would have paid you back the few shillings: then he would have been sure to get the news in time. At present I think it very unlikely. And I am sure for the young people's sake I should be sorry. But I should have telegraphed," Mrs. Marston said. And the rector, strange to say, had never thought of that. CHAPTER XII. HALF-MARRIED. NEXT morning everything was in movement early in St. Alban's, E.C. Orders had been sent to the verger to have special sweepings out and settings in order, a thing which took that functionary much by surprise. For the marriage; but then marriages were not so uncommon at St. Alban's - less uncommon than anything else. Churchings were more rare events, and demanded more consideration: for probably the married pair once united would never trouble St. Alban's more; whereas there was always a chance that babies born in the neighborhood might grow up in it, and promote the good works of the parish, or be candidates for its charities, which was also very desirable - for the charities were large and the qualified applicants few. But it was for You'll take 'em after the wedding, sir?" They, arrived a few moments after eleven o'clock, in two very private, quietlooking carriages, of which nobody could be quite sure whether they were humble broughams, of the kind which can be hired, or private property. The bridegroom was first, with one man accompanying him, who looked even more "swell" than himself. The bride came a little Simms paused, and came closer than Lord Germaine, who was Winton's attendant, thought agreeable. He curved his hand round one side of his mouth and under its shelter whispered, "Two ladies, sir, to be churched after in the charge of a respectable elderly | there?" as if he had been in the street and woman-servant, and one other lady whose not in a church. dress and looks were such as had never been seen before in St. Alban's. Mrs. Simms was not learned in dress, but she knew enough to know that the simplicity of this lady's costume was a kind of simplicity more costly and grand than the greatest finery that had ever been seen "Churched! what's that?" cried Lord within the parish of St. Alban's. The Germaine, with a sort of fright— and bride herself was wrapped in a large all- then he recollected himself, and laughed. enveloping grey cloak. The maid who" But, my good fellow," he said, "not bewas with her even looked like a duchess, fore the marriage. Take my compliments and was far above any gossip with Mrs. to the clergyman-Lord GerI mean Simms. Altogether it was a mysterious just my compliments, you know," he addparty. There was a little room adjoining ed hurriedly, "and tell him that we are the vestry to which the ladies were taken all waiting, really all here and waiting. to wait till all was ready, while the gentle- He can't keep a bride and bridegroom men stood in the church, somewhat im- waiting for two ladies" - and then he patient; the bridegroom looking anx glanced through his eyeglass at the two iously from time to time at his watch. But poor women, who dropped a humble curtnow came the strangest thing of all. The sey without meaning it -"who can be rector who had ordered the church to be churched, you know quite well, my good warmed and the cushions to be uncov- fellow, after twelve o'clock." ered on purpose for them he who had known enough about their arrangements to calculate that some one might arrive late the rector, now that they were here, took no notice. Simms hurried in to inform him that they had come, but he took no notice; then hurried back a second time to announce that "the gentleman says as they're all here and quite ready;" but still Mr. Marston never moved. He had his watch on the table, and cast a glance upon it from time to time, and he was pale and nervous sitting there in his surplice. The clergyman all ready and the bridal party all ready, and a quarter after eleven chiming! "We'll take the churchings, Simms," said the rector, in a voice that was scarcely audible. "The churchings, sir!" cried the verger, not believing his ears. Of all the things to keep a wedding party waiting for! But what could Simms do? To obey the rector was his first duty. He went with his mind in a state of consternation to fetch the two poor women from the pews where they sat waiting, wrapping themselves in their shawls, rather pleased with the idea of seeing a wedding before their own little service. But they, too, were thunderstruck when they heard they were to go up first. "Are you sure you ain't making a mistake? "one of them said; and as he walked up the aisle followed by these two humble figures, the elder gentleman, who wore an eyeglass in his eye, almost assaulted Simms. He said, "Hallo! hi! what are you after "I'll tell the rector, sir," said Simms but he took his charges to the altar steps all the same, for the rector was a man who liked to be obeyed. Then he went in and delivered his message. The rector was sitting gazing at his watch with a very anxious and troubled face. "Has any one come?" he said. Please, sir, they be all here," said Simms. "You'll not keep the bride and bridegroom waiting, surely, the gentleman says.' "I hope I am a better judge as to my duty than the gentleman," said the rector tartly; and without another word he marched into the chancel, and advancing to the altar rails, signed to the two women to take their places. During the interval the bride had been brought from the waiting-room and divested of her cloak. She was dressed simply in white, with a large veil over her little bonnet. Lord Germaine had given her his arm and was leading her to her place, when the voice of the rector announced that the other service had begun. The bridal party looked at each other in consternation, but what could they do? Lord Germaine, though he was one of the careless, had not courage enough to interrupt a service in church. They stood waiting, the strangest group. Lady Jane, when she divined what it was, did her best to pay a little attention, to follow the prayers and lessons which were so curiously out of keeping with the circumstances. Winton, standing by her, crimson with anger and impatience, could scarcely |