Here we might stop, according to ancient custom, leaving our hero and heroine to their happiness.  But though a wedding is always an event of interest, there are other things to be narrated before we have done with our story.

Not long after, Mark called at the Kinloch house, then occupied by Mr. Clamp; as a measure of precaution, he took Mr. Alford with him.  Mildred had never regained her wardrobe; everything that was dear to her was still in her stepmother’s keeping,—­her father’s picture, her own mother’s miniature, the silver cup she had used from infancy, and all the elegant and tasteful articles that had accumulated in a house in which no wish was left ungratified.  Ever since the session of the Probate Court, the house had been shut to visitors, if any there had been.  Mrs. Clamp had not been seen once out of doors.  But after waiting a time, Mark and his friend were admitted.  As they entered the house, the bare aspect of the rooms confirmed the rumors which Mark had heard.  Mrs. Clamp received them with a kind of sullen civility, and, upon hearing the errand, replied,—­

“Certainly, Mrs. Davenport can have her clothes.  She need not have sent more than one man to get them.  Is that all?”

“Not quite,” said Mark.  “Perhaps you are not aware of the change which the discovery of the will may make in your circumstances.  I do not speak of the punishment which the fraud merits, but of the rights which are now vested in me.  First, I am desired to ask after the plate, jewels, furs, and wardrobe of the first Mrs. Kinloch.”

Mrs. Clamp was silent.  A word let fall by Lucy suddenly flashed into Mark’s mind, and he intimated to the haughty woman his purpose to go into the east front-chamber.

“Fine gentlemen,” she said at length, “to pry into a lady’s private apartment!  You will not dare enter it without my permission!”

And she stood defiantly in the doorway.  But, without parley, Mark and Mr. Alford pushed by her and walked up the staircase, not heeding the shout of Mr. Clamp, who had followed them to the house.

“It might seem mean,” said Mark to Mr. Alford; “but I think you’ll agree presently, that it wasn’t a case for ceremony.”

He stripped the clothes from the bed.  The pillows were stuffed with valuable furs; fine linen and embroideries filled the bolsters.  The feather-sack contained dresses of rich and costly fabrics,—­the styles showing them to be at least twenty years old.  And in the mattress were stowed away the dinner and tea services of silver, together with porcelain, crystal, and Bohemian ware.

“What a deal o’ comfort a body could take in sleepin’ on a bed stuffed like this ’ere!” said Mr. Alford; “I sh’d think he’d dream of the ’Rabian Nights.”

“After this, Madam,” said Mark, upon returning to the hall, “you can hardly expect any special lenity from me.  The will allowed you an annuity of one thousand dollars while you remained single; since you are married your interest ceases, but you shall receive two hundred a year.  The house, however, belongs to my wife.  Your husband there has a home to which you can go.”