“I do.”

“Well, Mr. Henry Thorneycroft or Allerton, was at the time this marriage took place, on a visit to that gentleman; and I myself saw the bridegroom, whom I had united a fortnight previously in Swindon church, walking arm-and-arm with Mr. Angerstein in Sydney Gardens, Bath.  I was at some little distance, but I recognized both distinctly, and bowed.  Mr. Angerstein returned my salutation, and he recollects the circumstance distinctly.  The gentleman walking with him in the uniform of the Gloucestershire Yeomanry was, Mr. Angerstein is prepared to depose, Mr. Henry Thorneycroft or Allerton.”

“You waste time, reverend sir,” said Mr. Flint with an affectation of firmness and unconcern he was, I knew, far from feeling.  “We are the attorneys of Mrs. Rosamond Allerton, and shall, I dare say, if you push us to it, be able to tear this ingeniously-colored cobweb of yours to shreds.  If you determine on going to law, your solicitor can serve us; we will enter an appearance, and our client will be spared unnecessary annoyance.”

They were about to leave, when, as ill-luck would have it, one of the clerks who, deceived by the momentary silence, and from not having been at home when the unwelcome visitors arrived, believed we were disengaged, opened the door, and admitted Mrs. Rosamond Allerton and her aunt, Miss Stewart.  Before we could interpose with a word, the Widow Thorneycroft burst out with the whole story in a torrent of exultant Volubility that it was impossible to check or restrain.

For awhile contemptuous incredulity, indignant scorn, upheld the assailed lady; but as proof after proof was hurled at her, reinforced by the grave soberness of the clergyman and the weeping sympathy of the young woman, her firmness gave way, and she swooned in her aunt’s arms.  We should have more peremptorily interfered but for our unfortunate client’s deprecatory gestures.  She seemed determined to hear the worst at once.  Now, however, we had the office cleared of the intruders without much ceremony and, as soon as the horror-stricken lady was sufficiently recovered, she was conducted to her carriage, and after arranging for an early interview on the morrow, was driven off.

I found our interesting, and, I feared, deeply-injured client much recovered from the shock which on the previous day had overwhelmed her; and although exceedingly pale—­lustrously so, as polished Parian marble—­and still painfully agitated, there was hope, almost confidence, in her eye and tone.

“There is some terrible misapprehension in this frightful affair, Mr. Sharp,” she began.  “Henry, my husband, was utterly incapable of a mean or dishonest act, much less of such utter baseness as this of which he is accused.  They also say, do they not,” she continued, with a smile of haughty contempt, “that he robbed the young woman of her poor dowry—­some eight hundred pounds?  A proper story!”

“That, I confess, from what little I know of Mr. Henry Thorneycroft, stamps the whole affair as a fabrication; and yet the Reverend Mr. Wishart—­a gentleman of high character, I understand—­is very positive.  The young woman, too, appeared truthful and sincere.”