The service quickly began, much to Manners’ relief; but oh, horrors!  Father Nicholas began to preach, and by the time the lover expected to have clasped his darling in his arms, the discourse was just getting into full swing.

“Stop, Nicholas, in the name of mercy, stop,” he whispered through the floor; but Nicholas heard him not, and quietly pursued the even tenour of his way.

Another half-hour had elapsed, and the situation had become well nigh intolerable.  Apart from being cramped, Manners was uncomfortable enough.  He felt that it would have immensely relieved him to have screamed, but he dared not do it.  He wanted to cough, or sneeze, but he had to repress his feelings.  The place in which he was boxed up was damp and humid, and the darkness in which he was enveloped was oppressive.  He could bear it no longer, and raising himself up he groped around with his hands, and easily lifting a piece of the old pulpit flooring, he looked up at Nicholas and groaned.

Nicholas involuntarily started at the sound, but recollecting the voice, he screened his friend by his presence of mind.  Without a moment’s pause he stopped and indulged in a prolonged fit of coughing, while the little congregation, which had been startled by the groan, attributed the noise to a premonitory symptom of the attack, and thought no more about it.

“For mercy’s sake, stop,” muttered Manners.  But the priest placidly resumed his discourse, and drowned Manners’ voice by his own.

The sand-glass, which was affixed to the pulpit desk to mark the limit of the time allowed for the sermon, had long indicated that Father Nicholas was trespassing upon the indulgence of his hearers before he stopped; but it was over at last, and confession time had arrived.

Well knew the wily preacher that the second part of the service would not be prolonged.  Sir George had never much to confess while there was a good meal awaiting him, and what Lady Maude would have said upon such occasions was always cut short when the sermon had been long, and was reserved for a more fitting occasion.

Neither Sir Thomas Stanley nor his brother ever stayed for confession.  They generally found some more attractive way of spending the time; and as soon as they could do so they slipped out, heartily cursing the long-winded priest, and wishing that Sir George were not, by far, so good a Catholic.

Margaret stayed longer than the rest, and when her confession had ceased she kept the father and took occasion to consult him about the marriage ceremony.

She went at last, and then it was Dorothy’s turn.  The way was once more open for the brave-hearted Manners to meet his betrothed again.

“Stop!” exclaimed Nicholas, as Manners eagerly kissed the maiden’s blushing cheek.  “Let Mistress Dorothy perform her duty first.”

There was no gainsaying this.  The good father would not be argued with, and so Dorothy bended her knee, and in humble penitence confessed her misdeeds and prayed forgiveness for her sins.